It’s Saturday night. I’ve been running around doing all the things all day and now I’m sitting in the backseat of a Lyft driver’s car with my ten year old son. We’re on our way to his first big concert, tickets in hand for Lower Level seats for the Maroon 5 show at the Golden One Center. My son has told the driver he’s heading to his first big concert and the driver is now recounting his own first experience. He’s grinning and laughing and telling the story with joy and detail, his voice inflecting, hands gesturing, body relaxed.

And then it hits me.

Someday, this is the story that my son will tell about his first concert. This moment, right now, the story of the two of us in the backseat on the way to this concert. This is part of a core memory moment.

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All week last week I was feeling anxious. Unstill. Struggling to stay in the moment, any moment.

I let my classes out early. I rushed everywhere and was still late. I wore a watch, and checked it, even during yoga, which I left. . . early. Twice.  I checked the time even when assisting.

I never do that.

Like ever.

All week, I could not turn off a total body sense of urgency to




For nothing. For everything. For no one, and for everyone.


By Sunday evening,  I felt like something was going to burst out my chest, literally perhaps. I was looking for some kind of release— somatic maybe— and what I was doing wasn’t working, yet.

So I went for a run because, sitting in it (whatever “it” was) any longer wasn’t working. I was craving efficient motion. Immediate results.

Yes, there is total irony in that truth. Clearly. But it worked.

Five blocks in and my heart rate slowed. Yes. Slowed. Ten blocks and the space between my forehead softened. Two miles and my shoulders dropped away from my ears. By the third mile I had forgotten what I was doing or where I was.

So I stopped. And I saw. And I felt.

And I reconnected with the moment.

Around me was the abundant beauty of spring in Sacramento. Up and down the streets were people biking, walking, talking, and engaging.

Present. People were present. And that was perfect and enough.

As am I.  As are you. Because,


You are whole and complete and exactly where you’re supposed to be.


There is nothing to rush. There is no where else to be. There is no “done,” anyway.


To be alive is to be impermanent.

All things change. Always. And thus, the attachment we place to time becomes somewhat arbitrary. Why rush? So we can wait? And, why wait? For whom? For what?

Frantic motion is not a solution. Neither is hiding, stuffing, or inauthenticity.

Refuse to live in multiple spaces. Get present. Not behind. Not ahead.

Get real. It’s enough. I promise.

There is this time, there is this space, there is this now. It won’t be back and it won’t wait for later.

There is simply this moment; so be in it.

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