8:00am. I am forty five minutes late already! I still need to shower — do I have any clean underwear? Oh no! I didn’t shave my legs, so no skirt today. Wait?! Is it Friday? It’s Friday and I haven’t written my blog entry. So I need to wash my underwear, write my blog entry, shave my legs before I leave in . . . 10 minutes . . . hmm . . . Okay, I can do this — oh shoot my mom is calling, that’s right I told her I would have time to talk at 8:00 this morning, should I answer the phone? Yes. She is your mother and you love her, answer the phone . . . but then I won’t have time to shave my legs. Okay, went to voice mail . . . I’ll call her back in the cab–I’ll take a cab! If I take a cab instead of the train that will give me an extra thirty minutes and I can make phone calls and think about the blog post on the way into the city. Perfect . . . okay — Shit, look how fat my legs are, seriously? Come on Allison, did you need that extra glass of wine? Underwear — you need to clean some underwear — okay — no. I’ll just buy some while I am out. I am wearing pants anyway. Now just focus on getting out the door — oh crap! I forgot to call my agent back. Another phone call for the cab. Dammit, she’ll think I am the biggest flake ever. OK, agent first, then Mom, then underwear . . . what am I forgetting?
Stop. Just stop. See the beauty in the intensity of being here now. Stop.
The searching and the seeking just avoids living. Living is here, now. Understand and appreciate all I am, all I have been given . . . so stop. Just stop.
If I just sit here . . . now . . . . uncensored thoughts and feelings . . . unencumbered intensity oozing out of every pore. Maple syrup dripping over a stack of pancakes. Too much richness to soak it all in.
I am blessed with such “excess.” I begin to salivate and within minutes my mouth is filled with some delicious nourishment. I start to feel a chill and before my teeth chatter I am wrapped in a cashmere blanket. I never want for comfort. I am abundant in this. It is my soul that aches. My insides that feel pain. Not the tangible blood and guts, but the ‘me’ beyond anything tactile or movable. The me that is impenetrable and infinite. The self. The true self.
This exists everywhere. In every moment of a simple afternoon. I walk up to the apex of my Brooklyn Bridge, between the two archways where you can see straight up the east side of the city and out past Ellis Island. I weave in and out of the tourists sporting different accents taking pictures of my favourite sunset, the one that hides right behind the Statue of Liberty.
And I see it on the way back. I purchase a coffee from the sweet woman with a ring through her nose and I ask her how she is doing. I look behind the eyes I stare into; I pay attention. I see there is something more. Something beyond my senses.
“A little sad today,” she says.
“Yeah? Me too.” I reply.
“I think I just need a good cry,” she concludes.
An honest statement in a robotic world. I pay attention.
If I stop with the chattering distractions of “stuff,” cease the to-do list, the have to’s, relationships and deadlines . . . all things of great importance . . . I get this moment, this person, this honesty, this chance to connect with myself and her. Awkward and human. The human in the human. The perfectly flawed self.
I could have these moments with my mother, my agent, my to-do list, my underwear even. All of this is important, but why each is important is where I get confused. I am not enslaved to my life like I tell myself I am. I forget that these are opportunities, chances for me to experience myself.
And when I fall in love with the depth of myself, maybe I won’t be a scratch looking for an itch. All the illogical blame and hatred could fall away and I might see that we are all striving to be present for the most curious and chaotic experiences possible.
Nerve endings firing, heart breaking, soul searching self. The infinite possibility of possibilities. Accept it. And then you can fully accept all.