Cherishing the moments we have
I’ve never been good at cherishing the moment or being “in the now.”
I’m an Enneagram Four, so I’m pretty much always wanting more and nothing is ever quite good enough.
From time to time, I find my way out of that obsession and into a much more present place with what’s available to me. Interestingly, writing early has made a huge difference in my ability to be more present and to cherish the moments I have. It’s as if showing up and doing my true work is allowing my brain to quiet down and just be. It’s so nice.
The veil between life and death
The greatest experiences in my life that have brought me the closest in to truly cherishing and experiencing life always involve deeply real things that seem to be closer to the veil between life and death. For instance, when my ex-boyfriend lay in a hospital bed on the verge of death, it was pretty clear to me what mattered and what didn’t. (A city plan? Uh, no.)
Similarly, years ago when our kitty C. J. approached the end of her life and spent two weeks insisting on being carried and held by me continuously, I found myself focusing very intently on my time with her and enjoying it profoundly — the sweet, pure energy of her attachment to me was deeply compelling. She died at home in my arms, and it was a beautiful, deep experience I’ll never forget.
I found myself in a similar situation again recently. Our lovely kitty Maddie has a tumor and we will be saying good-bye to her soon. Every night she sleeps cuddled up with us, and I feel so sad knowing we’ll have to say goodbye soon. It is also so precious to know, feel, and celebrate our connection so consciously for a time. I’ve found myself just wanting to sit on the couch and hold her all day.
A reminder to be present
These kinds of experiences remind me to be more present — with my family in particular. I’m far from perfect at it, but I find myself focusing on enjoying my time with my son and my husband at a deeper level. All that work can wait for another day.
The power of darkness
Empaths are also considered “hospice workers,” the one who can go into the darkness of life (things like death and divorce) and hold a non-verbal space for transformation and healing. A client recently asked about that — why would we want to go into the darkness?
And I said, “What if there was something beautiful about that darkness?”
Tonight, on the Solstice, the longest night of the year, I’ll be lighting candles with my family, celebrating the wisdom I gain from the darkness.
Happy Solstice and Happy Holidays,
