It rained hard last night.
The kind of pounding against the roof that at 1am, woke me up disoriented, scrambling to close windows, while reassuring my children that everything was okay.
Grabbing a glass of water, I tried to read and then to write and then to turn off the light and finally, acquiesced to change my 4:30am gym alarm to a 6:30am wake the kids up one.
While fighting to go back to sleep, I thought, I hate being alone with my thoughts. Neurotic and worrisome, I'm constantly thinking about everything I need to get done, questioning how it's going to get done and then second guessing the bigger questions.
Rolling over to turn off the alarm, I steadied my way down the stairs to the coffee pot and breathed. "Every moment is a choice and in this one, choose joy," I banged out in my best self-help voice. The good news was that Claire (5) and I had no where to be, so we donned our rain garb and headed out for an outdoor adventure.
Halfway down the path, she jumped in the biggest puddle known to man, drenched her dress and soaked her socks. A little ways farther, she spent what felt like an eternity, having an in-depth dialogue with a worm that she was horrified to discover, was deceased. I told her in different words that last night's storm was a ferocious bitch and then we said a "Hail Mary" for our wayward friend.
Just as I was getting tired of doing nothing, she noticed a man rollerblading holding the leashes of two wiener dogs and she belted out, "That's dangerous. Where's your helmet?" I thought for sure, he would glide right past us with his canines, but instead, he stopped and said, "You're right. It's in my car. I'll grab it." And to my amazement, he wasn't put off at all.
She looked at me beaming and said, "Safety first."
Watching her catapult down the slide, wriggle sand between her toes and try to introduce herself to the little people at the park, it made me thankful that I left my phone at home. I couldn't take a picture of her. I couldn't check to see if the AC inspection people called back. I couldn't see if it was going to rain later this afternoon. I couldn't do anything other than feel the wind, watch her play and soak in the 60 degree May morning.
And I realized that the real life happens in the margins, not in the calendar.
While I pawn off these moments as boring or burdensome as I try to get the real things done...the truth of it is...that this is what it means to literally live in the moment free of the fear of what there is to do and worry for how it won't measure up.
This weekend, I'm headed by myself to write...all. weekend. long. And already, I've thought about canceling the trip a million times. What if they need me? What if it rains? What if I'm by myself and I can't stop thinking?
I think if that happens, I'm going to find a dead worm and have a conversation with it. I feel like that's a good place to start...