On Enjoying Life While We Can
After working inside all day long, I finally made it out for a walk. I'm wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and boots, and it's raining.
Droplets kiss my skin, and spatter on my glasses. It feels beautiful. It feels good.
It reminds me that I am alive. There is more to life than business and books, more even than the weight and worries of the world: There are wild roses, and bleating baby goats—yes even in this city neighborhood—and trees reaching for the rain. There is damp soil and a squirrel eating a grape on a tree stump.
I breathe in. I breathe out. I'm doing for myself what I did for a client earlier today. My client needed a chance to simply sit and breathe a while, so after talking, that's what we did. I guided them through a brief meditation, and hoped it was of help.
But my body needed movement, and my mind needed to slow down. To re-center. So, I walk in the rain and I run my hands over the needles of a rosemary bush, cupping my palms in front of my face, inhaling the fragrance to clear my mind. Walking helps both my body and my mind.
Walking eases my heart from the pain of the world.
A crow calls to its mate. Flowers grow past fence posts. On a front stoop, a man in work boots and a ball-cap has an after-work cigarette. He waves and smiles in greeting. I do the same, and continue walking down the city sidewalk.
I am happy to be alive. Happy to feel the kiss of water. Happy for a cloudy June afternoon in Portland, Oregon.
I’m happy now, to be sharing this moment with you.
What moments keep you going? What do you enjoy? What feels sacred to you?
In the midst of the hustle, and the worry, and the pain, how often do you pause to breathe and feel moisture on your skin? How often do you lift your face to the sky, and insist to the world: “Today I am alive and I will keep living for as long as it takes.”
I breathe that in, too. And I say it again:
“Today, I am alive. And I will keep on living for as long as it takes.”
Keep breathing, friends. And enjoy what moments of deliciousness you can.
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