Here and Now

This feeling...when your body hums and smiles come spontaneously. The fog finally clears and the heavy mantle of “doing,” and endless obligation slips away. It’s when you choose to hold your boundaries firm, because you too deserve to experience life to its fullest.

It’s simple, really. Some invisible weight that once kept you bound in worry and concern just falls away. And suddenly, the veil lifts. You find yourself small again, standing on the balcony, marveling at the orange-pink hues of a sunrise. You eat yogurt with your fingers, actually tasting the vanilla, noticing the tiny black specks, instead of rushing through it distracted. You sit in silence wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, letting the fleece brush your bare skin, lulling you into a kind of peaceful stupor. You hear laughter spilling from another room, and you join in, realizing your own laughter is lighter than you remember.

It’s taking the time for lengthy hugs with your adult son, patting the curls on his head, remembering when he fit along the length of your forearm. Even now, with his beard and his grown man’s presence, you still see the little boy looking up at you with love. It’s saying, “I love you” and hearing it back every single time. It’s the slam of the door when he comes home, a sound that still reassures. It’s the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours when he sits beside you, or the cadence of his voice, carrying faint echoes of the little boy who once asked a thousand questions a day. It’s the small kindness of him making your tea just the way you like it, without you needing to ask.

It’s the quiet hands of the man who folds your clothes as if by magic, the warm plates of food waiting for you when you come home, the small gestures of love from the one who knows how you like things and does them because he loves you. It’s the rhythm of his footsteps in the kitchen, the soft clinking of cutlery, a subtle nod to care. His hand brushing yours as he passes you a plate. The way he remembers the smallest things you forget, carrying your comfort quietly in his palms.

And the sad part is how many of these jewels you’ve missed. You were pre-occupied and busy, so caught up in the constant hum of what was next, what was urgent, what was owed. Even when you were physically there, your mind was elsewhere: calculating, planning, worrying. Busyness is worn like a badge of honor these days, but all it does is rob you of the very life you thought you were building. You are a mere shadow in your own home, a blurred observer. Do you remember the times your child looked to you for attention only to be betrayed by your phone, people elsewhere more important than who was right in front of you? Can you recall how many times you said, “Just a minute,” and let that minute stretch into years of half-attention?

And yet, the jewels were always there, waiting patiently: the eye contact, the soft touch, the smile, the thank you. How was that ever okay?

 It is no longer okay!

You are awake now.

 You are here.

There is a small regret in the missing, yes, but an even greater readiness to make amends...to notice, to cherish, to be fully present. To let the morning sun warm your face before the day begins. To hear the whole story when someone speaks, not just the outline. To savour, not just food, but voices, hands, silences. To recognize this quiet, ordinary abundance for what it truly is: the greatest wealth of your life, waiting all along for you to claim it.

Will you join in me in the present?