Are you still here? Me, too! Well, I'm not here here, but I'm here, often here and very often here, too.
Did you miss me? I miss you!
If you're still here, won't you come over to my new place and hang out?
Here's what I wrote over there today.
Right now, I am sitting on a blue couch in my home office. I am still wearing my pajamas even though it’s almost noon. I am listening to my children shuffle around, one fighting with her closet door, the other deep in a sigh.
Right now, I am cognizant of the clicking of my nails against the keyboard of my laptop. My hands are dry, reacting to the attempts at removing stains from my daughter’s school clothes. They are sticking to the computer, reacting to the change in temperature against the warmth of the battery. Right now, I am wondering if I am causing myself some kind of harm from sitting under the battery of a laptop. Right now, I don’t really want to find out.
Right now, I hear the sounds of the neighborhood, trash can lids slamming against their hard plastic basins, the wheels rolling against uneven pavement. I decide that these are the Wednesday sounds of working from home, but then acknowledge that it is merely my experience of the sound of this particular moment. A car passes.
Right now, I am concerned that if you are reading this, you are wondering, “What is the point?” I am wondering that, too. I hear a sound from above. Is it a bird on the roof or a rat in the attic? I am choosing to believe it is a bird.
Right now, I am missing my husband, for whom I’ve found a new appreciation since we now share the same working space, our home. I am grateful for the changes we have made in our lives that have taken us from working for employers to forming a professional partnership together and piecing together our strengths into a new collaboration. I am hoping he is able to surprise the children at their swim lessons later today. I am amazed at how much progress they have made in a year. I realize that I use the word “amaze” and its various forms ALL THE TIME. I consider that if there is a word to overuse, “amaze” is pretty cool, because it does reflect the awe with which I see the world and its infinite possibilities. Right now, I’m wondering if I’m sounding kind of woo woo. I use woo woo all the time, too. I am willing to be perceived as woo woo right now, but not always.
Right now, my stomach growled, but I know I am not hungry. I hear my son’s voice and wonder how soon the children will begin fighting over their game of Monopoly. I think about what it is to be the younger sister, and how kind her brother is to read to her instead of taking advantage that she does not yet read and making up rules to manipulate the game and her. I hear the tone of their voices change. I wonder if when someone is going to yell, “MOMMY!” I sigh and wait. I notice I am thirsty. My lips are dry, but not as dry as my hands.
Right now, I am hoping you are still reading because I think I’m about ready to make a point, though I am willing to believe that you will also get the point even if I don’t explain it. Right now is all we have. The story changes constantly, as does the mind’s interpretation of the circumstances. Right now, I have an instinct to push “Move to Trash” instead of Publish. I think there is a better way to make this point. I think I may write that another day. I consider that there are myriad ways to make the same point and that it is a point to keep making.
I hear the dryer beeping from the garage below. I am wishing that the laundry would fold itself and find its way to “away.” I consider if the children have abandoned their board game. I hear an airplane overhead.
Right now, I am scanning the page to see if these words are good enough. I feel an emptiness in my stomach when I type, read, and think about “good enough” because I know so many who believe they are not. Right now, I wish them the opportunity to see themselves as I do. My boy sneezes.
Right now, I feel the beating of my heart. I look down and notice how gently my pajama shirt rises with each inhalation and exhalation. I am thinking this is as close to meditating as I’m getting today. I look at the clock. After noon now, and still, pajamas. I love their colors, white, light pink, darker pink and a deep pink that verges towards purple, the pink of an accidental pomegranate stain but it’s not. I think my toes should be one of these colors instead of the Smurfy blue I chose last week.
Right now, I have copied a Note from the Universe that sums up what I want to say.
Karen, in the time that it takes you to read this short Note, you could have planted a new image in your mind (anything you like, ideally with an emotional charge); I could have reacted (realigning planets, people, and the sort), and the floodgates would’ve begun trembling violently as we’d have been drawn infinitely closer to manifesting the vision you’d chosen.
Fortunately, there’s still time.
Right now, I have just read this piece, and made some significant changes that you’ll never see. Right now, I am hopeful that something has connected for you, that you, too, notice how quickly your thoughts change and how much influence you actually have in being present to everything that is around you; to allow for the kind of thoughts that will help you to create the life you want, the kind that makes you almost embarrassed to talk about because it’s so good and so aligned with everything that matters to you. I think about what the world would be like if all the inhabitants lived fulfilled all the time. I wonder if writing this will be a catalyst for a reader to make a big change towards finding their own light.
Right now, I am satisfied that writing something is better than writing nothing. I hear the mail truck accelerating, then slowing to a stop nearby. Right now, I am amused myself at the passing thought of writing all of my blog posts like this. I remember that a prescription is ready at the pharmacy and we are almost out of milk.
See, it's still me, just in a different location. Come on over, won't you?