A few months ago I choked back tears as I walked the empty rooms of my home. I took in the blue walls of my office with the bookshelf Mason built me. I imagined where my furniture used to be. I imagined never again seeing the place where I’d built my home. I was about to lock the door behind me and say goodbye to the life I imagined, get into my car, and drive 40+ hours to my new home.
Now, a few months later Mason and I are looking at the possibility of another move. While the idea excites me I also want to dig my heels and stay a little longer. There are more adventures to be had here, things to see, people to meet. I don’t feel like I scratched the surface of this new life before I might have to leave it behind. But I also find myself looking toward the future, trying to grasp that new thing.
A little voice inside of me is saying, “Shh, Shelbie. Don’t miss this moment. This moment right here. Don’t miss it. Don’t let it pass you by.”
When I worry about what I might lose or when I reach toward the future I forget the present.
The present.
The here and now.
This moment.
I’m a planner. I like to have a rough draft of the year (or the next 5) cataloged in my mind. Life is like an event I try to plan for and wrap a bow around. But sometimes I miss things.
I miss the quiet (seemingly) boring days in Michigan where I didn’t realize how special it was to have my family only 30 minutes away. I miss the mundane Florida days when I waited for life to happen instead of investing in the relationships around me. I miss the little moments of being a nanny where I was on my phone when I could have been snuggling E. I miss the minutes I could have been giving my husband all of my attention instead of secluding myself in a book.
When I shift my focus from what’s right in front of me I miss THE MOMENT. I miss now.
It may not be for another month or year, but I will miss this moment right now. For the past week I’ve tried to gather the moments, catalog them in my mind and not miss them. I’ve looked out the window of my third-floor apartment at the distant windmill farm on the hills and thought, this might seem boring but one day I’ll miss it.
I’ve made the mistake of looking toward the future too much. When I look forward to visiting family, going on a vacation, moving, or having a baby someday that I miss the little moments. I miss the smile (or frown) on Mason’s face when he comes home from work to see me making dinner. I miss the tranquility of the sun shining through the window and giving me peace. I miss the route I walk Winston. I miss LIFE.
The moments we take for granted today are the moments we’ll miss tomorrow. Live life to the fullest by grabbing ahold of today.
So I’m trying to lean in, trying to grab hold of the moment, trying to see the beauty in the mundane, and live life to the fullest.