ice day

Working from home today. The last few days I have been driving to Iowa in dense fog - the entire earth seems shrouded in white. Desolation seems the theme, and then, rising gracefully out of the haze there's this tree. It is stately, tall, and crystallized, and I am amazed at its beauty. I think to myself, this is something I should appreciate. This is something that I should notice. Afraid to stop, I keep driving and wish I had a camera. This will not last, and I will forget when the fog lifts and the sun shines. I will never remember the quiet of this morning. Not sure how to feel about this.

So many of life's special moments are this way. When Scout takes my face in his hands and gently rubs my cheeks, or the way he "reads" his favorite books to me, getting some of the words mixed up, and looking to me for guidance. Will I forget the serious look he gets on his face when he's puzzled, or the joy I see when I surprise him at daycare and he rushes into my arms and says, "Mommy."

While the human brain is amazing, in its imperfection it omits the memories of these little details of life in favor of important dates or deadlines. And I wish the opposite were true. I wish I had a camera in my pocket every day so that I could take the picture that would record these moments. And then I remember that the camera can't record the feelings, the joy, the awe, the silence. Just pictures. Words are in the same way never good enough to help us relive those moments.

And so for me the takeaway is this: Stop, close your eyes, and be - in that moment, in that place, with that feeling. See what there is to see, not just on the surface, but the essence. Hear the silence, feel the joy, touch the magic places and know that they are fleeting. It is in those moments, we are one with what is divine and awesome and perfect. It is in those moments that we are truly alive.