Small Moments

It feels like my brain has become chronically cranked to big-picture life items. Large thought concoctions like my goals and what I want just in general. I think, oh my desire for a house in the woods is worthwhile enough to put as much effort into that as possible. I spend a copious amount of time thinking about those theoretical eventualities. So much so that, at times I forget about the present moment of experience.

More particularly, the nuances that make up the present moment that are worth cherishing equally as much as idyllic future possibilities. Like the still moments of sitting around debating what to do. The way the mind swirls with contemplation… Meanwhile there’s kids playing outside, and there’s a candle burning; you’re full from some food you just ate. It’s this encompassing landscape of feeling and intake and activity that build this moment. And something about that organic amalgamation that is moment-to-moment existence really feels just as cherishable as what I spend a lot of time thinking about wanting.

I mean, honestly if I broke down why I want to live in the woods and what about that is attractive to me as a person, it’s essentially a lot of what I just mentioned. The aroma of pine, staring out a window to see a canopied environment of green and brown while drinking hibiscus tea. Moments of joy and heartache can be experienced alongside a deeper connection with the natural world around us. 

Yet, much of that feeling is achieved in my present life. I spend time contemplating at my desk while I stare out the arcadia door onto the top of a massive, very green tree in the courtyard. I spend time watering house plants (not often enough, admittedly) and feeling them as I do. While in a 500sqft third floor condo, amongst 300 other units, I nonetheless feel the connection to it all through those small moments. The families of birds that live in that tree return at sunset for the night. People of multiple backgrounds and demographics utilize the shared space differently. We’re all little puzzle pieces of active environmental stimuli being transmuted into the present moment. 

I think it’s almost like a genetically ingrained yearning for what life was like for thousands of years prior to industrialization and corporatization and productivity metrics. My day job is more often than not the epitome of fast-paced mental exhaustion. In the time outside of that, I truly want those soft moments of virtual nothingness. A good majority of my weekends are usually spent sitting around pattering between items of low intensity. It’s a ritualistic summoning of what I wish for more of. And by result, it winds up being a manifestation of the softness I seek. 

And so, with all of this I wonder if more consideration should be spent on that as compared to what is currently being given to the thought of future. I mean, the obvious answer is yes, with the massive caveat of “not that fast buckaroo.” At this point, it is almost default to be looking to the future instead of the moment. In order to consistently appreciate the moment requires actual concentration and discipline to rewire the conscience. You could say I’m working on laying the foundation for that.

Honestly, much of my moment-to-moment anxiety is spent on considering the doom of possibly soon future things and not exactly things that have already happened. So, perhaps just spending more time soaking up the present moment, I may subsequently thwart some of my anxious tendencies. 

As I’m writing this, I just got off the phone with a friend which was nice. I'm feeling a bit buzzed, the cold of near-winter-in-the-desert night is creeping in through the screen door, I’m feeling some sentimentality to what I am writing. I’m grateful for the peace and quiet on a Saturday evening to do some writing. All of it is beautiful in the grand scheme of things. All of it is worthwhile to cherish. Maybe that’s the honest goalpost; the ability to recognize the gravity and importance of this moment and how that measures up within attempting to choreograph a good life. Maybe that’s all it is.