I feel like that word is permeating my life like an infusion of, well, nothing. It’s too intangible. It’s not like food, which is what my life is used to. Things to be touched. Felt. Smelled. Held.
What’s mindfulness? I didn’t get it for a long long time and still don’t, despite being around friends, some of whom are spiritual and one of whom is herself a mindfulness teacher of yoga and meditation.
But I’m slowly opening my mind to it and opening my heart to its need in my life right now. Nothing is wrong, except just not feeling physically the best, but I’m at a point where I feel like I need to really know how to enjoy the moment. How to not be pensive and worry about the future. Not to worry about how my kid is going to handle the mean girl. How not to worry about my lofty career goals, which may not come to substance. Not to worry about the health of everyone in my family, and the what-ifs.
I started meditating daily, just for a few minutes. Honestly, it’s too early for the effects of that to be taking place. What I’m feeling is likely a result of my daily journaling—an outflow of words spray-painted on paper. A meditative, cathartic process for me.
I’m stopping. Stopping often. The brakes are on, the roses are not only smelt, but touched too. The days are slower. The breath is floating, and lasting longer.
That infusion of nothing is something. It is allowing me to enjoy the moment. Enjoy what I have. From the tangible to the intangible. From something as minuscule as the slip of the morning brew into my belly. To the untouchable heart and soul of the food that was made for me. From the soft vanilla Bundt cake and its mellow sweetness, crumbling like a down pillow in my mouth. To the appreciation that I can touch my girls’ cheeks, see outside, feel my clothing, and speak my words. I can do so much! I need to savor every bit right now.