month of beauty: what you have

If you dwell on what isn't, you miss what is.

If you wish for things to be different, you don't get to live the way things are.

If you think of what you don't have, you don't see what's right in front of you, in your lap, in your arms, before your very eyes.

I have spent too many moments, not seeing, not living. Missing what is.

Fearing the future and regretting the past. Wishing for things to be different. Stuck somewhere in a kind of floaty space—a constant looking back, looking forward.

So many hours unable to enjoy my Present. 

I couldn't accept my present when it wasn't perfect, 

and when it was, 

I wished my present would never end. 

And as for the past and the future, they lurked like great hulking bodyguards, making holes in joy.

Ah. It has been exhausting.

But I can feel a great movement inside me now. A great dancing change, 

growing, 

busting out like butterflies.

I've been happy before, but with it has come a tangled sadness that the happiness will end.

I've been sad before. And felt certain the sadness would always stay.

Now, more and more, and more and more,

I am just living. 

When a beautiful day comes, I don't hurt with trying to hold it, pin it down so it lasts forever.

When a sorrowful day comes, I feel it, then let it go.

When a day like today happens, I build sandcastles with teenagers and make plans with homeschool parents and I feel the wind bite and I notice how the children are scattered to the four winds, playing. 

I notice how happy—wildly, glowingly happy—my kids are.

I notice that I don't feel the cold as much as I used to.

I notice that I'm doing a lot of talking, a lot of smiling.

I notice how much I love being around young people; how funny and interesting they are.

I notice that I'm making a lot of new plans, coming up with a lot of new ideas.

I notice that I'm not invested in or attached to how the day will turn out. 

I am letting it just Be.

I notice that the day is flowing. The sea moves in and out. The wind grips. The children laugh and tell me stories. The little dog shivers with joy. The children dig holes and mounds and make swimming pools and almost everyone gets wet.

I notice that I am here. 

Really here, in my present.

I get to live this. I get to notice.

I get to see what I have.