The Present is A Gift
Note: This blog, originally posted sometime in the dark days of 2020, is an apt reminder to us all about the opportunities each day brings. It seems apt to revisit it in the current-day turbulences of time. I hope it fills you with a sense for the possibilities and helps dampen any difficulties you might be encountering these days. Best wishes, Kate
A new day! Outside, the December darkness is like night, but I know dawn will arrive within the hour. I stretch, rotate my feet on the hinges of my ankles. The dog rises, strolls over, pokes her long German shepherd nose over the bedcovers to say good morning. I think about the day ahead: plans, promises, appearances. These days, there aren’t many of any of those, so I can go about getting up easily. I think about what to wear, what might be good for breakfast. I check the weather, and maybe get some music going in the house.
About forty years ago, I gave myself one of the finest gifts ever: the reframing of an interior life that was dark, depressed, and negative. Learning a new habit to choose a fresh, upbeat approach to my days was demanding work. It came with lots of counseling and on-going revisions. Gradually, I was able to build a new way of life that offered alternative possibilities to what had been a rather tumultuous adolescence (aren’t they all?).
Over time, one of the most exquisite lessons has been to (try to) greet each day with a sense of adventure. The lightness this provides is not cavalier or frivolous. The quality of what’s on deck for the day doesn’t matter. A day that is full of chores and routine gets the same as any other. This here and now is the only day I have, so why wouldn’t I celebrate it? Maybe I’ll reach out to a longtime friend. Maybe one will contact me. Maybe I’ll read something so profound it begs to be shared with friends. Maybe I’ll hear a song that grabs my soul and holds it gently. Who knows what’ll happen today?
The calendar always carries its own demands, but no matter what’s on the agenda, there is always time to notice subtle, joyful details. The play of light in the house as the sun moves across from east to west sundials my sensibilities and reminds me of the passage of time. It helps me keep moving, reminds me not to squander being an active participant in this one life of mine.
Beyond the now-inevitable, distracting electronic tethers is a reliably wondrous place: the natural world. I treasure the nuances of the air when I stand outside every morning, waiting for my dog to do her business. The sky. The birds. Time-of-year subtleties that warrant notice before they shift to what comes next. The frozen snowy ground of today will one day be the rains of April and May, then the bursts of green as leaves emerge and unfold, then gain full maturity, then dry and let go to become autumn’s carpet. I don’t try to hold all of that at once, but being mindful that change will come helps me be aware of the moment at hand. It grounds me in time, and places me squarely in whatever there is before me. It is a conscious practice to welcome it all, even the dreary, and bitter, and blazing hot. You won’t hear me complain about the weather, only failure to dress appropriately for it.
On days when it’s hard to drum up my usual enthusiasm, I’ve discovered an effective default: I say, “it could always be worse.” Whatever “it” is, it’s true. On a small scale, it can be as simple as being weary of the relentlessness of drudgery or a string of hard-to-take days. Then there is the wider world, with its illogical political news, assaults to women’s and civil and racial rights, criminal “justice” injustices. It’s right to feel discouraged that there are so many people out of work, out of money, out of options, out of hope. I think of people and places that could use a little light, and hold them in my heart. They are always here with me in my day, too.
Being grounded this year has been for me an oddly-exquisite lesson in remembering how precious “place” is. I’ve discovered without going anywhere that adventure doesn’t have to be razzle-dazzle, but is just as satisfying in its quiet way when it is tranquil. Without dashing hither and yon trying to fill up on external experiences, I’ve found that my metaphorical camera lens has shifted. It’s gone from a wide angle to a close-up of the choices—little daily ones—that can help build a resilient interior life of positivity and gentle grace. I hope wherever your place is, you’ve found peace with what is and ways to enjoy the present for the gift that it is.
