It took a beautiful, 74-degree morning in early November, while on a walk with my 16-month-old daughter, for me to realize something incredibly important.
I am always thinking about what comes next.
I used to think I was pretty good at living in the moment. After all, I could remember the laughter, the smiles, and, as Ms. Rachel would say, all those big feelings.
But what I hadn’t realized was that even in those moments, my mind was somewhere else.
“What can I make my baby for dinner that she’ll actually eat instead of turning her head away?”
“What time was her last meal?”
“I should have brought her a toy for these errands.”
“We only have 45 minutes until I need to get her down for a nap.”
“Did I feed the dogs?”
“What can I do to show my husband that he still means the world to me, even on the days when I feel like I’ve run out of time to give him?”
“I need to return that doctor’s call.”
“I need to get more Mylicon because if we run out, she won’t get any sleep.”
A never-ending list of things to remember, things to prepare for, things to worry about, and things to do.
Always thinking about the next thing, even while living in the middle of something beautiful.
And then, on that warm November morning, something clicked.
All those things running through my mind?
They were next.
They weren’t now.
And for the first time, I really stopped to think about how much of my now I was giving away to everything that hadn’t even happened yet.
I was so busy trying to make sure I didn’t forget what needed to happen next that I was forgetting to fully experience what was happening right in front of me.
So, I made myself a promise.
From now on, when something comes to mind that I need to remember, I’ll write it down. Not because it isn’t important, but because it doesn’t need to take up space in every moment of my day.
I can write it down, let it go, and come right back to where I am.
Back to my daughter. Back to my husband. Back to the laughter, the little moments, and the life happening right in front of me.
Because the next thing will always be waiting.
There will always be another meal to prepare, another appointment to schedule, another errand to run, and another worry to carry.
But this moment? This version of my daughter? This ordinary, beautiful day?
I don’t get to live it twice.
So, slow down, Mama.
Let next be next.
And let now just be now.
