I'm missing out on today by missing what's gone away.
That's the mantra I made for myself yesterday. Rhyming helps me remember things. Super nerd, here.
This week, I found myself reminiscing until it became painful. I longed to be with my Dad, who's been gone for 6 years; I longed for my Grandma Ruth, who's been gone for 7. I longed for my days as a touring songwriter, and I longed for my little Chicago apartment. I longed for slow Saturday mornings with a cup of coffee and nothing to do. I longed for debt-free existence, having very little to my name, and being proud of my lack of materialistic tendencies. I even longed for my old body, without its wrinkles and maternal battle wounds.
And when vanity started rearing its ugly head, I put the kibosh on all that damn longing.
Reader, there is a rosy hew that hovers around most things that have gone from my life. And this week, I almost let it diminish the light of today. That's not to say that looking backward isn't relevant. Of course it is. But to dwell there is foolish; it leads to dissatisfaction with the present, and the present is pretty satisfying. The sun, the spring, the people I have in my life right now: that's where I need to live. The moment we believe our best days are behind us is the moment we stop truly living, and we miss all there is to be grateful for today.
Including hectic lives and mom-bods.
With that, this frenzied wrinkled songwriter is off to paint the office of her restaurant. Merrily. I'll see you next Monday. -Em