“Be here now.”
A four-year-old child might be able to write those words, but this 40-year-old woman is still struggling to live by their simple admonition.
Over the past few days I’ve been struck by how little control we really have over our lives.
Esteban and I had plans: We were going to save our money — and our vacation time — for a month-long getaway next spring. We hadn’t yet chosen the destination … but that wasn’t important. Having an adventure and spending some quality time together was what mattered.
As things turned out, we had a different kind of adventure. We’ve spent lots of quality time together. We’ve blown through plenty of vacation time (and loads of money). But obviously not quite the way we’d hoped.
Next year’s spring fling is in doubt — as is next month’s trip to Paris.
But there’s no sense in worrying too much about the future: Some things take care of themselves. So I’m trying my hardest to make the best of the present, and to take the time I have with Esteban — here, now — as a gift.
With that in mind, here’s one of my favorite poems. One line in particular has continued to resonate for me over the years: “I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.” What a beautiful way of saying “be here now.”