Where Are You Right Now?

June 17, 2016.

Right now. 9:29am.
A racket of birds. Coffee, no longer hot. My second cup. In a blue mug a member of many of my groups sent me last winter. I treasure these gifts.

Right now. 9:30am.
Crows. Cut-off jean shorts. Frayed edges. A soft sleep shirt that says FIVE MORE MINUTES. A breath in, breath pushing against my chest. The slightest touching of teeth.

Right now. 9:31am.
Cars going by. Thoughts going by. Thoughts of birds and breath. Are there these kinds of songbirds in Southern California? Thoughts of family. Thoughts of who is family. Thoughts that are not right now. 

Right now. 9:32am.
The breeze cool against my bare legs. Sit up a little more. Round shoulders back. Typing on my phone on our little side porch.

Right now. 9:33am.
Kids’ last day of school. Now I no longer call them my “girlies.”

Right now. 9:34am.
There is enough right now to fill volumes. And yet how much of it is really right now? I fool myself with all the thoughts of now that aren’t roses.

Right now. 9:35am.
What time did I begin? It doesn’t matter. Here I am. Dried out, split and cracked wooden steps. I am not in a position to replace them. Not right now.

Right now. 9:36am.
The gift of slowing. Fist opens. Heart peeks out.

Right now. 9:37am.
Will it be enough? The Hamilton soundtrack carried us through the past few months. Would it be enough? Why do you write like you’re running out of time?

Right now. 9:38am.
I’m running out of time. How can we live with a pairing of presence and urgency? I don’t ask how. I love.

Right now. 9:39am.
Gratitude settles across the back of my neck. Tickles up shoulder blades to back of throat. It becomes a voice that is a song. I open my mouth and exhale.

Where are you right now — and what if you took 10 minutes, to find out? 

8 thoughts on “Where Are You Right Now?

  1. Pamela says:

    Thank you Jena!

    I am making both instant pudding and cupcakes from a mix with the boys because they couldn’t decide. The kitchen is a mess and I am marveling that it is a year to the day that my husband came home from Bahrain. I am so in love with Hawaii and the land here that it hurts. It hurts right here. You know the place.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. caramckee says:

    I love this. I love the way you catch the thoughts and let them go. Right now it’s 8.08am and I can hear my family downstairs. My husband has let me sleep because he knows I was out late last night. I was out with the book group I run. I think it’s sputtering out. I think I should stop it now before it becomes more of a chore than a joy. Only five people came. We were talking about two books but only three of us had read them. We also talked of our children and teachers and it was fun. At the end there were two of us and we drank and laughed and were distracted by Italian sailors giving us the glad eye. And I have been up and down all night, not feeling well. But I am glad it was good because I think I’ve decided it’s done. Now I’m hungry but don’t want to eat, and I’m tired but can’t sleep so I’ll go downstairs and talk to my family. Good morning. It’s 8.15am.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Tara Borin says:

    Right now I’m at my kitchen table, eating oatmeal and drinking green tea. My boys are pestering each other over and the baby is trying to climb out of her highchair. I come back to my breath, I center myself, I try to be calm. This will pass.

    Loved this post, Jena. My biggest practice these days, bigger than writing or anything else, is a practice of remaining in the present. And I think the urgency is only to be in the present, because that’s all we’ve got. Now, and now, and now.

    Liked by 1 person


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