The garden is green now, and beautiful. There are primroses, and strong broad bean plants, and a beloved pet rabbit. It’s our private outdoor space, a refuge and sanctuary. Yet many times, as I stare through the kitchen window at it, I see none of this. I see the thoughts I’m having and the things I’m remembering and it’s all clouded by whatever emotions I’m feeling at the time.
I’m not expert in mindfulness, but I find it’s a joyful experience to remind myself what I’m doing and what I’m seeing. What I’m doing and what I’m seeing now – this is life. If I live only in my head, life is passing me by.
So I say to myself, this is our garden. And suddenly I can truly see it again.
I say, I’m cooking stew for my family. And I breathe, and I begin to see the onions as onions, not as a chore to be done while I think about something else.
When I’m holding the boy in my arms, that’s all I’m doing. This is life. I see it. And it is enough.