The Now

I am painting at the picnic table in my little temporary yard. The windows and door to Junebug are open, and the breeze is blowing a low-tide aroma in my direction — the same stagnant, wet-earth smell that has been blowing in from the east for several days now. I’m used to it, and I accept it as part of nature.

There is a dove cooing in the trees. Two rambunctious squirrels (or twelve?) are scraping their little claws on the dry tree bark as they race up and down, to and fro, with whatever treasures they are trying to keep from each other. A cardinal peeps from a sapling just fifteen feet from where I sit in this awkward chair with my glass of Cabernet.

And there it is: the sound of munching behind me. I crane my neck around to see, knowing what it is before I lay eyes on the little bunny who has come to visit me again — and her bowl of Adult Rabbit Food that I keep out by my steps. She has made her rounds to the rest of the campground for the day while I was exploring Jekyll Island’s lime-green framed tributaries by paddleboard, collecting untold amounts of carrots, lettuce, and whatever else fellow campers have yanked out of their tiny refrigerators in hurried handfuls.

I say hello, sing her the bun-bun song, and return to my paints. I have just painted three more watercolors — bunnies, of course — and am winding down this Sunday by relaxing in a way I haven’t enjoyed in many weeks. Months, maybe. Reading, painting, sitting. No television, no grocery store rush trips to stock up for the week. I am simply here. Doing nothing but Being.

Things have finally slowed down. Life. I’m not riding a well-worn track based on habit and routine. I’m letting each week–each day–take me where it will, and the feelings of guilt over what I “should be” doing are fading slowly. Oh, they’re still there, rearing their ugly heads on occasion: why are you still in bed at 8 am on a Sunday? You need to get out and DO something! Why are you reading a book? You should be working out. All of the guilts of daily life take some time to tamp down as I learn to appreciate the Now.

A friend of mine is having one of the worst days of her life. Her little pet is passing away; tomorrow’s appointment will give this kitty her freedom from pain and discomfort. And I’m filled with thoughts for her, reaching out and trying to deliver telepathic peace to her. I’m sad for her, and the sadness reminds me of my own sadness at the not-so-distant loss of one of my sweets. And I realize that, no matter where we are in life, no matter how great of a place we’re in, how much money we have in the bank, how successful we are — nothing removes the sadness of some things. When people remark at a rich, famous celebrity who has taken his life, and they say, “How could he do it? He had EVERYthing!” Guess what? It doesn’t matter. Money? Fame? Can they replace that part of your brain that processes sadness, or loneliness? Nope. You are what you think. You are what is in your head. You are your Now.

This is why I’m doing this. Traveling. Exploring. Journeying to new places. Because life is short. And happiness isn’t about padded bank accounts. Or a healthy physique. Or the number of friends you can rack up. I want to live while I can, and this trek is just one chapter in the beginning of my book.

And so, as the bun-bun and I relax and enjoy a little Eric Church streaming from Junebug’s outdoor speakers and my Cabernet makes me warm and fuzzy — and, okay, a little bit melancholy — I wish you a great, exploratory, fun, no-holds-barred week. Get out there and make some Now moments in your life.