The Art of the Savoring: Finding Peace in the "Right Now"
We spend so much of our lives acting like passengers on a high-speed train, pressing our faces against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the station ahead. We convince ourselves that the real journey starts at the next stop. I know this because I’ve spent most of my life holding a ticket for a destination that hadn’t arrived yet.
Looking back, my life was a series of impatient transitions. In high school, I was suffocating in the hallways, desperate for the independence of college. Once I got to college, the degree didn't feel like the prize—getting married to the man I loved did. A year into marriage, the quiet of the house felt like a void that only motherhood could fill.
Even when I got exactly what I prayed for, the anxiety didn't stop; it just changed shape. When my son, Liam, was born, I wasn't just holding a baby; I was holding a checklist.
When will he sit up? Is he crawling yet? Why isn't he walking? I was so busy measuring his progress against a timeline that I sometimes forgot to just enjoy the weight of him in my arms. I was living in the "what if" and the "when," treating the present like a waiting room for the future.
The Hardest Lesson
Then came the diagnosis. When Keith got sick, my "next step" mentality shifted into survival mode. I pinned every ounce of my happiness on the day he would get better. I told myself that once we cleared this hurdle, then we could start living again. I viewed his illness as a temporary interruption to our real lives.
Because I was so focused on the logical next step—recovery—I didn't let myself see the other possibility. I was so busy waiting for the "after" that I missed the beauty of the "during." I missed the quiet moments, the shared smiles over coffee, and the simple rhythm of our days, because I was too anxious about the medical charts.
Losing Keith was a shattering wake-up call. I thought the cancer was the worst of it, but the grief that followed taught me something even more profound: Life doesn’t wait for things to be perfect before it starts.
A Life Well Lived
Today, I’m learning to trade my anxiety for gratitude. It isn't easy to break a lifetime of looking ahead, but losing Keith taught me that our days are finite. We are not guaranteed a "next step."
So, I’m trying to just savor each moment. Let God worry about the future, and I’ll just do what needs to be done in the present.
I’ve realized that a life well lived isn't defined by reaching milestones or checking off goals. It’s defined by the quality of our presence in the mundane moments. It’s watching Liam play without wondering what he’ll be doing next year. It’s breathing in the air today without worrying about the storm forecast for tomorrow.
If you find yourself constantly leaning into the future, take a breath. Look at what is right in front of you. The future will arrive in its own time, but the present is a gift that, once gone, we can never get back. Let’s choose to savor it.
Comments