A Squirrel, Some Seeds, and the Present Moment

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This time of year I find myself thinking about the constant state of change we're all in.

It can be comforting and scary at the same time.

Comforting because change means nothing stays stuck forever. Scary because you can't always see where things are going or how they'll unfold.

Lately, I've been starting to see some of that change in my own life.

I've been planting a lot of seeds, and I'm finally seeing at least a glimmer that some of them are taking root. That things are trending in the right direction.

I spent a few summers as a kid helping with the argan harvest in Morocco, so I know there's patience, work, and waiting between a seed and what it eventually becomes.

And I know the things I'm building now will need that too.

But some of the change I'm noticing isn't tangible.

There are things that feel like they're coming to an end too.

One of those is a period of time when I was stuck in a spiral of more negative thinking, with even a sprinkling of hopelessness.

There's still a little grime left over, but I feel as though I've come up for air enough that I'm starting to see the ways things can still work in my favor.

So I'm in this strange in-between where some things are ending, other things are beginning to take root, and I don't know exactly how all of it will unfold yet.

And maybe that's part of why I've been thinking so much about what happens while we're waiting for those seeds to grow.

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Lately I've been noticing how easy it is to get so swept up in the demands of the future that you lose perspective of the current blessings and the current life going on around you.

If you're not careful, you miss out on it.

I notice this in myself.

I'm trying to build so much that being present in the moment can be difficult. There are times when I don't have much mental space to do anything other than work, sleep, and repeat.

And it's interesting because I've said before that perspective is everything.

But even when you're using all the tools, there are still going to be times when the stresses of life start to skew your perspective.

I got so caught up in what I'm trying to build, what still needs to happen, and where I'm trying to go that I lost sight of the life that's actually happening while I'm trying to get there.

And that includes the people in it.

The connections and the warmth of those around you who show you you're not alone, even if sometimes they do that simply by being there without saying anything deeply profound.

I notice sometimes that I don't have the capacity to always be the first person to reach out or engage. Not because I don't want to. The mental space just isn't always there.

And sometimes I feel guilty about that.

Maybe you know that feeling too.

When so much of your mental space is occupied by what needs to happen next, it can be difficult to notice what—or who—is already here.

And this is where I think about the people I've lost too.

Their absence reminds me that we don't always know how much time we have with someone. It makes me want to do better at reaching out and letting the people who are here know how I feel while I can.

And sometimes even when you know you're getting caught up in your own head, getting yourself out of it isn't quite that simple.

I was reminded of that in a much more ridiculous way recently.

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I was on a walk and I was in my head.

I was on the verge of tears, and I was actively looking around trying to focus on the present and what I was actually seeing, feeling physically, and hearing.

And then I saw a squirrel do a flip off a twig.

I laughed so loud from shock and delight.

Like, really lil guy? What are you doing? Practicing for your duel with your cousin at high noon? 😂

So then I stopped walking.

And it did it again.

And again.

And again.

Three separate times.

That was enough to snap me out of the negative thought spiral I was going on.

Nothing I had been thinking about had actually changed.

But the laughter sort of brought me back to the wonder and freeness of animals and how they seem to be in their bodies and in the moment so effortlessly.

There was also something about the absurdity of watching a squirrel do flips off a twig and how carefree it seemed that brought me back to not taking everything so seriously.

My concerns were still valid.

But if I'm doing all I can, that's where faith and trust have to come in.

And it's not like I have no reason to trust or have faith.

It's the fear of the unknown—the fear of all the what ifs—that can steal the present moment from me.

That squirrel didn't change any of the things I was concerned about. It interrupted the spiral long enough for me to recognize what was happening and remember what I already knew.

Emotions are temporary.

And our perspectives shape the way we integrate and process our external world and circumstances.

That doesn't mean those circumstances aren't real. It doesn't minimize the challenges we're facing or magically make them disappear.

But sometimes the perspective we're viewing them from can make it harder to see what else is also true.

And that little squirrel reminded me that there are always glimmers all around us.

We just need to be present enough to notice and register them.

And once you do, even if it's brief, it brings a bit of relief.

Like a soothing sip of water on a warm day.

Maybe that's all we need in that moment.

Not for everything to suddenly be fixed, but enough of an interruption to notice the life that's still happening around us.

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That ridiculous little moment was enough to recenter me back to what I know to be true.

Being present is a present.

That's not just a cliché. It's a gift. And it's a precious one.

And when I stopped for a moment and looked at my life from a place of empowerment, I could see how far I've actually come.

I don't just mean the tangible things.

I mean the mental and emotional changes too.

Learning to look at myself as someone who is capable. Not just capable, but worthy of putting in the effort even if things don't go exactly as I planned.

Taking action even when I feel scared.

Resting even when I feel scared to.

Living my life for myself and accepting the responsibility and effort that comes along with taking accountability for myself, my thoughts, my emotions, and my well-being.

That's not to say I have it all figured out.

It's not about figuring it all out.

It's about recognizing what is mine to figure out, mine to implement, and mine to embody.

And sometimes it's simply taking a moment to remember where I was versus where I am now.

To cherish the progress and the hard work.

To recognize that it may not all be here yet, but some of it has already happened.

Some of those seeds are already taking root.

I'm starting to see glimmers of more.

And that's already more than I once thought would even happen.

It hasn't been easy.

It was hard.

And I still did it.

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Maybe there are seeds you're nurturing too.

Something you're building.

Something you're hoping will change.

Maybe it's something tangible.

Or maybe the changes you've been working so hard for are happening somewhere other people can't necessarily see.

In the way you speak to yourself.

The way you handle an emotion you once thought would swallow you whole.

The way you rest.

The way you act even when you're afraid.

The way you take responsibility for what is yours without trying to control everything that isn't.

Maybe when you look at your life from the perspective of everything that hasn't happened yet, it feels like there isn't enough.

But what happens if, just for a moment, you look at it from the perspective of what already has?

Where were you?

Where are you now?

What have you made it through?

What have you learned?

What have you changed?

What is already taking root that you may not have given yourself enough credit for?

That doesn't discount what's hard.

It doesn't minimize what you're carrying.

It just allows something else to be true at the same time.

Human beings are incredibly strong.

Sometimes we just need to remember to include our own strength in the way we see ourselves.

And while we're waiting for whatever comes next, there are people here now.

There are connections here now.

There is warmth here now.

Thinking about how much patience the life I'm building will require makes me want to cherish and value the time I get to spend with people who are kind, generous, real, and thoughtful—and to actually let them know how I feel.

I know I'm still going to have days when I get caught up in work, sleep, and repeat. Days when the stresses of life skew my perspective even when I know better and even when I have the tools.

Faith will probably ebb and flow too.

But maybe being present isn't about never getting swept away.

Maybe sometimes it's recognizing that you've been swept away and remembering what is already here.

What is already growing.

Who is already here.

And what you already know to be true.

Even if it takes a squirrel practicing for a duel with his cousin at high noon to remind you.