In the Moment
The past is unchangeable; the future unknowable. We have just a moment, this one. I try to plan for the future, but not worry, and trust God to work it out for good, if I let Him. I do my best to live in this moment. We are guaranteed no other.
Lovely platitudes, no? Of course it’s cliché. I couldn’t have told you last week whether I live in the moment or not.
Monday morning I was laid low by a fever, beaten and burnt from the inside out. For two days I sucked down water, sweated it out, ached, and slept. Debilitated. I couldn’t remember how it felt, even last week, to be upright and strong, on the board, paddling around the bay. I didn’t want to get outside and work a muscle. I didn’t even want to want it. I couldn’t imagine anything but my present, bedridden state.
Yesterday evening, I felt well. Clean sheets and PJs to banish the sick room aura (Remember the Velveteen Rabbit? It always makes me sad for the other toys. I’m glad I didn’t have to burn Kiwi for staying by my side. She’s realer than Real.) and the episode was finished. My head doesn’t throb. That was the last bit to subside. I have energy. Right this minute, I don’t quite remember how foggy my brain was two days ago, how it was impossible to remain upright for more than a few minutes, how even my blood hurt.
My hockey fins are sprawled across their gear bag, waiting for tomorrow night. Practice recommences for us in winter hours, which I loathe. But I have a new thermal top to keep me warmer and I love my sport and I am excited to get back to it. Now.