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15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go. The photographer and traveler have this in common: they are constantly aware of what they are seeing. The photographer is watching, noticing the same view from many angles, noticing objects against foreground and background, and keenly aware that no two moments are exactly alike. The traveler is expecting to see things that they have never seen, experience things they have never experienced, meet people they have never met, hear things they’ve never heard, and…you get the picture :-). I remember hearing Eckhart Tolle speaking about every moment being a new life. We’ve never been in this moment before nor have any objects that are passing through our awareness. That can feel quite removed and esoteric if we are standing on the outside looking in. But when we look from the inside out, we see with new eyes. I have recently been taking photos on the same walk that we walk every night. Same route. Same streets. I’ve seen it. But I haven’t. In fact, I’ve never seen “it” now, until now. The photographer and the traveler expect to see something new. They are intentionally opening their senses to their experiences and intentionally noticing and intentionally expecting to see something they have never seen. What happens when we bring that kind of intention into our daily, seemingly mundane, lives? Are we waiting for the next experience, the next travel itinerary, the weekend, the time we get off work, the vacation/holiday, the day we’re not sick anymore, the day we find the relationship we long for, the time when we can retire, the ____ you fill in the blank? What if we don’t have to wait until later to live the life we’re waiting to live? This hit me early this morning as I was driving back to our house from the foothills. Driving the opposite way, were one SUV after another with skis and snowboards on the top of their vehicles. I was just imagining the excitement in their cars, the smell of coffee, the stories being swapped back and forth, the anticipation of the enjoyment of being in a beautiful place doing an exhilarating activity with loved ones. And I was going home to do Saturday chores. I felt a pang in my heart and a longing in my whole body to be in one of those cars, going the opposite direction. Years ago, I would have gotten pretty sulky and had a hard time getting “over” it. This morning, I rolled the window down, felt the cool air on my face, glanced at Iris in the back seat with her head stuck out of the window, and I just laughed and smiled and appreciated the fact that I was driving a vehicle to a place I call home where people I love were about to wake up and be together. There was a release of the longing as I looked from the inside out and watched it. It didn’t completely leave, but my unrest did, and a deep sense of gratitude took its place . I’d like to say I stayed in that place all day, but I definitely took a number of detours that were not representative of my best self. I will say that each time I noticed that I was exiting the moment for another moment, my heart compelled me to enjoy the one right here and now and to meet it with whatever was called for. At one point, I was looking out the living room window and noticed that I was longing for the ski hill and comparing myself to all the dads who had their family up on the mountain every day and night, decked out with the right clothes and the right gear, teaching them how to appreciate the outdoors, and all the rest of that dialogue that got going pretty strong. As soon as I noticed, I didn’t beat myself up or anything like that, I just smiled at the nice story I was listening to, laughed, and let it go. Feeling the sunshine warm my skin as it came through the window, I had the sense that I was in the perfect place at the perfect time. Most of the rest of the day was like this for me: experiencing the moment as if I had chosen it and if it “is” the perfect place and the perfect time. Every moment, new. Time.