"Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the Summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day ... Make a wish and think of me." -Robin Williams
Each time the Summer Solstice rolls around for the Northern Hemisphere focus is mainly put on the sun, the length of the days, the warmth of the season, and the promise of abundance, and all of those things are true enough, I suppose, but today my mind is on the brevity of the night. Last night, the time between astronomical twilight(s); the actual darkness of night was only 1 hour, and 43 minutes before daylight came inching back. I went outside, because of course I was awake, and felt the damp night air on my face, and savored the faint perfume of a sweet Summer beach. In that tiny instant I felt alive in a way where all of my senses are awake at once, and refreshed. In an otherwise small, and unremarkable moment I knew I was existing in the flash.
In the era of wellness, self-care, mental health de-stigmatization, and soft living, "the moment" or "the present" has become, like, one of the major commandments of modern life. And I get it, being present actually is important and healthy, but the minute you give something a catch phrase you have people live, laugh, loving their asses off searching for whatever the mysterious "moment" is instead of realizing it's just this ... right now ... whatever that is. I have so many friends frantically trying to chase or create "moments" they can pause and be aware of, wondering why they're no happier or more fulfilled. That's not how it works, it's not a goal, it's not a thing you can attain. You can't plan the flash.
The flash just comes, and it's up to you if you want to be aware of it or not, if you let it change you or not, if you let it destroy or uplift you. We all know what it is, it's an age old cliche too, but I think much more useful. We've all heard how something "changed in a flash." That's it! That's the moment. The thing is though, it doesn't always have to pertain to near-death experiences, or tragedy, or extreme loss, it can be all the lightning fast good things that go as swiftly as they arrived, but left a lasting impression. It can be a brief love affair, a surprise promotion, a chance opportunity, a smile from a stranger, a Spring breeze, and everything in between.
The flash has been tugging at my heart and mind a lot lately. When my sisters and I were growing up, our mother always, always, always used to say, "You never know what's around the next corner!" This was her go-to phrase that worked for a lot of different circumstances ... I suppose it's a bit like, this too shall pass, but I think a lot more optimistic; something to be excited about, something that inspired hope, and had a way of motivating a gal whether she was displeased with her current situation, or just super excited about the next. It kept us in the game, aware of what's happening right now, but also curious about what's next. As I look back on things, it was the surprises lurking around the corners that have shaped my life in more significant ways than all of the things I've sat down and planned out for myself. The magic truly is in the moment, or at least it has been for me, which is a hell of a thing for a borderline obsessive-planner like me to admit.
I know a lot of people, instead of finding ways to enjoy right now, they're struggling to find, or see their life's purpose, or wrap their minds around the big picture of their existence ... And I think the fundamental flaw in that is looking for one in the first place. I think there are very few people who actually do recognize their purpose while they're here; the folks that have that no-mistaking, deep soul calling that puts them on a certain path, while the rest of us are just sort of winging it, and I don't think either way is more or less correct than the other. Whichever category you fall into though, I think desperately seeking your purpose is like trying to hear a song while you're writing it. Sure, you can get the gist in your head, and "hear" how you think it's supposed to be composed, but you absolutely can never hear the whole piece in its entirety until it's done, and as humans, we won't be finished writing it until we're finished living. Hopefully, on my death bed I won't find out my magnum opus was only played on an 8-hole recorder, but even if that's how it turns out I'm committed to feeling, enjoying, and dancing to every note as its played, and releasing the desire to hear the whole song at once. There will be a time for that, but not today.
And in a flash, the blog post was over.
Jolly Solstice tidings!
