Rooted in Now

April 23, 2014

My friend Kristy and I must share a brain on some level. We sometimes pen similar blog posts on the same day and only after we share them with each other do we realize how closely our thoughts aligned. Or we preview posts before they are published and have conversations that can be extensions of the post. That is what happened today. Kristy published this post about dreaming, about happiness, about the struggle to balance drive with contentment. To yearn but be happy with reality. To plan but know that everything is in perfect order.

In our conversation she suggested that I make my responses a post. My interpretation to her thoughts. And we foresee this being something we do more of, too. My post, her response. Her post, my response. Because it’s from sharing ourselves with others, from being vulnerable and communicating that we grow most deeply. 

The other day on a trail run I glimpsed a bit of yellow along the neutral hues of leaves and pine needles. I passed the first one, immediately wished I had stopped to see just what it was, but kept going ahead. Until I saw another. I crouched and smiled at the single, resting honeysuckle bloom. It was so simple and yet held so much beauty and life. As I moved along the trail, I found more of the blooms, always singular, always brightly yellow.

I chose the trails that day because I didn’t want to fret about running pace for my long run. It’s no secret that I get consumed by my Garmin, but when I’m on the trails, even if the pace is displayed, I rarely look at it. I think it is partly knowing that I will slow down on the trails and partly simply not caring what my pace is. My feet feel light and happy, my heart soars, my head is clear when I find myself there.

What I realize on those kinds of trail runs, what the honeysuckles made me remember even more acutely is that the only thing we have for sure is now. We have to let go of our ego’s hold on how what we might be or might have one day will define us. It’s when the quietness at our root seeps in beyond the static that we remember: running faster or taking a better picture or writing the perfect essay doesn’t define anything about the real us. It merely strokes the ego. And we do have to find success in this world; goals are important. But we also have to trust in what is now and who we are before and after those achievements, finding a deep and unwavering happiness in who we are at the root of our being, and in the quiet stillness beyond our thoughts is where it is found.

I get glimpses of it during yoga or while on a run when I’m not obsessed with time. Or most often when I simply sit in the sunshine or spy a lone honeysuckle resting on pine straw or chance upon tall trees spiraling out of the water.

We are the constant light of the sun: always shining and always full of love. If we can remember that, even a just little, if we can be as stalwart as the sun’s rays in maintaining presence and trust, our lives will unfold beautifully before our eyes.

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