On arriving...

When will I get there?

There is this striving in me.

A yearning to finish what I'm doing here so I can get there.

If only I can finish this, then I can finally do that.

But where am I trying to get to?

And why do I think it is so much better and more important than what I'm doing right here, right now?
​

I have become acutely aware of this striving in myself.

Even when I'm doing something I really love, I often find that in some corner of my mind, there's the thought that there is something more or better I should be, I could be doing instead. But what?

It has become part of my daily practice off the mat to become aware of this striving.

Heading into the grocery store I notice I just want to finish shopping so I can....what?

Chopping vegetables in my kitchen just wanting to finish the chopping so I can...what?

Walking across the street with Vince and Vincent, trying to get to the other side so I can...what?

I kindly remind myself: I will never finish. I will never arrive.

Because what I'm doing in any moment is what I'm doing and if I can only BE in that moment, I'll be fascinated and in awe of what that is. The poignancy of what is right in front of me. Which always, and I mean ALWAYS, turns out to be some amazing, majestic, even sometimes beautifully painful, array of colors, sights, sounds, feelings, emotions, smells, touch, and taste.

I practice, just being here, instead of longing to be there.

I notice...

The woman who holds the door open for me as I enter the grocery store. The gentle smile on her face. The whiff of her soapy perfume.

...aware of...

The bright, red pepper on my cutting board. The blade. The slice. The juice spilling out.

The warm, soft feel of my boys' hands in mine. The delicate touch of their fingers landing somewhere on the back of my hands. The swish of emotion.

This is it.

There's nowhere better to be.

I have arrived.

📸June 2019, Cortona, Italy on my walk up up up to the Basilica of Santa Margherita
​