Dear Present,
I owe you an apology. I spend so much time flirting with Future—promising myself I’ll finally get it together tomorrow—or dragging around Past like a sentimental pack mule, that you, the only one actually here, get treated like background noise. Which is absurd, because you’re the only one who ever shows up. Past is a highlight reel with bad editing, clutching its embarrassing yearbook photos. Future is a salesman who never delivers. And you—you’re the awkward miracle, breathing down my neck, whispering, “Hey, I’m literally the only thing happening.”
What I’ve carried from years soaking in Buddhism is that you’re all that exists. And even then, you’re not really you—because the moment I notice you, you’re already gone. You’re the world’s greatest disappearing act. By the time I say “this is now,” that now has already slipped into Past’s hands. You’re basically a cosmic prank. But instead of being angry, I kind of love you for it.
Because when I stop demanding you stay put—when I just breathe into you, without dragging in Future’s fears or Past’s disappointments—you’re usually fantastic. You’re the sunbeam warming my coffee cup, the ridiculous sound my daughter makes when she’s pretending to be a robot, the graffiti bird in my painting that decided to eat a rattlesnake. You’re not some enlightened state of eternal bliss. You’re just alive. Messy, fleeting, unpolished, but alive.
I’ve realized you’re funniest when you’re inconvenient. You don’t wait for me to meditate or light incense. You barge in while the banana breaks in half and the kid screams like civilization has ended. You pop up in the middle of traffic jams and awkward silences. You remind me that even suffering is happening now, and if I squint hard enough, even that can be absurd.
So this is my love letter to you. To your slipperiness. To your refusal to be pinned down. To your holy nonsense. I don’t need you to last. I don’t need you to behave. I just need to remember to notice you before you vanish, to laugh while you’re here, and to keep breathing even when you don’t look the way I wanted.
Stay weird, stay fleeting, stay impossible to catch. You may be gone by now, but I loved you while you lasted.
Love,
Me