the present is a gift you can open every second of your life
though many among us are too embarrassed by the gesture
we desire attention elsewhere, the pressure to be great
the expectation too high, that we might not show enough gratitude
such a distraction, such a thought, is sure to make it all come true
and thus we waste our days and seconds
ever fearful they might find us out
ever fearful this gift we fail to open will be stripped of us
but I hope that I soon can be among those who fear not
I desire each day to unravel the ribbon and open the box
read the card attached and feel genuine tears form in my eyes
even if the items inside leave much to be desired
because after all
they say it's the thought that counts
Sat Sept 3, 2022
The above is a poem from my typewriter. How considerate of me to write the date at the bottom of the page so I can transcribe this artifact with a timestamp. I wrote this aspirationally when I was struggling to remain present and feel particularly connected to my body. I’ve been afflicted in my life with a kind of wild imagination that can send me anywhere at anytime, running through all sorts of outcomes and scenarios. What’s worse is that at every turn, sigh or slight, I feel the emotions of these experiences as deeply and earnestly as if they were real.
In a way, it is as if I am always playing pretend, whether it’s on in the background or front of mind. It might even be fair to describe it as compulsive. All in all, I consider it a kind of beautiful curse that cuts me with both sides of its blade. This trait is the definite origin of my affinity and aptitude for filmmaking, but I also see how it operates as a feeding ground for anxiety and depression.
It’s a beautiful idea to be present. It’s also a beautiful thing to experience when you can. I’ve observed that many things have grounded me over the years, and at times of trouble I seek them out. Things like tiny bugs, little spots of color in unexpected places, strange reflections, beams of light with weird origins, single flowers growing in terribly inhospitable places, and of course, rocks. At times I’ve been struck by the grandeur of huge rocks in canyons, surprise rocks in the garden where you’ve been digging, or small crystals in shop windows.
Last spring my little sister asked me what my favorite idiom was. I had to first ask her to define an idiom. Once it was clear, and I moved past the embarrassment of my ignorance, it took me a mere moment to answer: happy as a clam. I think it’s just darling. How sweet and silly and ridiculous a phrase. In the time that’s past since then, I’ve taken to noticing when I use idioms on a regular basis. Through my research I’ve discovered that I do utilize my favorite one with respectable frequency, but there is another I’ve been favoring as well: a stone’s throw away.
In a recent effort to attract me to the present moment, I have devised a plan. I shall put rocks in all my pockets. They will be there to help visualize a mental exercise I’ve been experimenting with. It goes like this: “The world is only as big as a stone’s throw away from me.”
In my mind’s eye I image a stone in my hand and how far I can throw it. (I played third base and shortstop on my middle school softball team, so I probably have an outsized belief in my own adult ability to throw a stone pretty far.) As much as I might be able to throw it far across the street or down the block, I can also choose to toss it closer to me. From its landing place, with me as the center, I draw a circle in my mind, and that is the limit. That is how big the world is.