I’ve spent much of my life waiting. Waiting for Christmas morning. Waiting for school to get out for the summer. Waiting for my husband-to-be to get out of the Marines and come home. Waiting for school to be finished so I could start teaching. Waiting to get my Master’s degree so I could run my own reading clinic. Waiting for babies to be born. Waiting. And while I waited, I wasn’t really in the moment.
When the worrying gene was passed out, I got my share and then spent a lot of time nurturing and polishing it. I lost sleep. I didn’t eat, couldn’t eat, then over-ate in an effort to exert control over things not up to me. 99% of things about which I worried didn’t happen. This fact, plus the fact that I KNEW in my head I had no control, didn’t stop me from worrying. And while I worried, I wasn’t really in the moment.
It has taken me a long time, but I am finally living in the moment. I still wait, but I LIVE while I’m waiting. I may worry, but I LIVE while I’m worrying. I take the time to not only notice things, but really appreciate the beauty around me – how beautiful the weather is; I’ve come to treasure each time my 95 pound yellow lab, Amber, gets her top half in my lap while I’m trying to type a blog post, licking my face, making me laugh. I stop by my husband’s chair in the living room on the way to or from – or both – taking the time to kiss him on the head, hug him, and make him smile. I take time to play in my art room, smiling like a kid with fingerpaint, trying something new and having FUN whether I do something reasonable or just make a mess. :0) I can insulate myself from much going on in our world today, doing the little I can to help a bit – trying to protect those I love from the bad consequences (about which I worry) and ignore what I can.
If I live another hundred years or so, I may have this!
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