For a few days now I’ve been gleefully gloating over the fact that we are well over halfway through with the final full month of winter, happy to report on the rushed hustle winter has suddenly decided to take. The days were gladly crossed off whatever calendar was in my vicinity, and winter weeks ticked away, lost without regret or mourning, and here we are, with just a week of February left. As is often the case in these twist-filled lessons, I find myself wanting it to slow and stop now, to pause and dwell here in this moment, where the magic of winter is still at work, the way it can always be at work when we work to be present and mindful.
I’m reminded in the gentle words of a friend that it’s never too late. She was being ambiguous, droning on with tried and true cliches, and though they echoed with emptiness, they also echoed with comfort.
Rather than rushing us through the rest of the winter, I will re-connect with the intention to be mindful, to be present, to be here for all of the moments, especially with the ones I love. I felt myself rushing on a recent Sunday when I was departing from Boston. Attempting to avoid Sunday traffic, I was antsy to get on the road, while Kira stalled a bit, taking her time and inadvertently showing me a different way to live.
And here I am, already jumping ahead to the end of the weekend when I want to go back and do it all over again, enjoying every moment, being mindful of the time we had together, making it all count when it happens rather than when it’s over. I will slow it down, and tell the story in a little while.
