I’m writing for the first time in a public place, surrounded by bustling lunch goers in a fancy DC deli. The humidity beats at the glass window pane separating me from its oppressive stickiness and I delight in the dry crisp indulgence of the over-powered air-conditioner as I eat a chocolate cupcake that I don’t need, but oh so delight in eating, slowly, bite by bite.
A child’s laughter breaks through the music playing on my headphones and it makes me smile. The sounds of other people’s children are always delightful, I think to myself, as I continue lavishing myself in my own chocolate world. Then I realize:
This is life on the other side of busy.
This is life lived in a moment, fully present, and fully alive. Fully here and fully now. Here in this chocolate cupcake and these words.
This is life lived, not hurried through.
I am still uncomfortable here in the peaceful glow of the present. I fidget, just counting the minutes until it passes, until I slip into the past or slide into the future. Until I become consumed with what I have to do, or haven’t done, and lose the sweet peace and comfort of this very moment.
But for now, I am here. Right here. Right now.
Thinking that maybe busyness is the biggest obstacle to a life well-lived.
That we need quiet to find peace.
That maybe letting go is really the only choice we ever get to make.