I sit at my desk, the sun still hiding somewhere beneath the horizon. Exhausted, completely exhausted.
The day stretches before me as I fight sleep; many things require my attention, items that will ask my morning mind to give way to wakeful thought sooner than not.
I remember days in which I lived more in the future than in the moment. Days in which I planned days, weeks, or months into the future. The plans were never in great detail but I was not unfamiliar with the idea of considering anything possible "after" or "once" this or that happened. Living a life waiting an event that has yet to happen was not the norm; however, it felt familiar and comfortable.
Gazing out the windows this morning, I once again realized how unfamiliar that all seems now.
Today I found myself working to organize thoughts; taking one breath and doing one thing at a time. I have learned that, although I can answer questions and address issues as they arise, to fully accomplish the writing tasks, I have to do just one at a time.
I gave myself time to wake. I did some laughing and some chatting.
Then I settled in to do each written task, giving each my full attention.
I have learned that today is just this - and to get things done, I have to do "just this" and then think about "that."
The sun rose into a gorgeous blue sky.
Colleagues came by to chat and laugh.
I requested help i the writing of a draft.
I stood up, walked, settled my thoughts.
When the day came to an end, a colleague wished me a good weekend. Not for the first time, I had to stop and consider the days and hours that lay before me.
Other than our scheduled commitments, what stretches before me is... nothing and everything.
My daughter is known to say, with genuine sincerity, I want nothing because I have everything.
It is these days, these Friday afternoons, when I realize that there is not work tomorrow, it is then when I look at nothing and feel myself relax, smile, and see beauty in a way that I did not know five years ago.
Nothing is lovely.
Nothing is opportunity, possibility, and space.
It is Friday evening; I sit writing this recognizing that now, despite a few bumps in the road, I want nothing because I have everything.