What Exists Right Here, Right Now
This essay appeared in the Monday morning newsletter on 6/27/22.
Back in March, I read the book Our American Friend by Anna Pitoniak. It’s a great read. If political thrillers are your thing, I definitely recommend it.
In the book, there is an exchange between two characters that is not central to the plot, but nevertheless, resonated with me quite a bit.
At one point in the book, the protagonist (Sofie) is talking to her former boss (Vicky). Sofie is lamenting about being unsure of her life’s path or meaning (something we all can relate to). She wonders aloud to Vicky how Vicky stays so content even though she’s been through many trials and tribulations. Does she ever reflect on her past and have regrets?
Vicky answers simply (yet profoundly, in my opinion): “The things I love exist here. Right here and right now. Nowhere else.”
Later, toward the end of the book (and promise this doesn’t give anything away), Sofie recounts the advice once again. During a high-tense scene, she thinks to herself:
“But even with the black car, even with the pulse quickening in my throat, I found myself recalling, with a sudden strange calmness, what Vicky had said, so many years ago. The things I love exist here.
I felt, for the first time, that I might understand those words. Even though the fear remains: look at what exists right here. Right here, right now. The warmth of the sunshine, the breeze from the sparkling sea. And more than anything, the feeling of Ben’s hand in mine.”
I didn’t need the advice at the time I was reading the book, but I had a feeling one day I would want to be reminded of it. So, I snapped a picture of the page and added the quote to an ongoing document I have of thoughts and ideas that pique my interest.
As I looked through that document on Friday, deciding what to focus on for today’s newsletter, the quote caught my eye for the first time in a while.
The things I love exist here.
It was exactly what I needed to be reminded of.
With our constant, immediate, all-encompassing access to news and social media, I find the mindset shift – or the “shapeshift” – that’s required of us to be really difficult. I was presenting on a call with a client Friday when I saw a notification pop up on my phone that Roe v. Wade had been overturned. I went through with the rest of the call and then went right to my messages, where a couple of my group chats were filled with a rapid succession of angry, fearful, dreadful texts from friends. I clicked over to social media (I know, I know) where I took in a surge of emotional reactions and updates. And then I had to put my phone down… because my next call was starting. The oscillating between trying to make sense of what was happening and carrying on with normal world activities was confusing and disorientating.
So when I saw that quote – The things I love exist here – I was comforted. On Friday and throughout the weekend, I’ve reminded myself of it again and again.
The concert I went to Friday night. The book I’m reading right now. Finishing The Summer I Turned Pretty on Saturday morning. A 2-hour nap while it was raining outside. Long walks and talks with Matt that end with ice cream. Making a packing list for next weekend. The sky being light until 9 p.m. Summer! Everything, everything about summer.
It doesn’t mean forgetting what’s happening or pretending like everything is fine (because that is far from the truth). Like the character thinks in the book, “Even though the fear remains: look at what exists right here. Right here, right now.” But the mental exercise helps me remember the good that is still around.
And after doing so, I feel charged up in a way, with more mental space to take in information (like the points made in this article), to take small steps of action, to send out love and support, to continue keeping on.
The things I love exist here.
So, what exists for you right here, right now this morning?
Sending you a hug today if you need it.
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