Right here, right now
First things first: Last week I updated you on the result I, unfortunately, received from my Cologuard test. The response of well-wishers has been as healing as any medicine or procedure I might receive as I move forward. Thank you.
I told you I'd keep you in the loop so, in speaking with my doctor, she reaffirmed that the majority of results like mine turn out to be minor, but wants me to proceed with a colonoscopy. I was told that — in my neck of the woods — we don't have any doctors who specialize in that procedure. (I believe they're called “gastroenterologists” but I could be mistaken.) She said, however, that there are plenty of surgeons who can do that and the timetable appears to be about two months before I will have an appointment.
Of course, I'd rather have it over with now, but, as the expression goes, “If wishes were fishes, we'd all swim in riches.” Truth be told, if my wishes were fishes, I'd have received a negative result. Alas, I — as in so much of life — must either be in denial or accept what is.
I'm choosing the latter, which leads me to my point because so much of what there is can only be described as marvelous.
Fear exists in the future. When we are afraid, it's because we are imagining what could happen down the road. Our minds begin to spin on all the horrible outcomes that might — or might not —unveil themselves to us in the future. In actuality, 99% of the time, in the present, we're fine. Therefore, to keep that fear at bay, we need to stay focused and present; not always an easy task, I'll admit.
For me, when forced to stay in the present tense, I find myself observing a great deal of splendor and peace that frequently go unnoticed. Why I don't pay as much attention more often is anyone's guess, yet it is indeed a gift I'm learning to treasure.
I have referred to them as “perfect moments” previously. If one is willing to look, these perfect moments pop up in the most mundane places.
As an example, we've had a great deal of rain lately; our street gutters have become creeks, babbling, bouncing, bubbling streams of water scurrying down the slope of the avenues to find safe haven in storm drains, like cats scurrying under a house for safety. While on my walk, I pause to observe the clear water of the latest rainfall disappearing under the street, unstopped by the wilted, tired, brown leaves partially blocking the steel grid. The sound of the water whooshing and dripping as it plummets into the depths creates a form of white noise. On busier, less important days, I would have stepped over it, continuing on my daily trajectory. Not so this time; instead, I plant my feet and observe as this miniature urban tributary creates a moment of solace and peace on my eventful day.
Sitting at the coffee shop, a savory scone broken into pieces on my clear glass plate, I nibble the crumbs, while talking with my adult son. The subject matter is nothing new; I'm sure fathers and sons have shared this scene since apes first swung down from the trees. Yet, as I sit there, grateful for this moment, I realize that everyone else in the restaurant was probably engaged in their own perfect moments. Snippets of conversations from different strangers made themselves known as the background noise in our tete-a-tete:
“Wow! That's amazing! I'm so happy for you! You deserve it!”
“You're going to love it there. The breeze is so warm and the way the sand feels between your toes is marvelous. I'm so jealous. I wish I could go with you.”
“How does it feel to be a grandmother? I know you've wanted to be one for a long time.”
Although I only overhear a few words, each sentence unfolds a complete story; the building blocks of what our lives are made of.
My son and I talk about my test and his employment prospects, and we started to make plans to get away together. The bell on the eatery's door clinks each time someone enters or leaves the establishment; angels getting their wings somewhere, I'm sure. Despite the crowd and the noise, the loveliness of this perfect moment elevates me to a higher level of appreciation and joy.
As the day ends, I crawl under the blankets and scoot up against my bride of almost 30 years. She goes to bed before me so I try not to wake her as I make myself comfortable and prepare to be accepted into the arms of Hypnos, the God of sleep, paying little mind to the slight, faint, intermittent whoosh of traffic as late-night motorists drive down our street. Our dog, asleep in his kennel, grunts as he chases imaginary animals in what sounds like a wild dream. Through the slightly open window, I hear the drip-drip-drip of rain as it splats lazily on our deck. I listen to the relaxed sound of my wife's breathing as she inhales and exhales deeply in the dark room, her shape barely visible via the slight glow of a nightlight in the hallway shining softly yellow through our open bedroom door, allowing our two cats to enter and leave as they see fit.
I allow myself to simply “be.” I am right here, right now, unconcerned about the state of world affairs, the cost of groceries, or the lack of GI specialists in Humboldt County.
Right now, there is only peace, quiet and beauty.
It is my last thought for the day, except for gratitude.