Two weeks until vacation...and that means my brain is on overload, trying not only to plan for the vacation, but to do some advance planning at church so I'm not slammed when I get back. It's hard to keep my brain in this moment, to do what needs to be done today. Several times on my walk this morning I had to stop and tell my brain to just be, to stop problem-solving and planning ahead just for an hour. This was the last stop, on my way home. I ducked in to the gazebo at the end of our street and was reminded why it's one of my favorite views here. The sea and sky look different every day, but from this spot the frame is the same.
I guess that's why I finally was able to take some deep breaths, and appreciate the morning for what it was. Incredibly misty and quiet. I had seen otters and cormorants and pelicans. The sky had been completely gray, and then lightened in spots. The tide was neither high nor low, and the waves were big enough to create some nice splashes against the rocks. The beach was strewn with kelp and sea grass. The browns and grays of the path and rocks mixed with the various greens of the shrubs and grasses. And there were three bunnies under the shrub lupine. People smiled, or said "good morning," as we passed. One person who sees me often told me I need to get a dog.
Life is these moments. Whatever we might be planning for the future - whether it is the afternoon, a few weeks from now, or years down the road - every moment that passes is our life. Maybe we planned it a while back. Maybe whatever we planned didn't happen, and this is happening instead. From time to time, stop and frame the picture. To breathe in the nowness of the moment. It will never come again, for good or ill.
Now back to work - I've got a vacation to prepare for. But I remain grateful for the reminders of the potential of every moment.