Off the treadmill

Yesterday was one of those fall days that makes me appreciate life in our little corner of the world. I looked out across the city to the Blow Me Down Mountains and the fall colors on the hills on the west side. It was calming to take that moment to really see what's right before me. I know I often miss the blessing that's in front of me, because I'm too busy doing what "needs to be done". I told someone last night that I feel like I'm on a treadmill. I'm doing a whole lot of moving, but I'm not getting very far. But I sure do find myself getting tired. It feels sometimes like life is just an endless litany of "What do I have to do next?" I'm a terrible procrastinator in some ways, with projects that seem too big, too monumental to attempt. I'll never be able to get that done, so why start? I get bogged down in the minutiae of life: making lunches, paying bills, cleaning the bathroom. But the big picture gets lost. Weeks, even months, go by without spending time with friends, or picking up the phone to call someone with whom I haven't spoken in far too long. I'm resolving to do my best to get off the treadmill more, and experience the relationships that life is really all about. At the end of my journey, I want to be able to say I did more than just finish my to-do list. I may never get all those items ticked off, but I hope my life will have touched others in some meaningful way.

The here and now

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the brevity of life. There's a song I love that has a line, "From life's first cry, to final breath." It reminds me of my son's entrance into this world -- that first cry that lets a mother know, "He's breathing, he's living, he's here!" It reminds me also of the end of my father's life on this earth, his weakened body aching for rest, his soul on the threshold of eternity. I reflect on how all of life is really bookended by those two -- first cry, final breath. What we live and experience here is between those bookends. Every single breath is precious. Every single opportunity to love and be loved. We are all born; we will all die. It's what we do between the bookends that counts. So, while I rejoice that I was blessed with a son who was born at one finite celebratory moment, I try to treasure him in the here and now. He's not a baby, but he's my boy. A bundle of energy, full of fun; a thinker, full of wisdom that belies his few short years; an innocent soul, who still trusts in the goodness of people and is hurt when what he sees and experiences contradicts that trust; a would-be comedian, whose greatest joy comes simply from making you laugh. And, while I now know the pain of missing someone I loved, I try to remember that life is a journey, as my Dad would say, and that his exit from this life is just another part of the journey, and the beginning of a better life for him. And I try to treasure my mother in the here and now. My father's passing reminds me that I will not always have her with me either. Life here is not forever. But love is.