Before I sit down and write anything, even something in my journal, I wait until I am moved to words.  Yesterday morning, I was touched deeply by a few words from Randy Pausch's last lecture as a professor (that video going around on YouTube lately): "The key question to keep asking is, Are you spending your time on the right things?  Because time is all you have. "  (Other favorites are "When there is an elephant in the room, introduce it" and "We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand".)

So simple, but so powerful.  This falls in line with life as I am living it right now.  So many experiences of late have reminded me that even though most days I tend to believe time does not exist, sometimes I feel time is all we have.  Try to tell any mom in the world time does not exist.  My little one is bigger today than she was yesterday.  It's hard to deny the passage of time when you're changing diaper sizes quicker than you can say "poop" and constantly putting away grown-out clothing.

I'm also starting to realize that time equals change.  And if all we have is time, then all we have is change. And if all we have is change, then we are all just giant clusters of adaptability and acceptance.

On our daily walk, I looked over at my husband and thought of the Ho'Oponopono shamanic prayer of "I am sorry, please forgive me, I love you, thank you."  And I said it out loud.  Because something had crept up on me and I hadn't even noticed.

"For what?" he asked.  (Sometimes I can't handle how beautiful and pure he is.)

"For letting myself get out of the NOW with you and for nitpicking at everything.  For thinking you needed to be anything or anyone but you."

I was so glad to have caught myself in that place because it means I'm using my awareness.  The thing is, I don't know when or why it started to happen.  Which is when I started this long internal pontification regarding change.  I realized that when I have been the most adaptable to change was when I feel like life was flowing freely and purposefully.  Whereas when I resist it, I feel like I am spiraling down into a very dark abyss.  As the years go by, I realize change is probably the closest thing to answering what the meaning of life is.  Which is half reassuring and half totally hair-raising because you could either smile and think "I wonder what's next?" or you could go the Murphy way and frantically ask "oh sit, what's next?!?!?!"

As I was feeding my little one last night from a spoon for the first time, I thought how she is such a beautiful example of swift and efficient change.  In a year she will do the most changing in her entire life.  And the best part about it for her is that she is always present.  She's not bogged down by her past or her future, she's just living her moments.  Oh, to be a baby!  :)  I let her feeding be a sort of meditation for me.  I began to breathe slowly and intentionally, trying to keep my thoughts on that moment with her and not worrying about how fast she's growing up and "Who will she be in a year?  Five?  Ten?"  Then is when I can relax and BE with her.  Which then- of course- brings substantial and insurmountable joy.

Lately, everything has felt like change.  A sick friend. My friends' losses.  Moving.  My little one's growth.  My ever-evolving marriage.  The evolving inner terrains of my mind, body, and soul.  The face of the earth and its people.  Global knowledge (and its insistent nemesis: global ignorance).  Through all of it, I realize the importance of simple things.  Breath.  Gratitude.  Openness.  Love.  Something about motherhood coupled with all my experiences in these last few months have flung my heart open again as it had been about a decade ago following a traumatic experience.  I am humbled and grateful for this because it has brought me to the lighter side of things again.  To the light of all things... including myself.

To anyone who is reading this, whether I know you or not, I humbly offer this prayer:

I am sorry.

Please forgive me.

I love you.