Yes, I realize this is Tuesday.
It’s hard to be mindful on a Monday, that day of all days beginning the work week. No one enjoys rising early ~ at least I don’t~ and Monday is my early day. I pay for lack of preparedness by the scramble.
Most Mondays are filled up with activity. Work. school drop-off and pick-up, appointments, errands, choir, the day rolls from activity to activity, my mind racing ahead from one moment to the next.
Settling into work at my studio after getting everyone situated at school, I’m thwarted by a laptop that didn’t make it into the work bag and settle in to an hour of tasks that don’t require technology before leaving to finish those at my dining room table.
My unexpected return home disrupts the dog, who now needs his walk. There are library books to return, so I leash him, stuffing dog waste bags into my cardigan pocket.
I leave the phone behind intentionally, stepping out into the brilliant blue of fall. Can I inhabit this moment without rushing it? That is my question.
Focusing on the crunch of leaves underfoot and the sound of heavy machinery working on downtown construction finds me able to answer, Yes! Yes, I can!
I soar in the moment before being jerked to a halt by a dog bracing himself to do his business ~ very conspicously~ on a downtown sidewalk.
Sometimes inhabiting the moment literally stinks.
Balancing the library book bag on my shoulder, removing a cluster of green bags from sweater pocket and clumsily trying to tear off just one, squatting down to pick up the mess while holding the leash securely finds me wobbling in my ankle boots.
Looking back over my shoulder at the elderly man in his car, parked facing the sidewalk with driver’s side window down, I laugh, I hope you are enjoying this free morning show! We smile at each other as I stand and tie off the green bag. He nods. I continue walking towards the library to deposit the books.
Heading home, I reel my mind back from its frantic race ahead. There is still time left in the brilliant blue as I walk in the present.
My fitness tracker notes a pace that is slow, refusing to close its exercise ring as quickly as I would like.
I return home with an hour to spend before moving into the appointments, errands, school pick-up, choir, and evening family management part of the day. I anchor to a spot at the dining room table, open my laptop, and work.
The moments move on, and I choose to engage them with curiosity. When I am being mindful I am like a blank page hoping to be filled with words as I wait for an appointment to end.