This beautiful now.

They say it’s best to focus on the present. That the past is gone and forgotten, filled with a string of events we can’t change, that the present is yet to be, so we needn’t pine for it. The present, then, is what we’re left with. We’re to simply be and enjoy the events of our days, as they take place. Doing so allows us to be grateful for those unknowns that have yet to happen but will. And, the more we do it, the more we cultivate this behavior in ourselves, the easier it becomes. We’re unhurried. We enjoy. We admire. It’s a bit of a challenge, but one I’m all for. I’m known for falling headfirst into a vat of nostalgia on a regular basis, it’s true, and I’ve any number of things to look forward to at any given time (and plenty I could list here if I wanted) but the present! Ah, the present. That’s the real adventure.

If I’m to simply think on today, say, I can already remember it as the morning we dropped into the mid-60s in this part of the world … the one that forced (coerced?) me into staying in bed a whole lot longer than usual. The weather called for buttermilk pancakes, and I heeded that call. I got talked into buying a big cracked pepper turkey sandwich; I was offered a $5 off coupon while standing in the very act of paying for my groceries (best customer of the year award). The sun’s out, I’ve got no shoes on my feet and I look so wistfully at my pumpkins now and again, picturing them as cream-topped pies (there’s that future beckoning). There is writing and thinking and the pleasure of revisiting. There is this now, this beautiful now. Sundays are fantastic.

As for the hours from now, I’ve a date tonight with Damien Jurado and Sharon Van Etten and I can hardly stand the anticipation I’ve got to deal with. It’s so close to my now, I figure it’s okay to play their records and know that I’ll be standing a few feet from the both of them very soon, whether I have to push and snarl my way to the stage or, you know, stick with sauntering. I will sit at their feet and hear their stories and not sing along. I’ll offer my storytellers smiles and probably a nodding head.

Am I giddy? Guilty.