I have five minutes.
Not enough time to write, right?
Certainly not enough time to clean the house.
Or just enough, just the right amount.
It turns out that the only thing stopping me is myself,
my list of rules.
It has to be good.
It has to be meaningful.
It has to be beautiful.
But really, here I am.
Raising my hand,
showing up fully, if only for a few minutes.
At 3:30 this morning,
Pearl kicked and screamed and scratched and clawed at me.
I sat like a statue in her bed.
Finally, she succumbed to the pillow.
“Night night me,” she said.
We slept fitfully this way till 6:00.
Sometimes I start looking forward to my coffee
before I’ve even gone to bed at night.
Today, I was tempted to cling to my lack of sleep.
I was tempted to be cranky and resentful.
I was tempted to be tense and terse.
But then, there was this one moment.
(A moment is always one, isn’t it?)
In that moment, my kids were actually playing nicely outside.
In that moment, my husband was standing across from me.
In that moment, I looked at his face.
I touched his shirt.
He put his arm around me.
And nothing was wrong.
The night was over.
The next meltdown had not yet happened.
The next freakout was still moments away.
And for a moment – just one – I understood this whole business
about the present moment being all that exists.
And I practiced.