This concept of “now” is sharpening its sword at my feet. It’s speaking volumes about the cataloging of moments that capture my days.
“Now” is a word that I am rather obsessed with. My mom would say that I have been obsessed with it since I entered the world. I can be impatient.
Now is a moment in time, isn’t it? It is a place on a continuum. It’s a word that embodies that infinitesimal flash when a moment will change. So the “now” isn’t really about the moment in time, it’s about the change.
I’ve been obsessed with change since I was little. I’ve watched it held in suspension around me–moments in time when I noticed that a plant was about to bloom, or a tiny filament of light rush to life. The immense privilege of the moment.
For me, today, change is in the stack of books and magazines I found at the library this morning. It’s choosing them and a cup of tea and a snack by the window, bathed in the afternoon light. It’s taking a long moment to do things that I love and to enjoy every little second of it. It’s remembering that the only way to be aware of the now and the moment and the change is to pay attention.
And it’s also, right now, as I hear sad news while I write this, a sudden and blinding recognition of how quickly time marches by and how intensely we must gather our moments together like a bundle of flowers and appreciate them slowly and fully. Now is fleeting. It so quickly becomes the past.