Just Here

Snow keeps playing about outside, falling, stopping, collecting on the street then melting. When I watch it through the back door windows all the Christmas cards I tacked up frame my view. I could pretend the holiday season still graces me with its presence, slurp back a hot chocolate, and watch a Christmas movie. But, really, that would kinda be pathetic. However, I want that cozy magical feeling the way I want a snow cone on the hottest day of the year. The way I want a bar of Swiss chocolate after an aggravating experience. The way I want to snatch and snuggle my baby right as he falls asleep even though I've been waiting and waiting for him to fall asleep so I can do something.

Ugh. I keep wishing for a time that is not, a moment that passes or is yet to come. Why have I come to dislike boredom so much? Why can't I relish the now? My new focus to live with intention gets stomped on by my restless feet. Restless without purpose. If I structure my time too much, I fail. If I let my time remain loose and free, I fail. Why can't I just float, like the gentle snow?

I'm reading about how to be happier. I'm reading about how to simplify and live my truer self. I'm reading, reading, reading. Why can't I just sit for a moment and be OK with that? Just sit here. Just be. No reading, no mindless web searches or internet quizzes, no cleaning, no guilt about not cleaning, no music playing, no TV on, no plans concocting in my brain. Not meditating. Not asking God to do a bunch of stuff for me or my family. Not criticizing. Not judging myself or others. Not mulling. Not whining. Not complaining. Not sleeping. Just, not.

Taking pleasure in the calm, the peace, the safety of these walls around me. Watching the snow. Waiting for nothing. Regretting nothing.

Just here.

Breathing. Listening. Letting go. Forgiving myself.

Just here.