“For the moment, the sky is fine.”
I found this quote months ago in Lempriere’s Dictionary by Lawrence Norfolk. A difficult read for me until I came across this simple sentence: “For the moment, the sky is fine.”
I’ve been pondering as the cold and snow and storms disrupt so many lives — mine included. I’m not complaining; I’m better off than many. I’m retired. There’s no place I need to go in the snow and ice and cold. The mice are enjoying my pantry stash of crackers, chips and chocolate. I have woolly socks and blankets and hot chocolate.
Even so, my week is not at all what I expected before the weather arrived. Most things on my calendar have been cancelled; some have been rescheduled. These empty days have erased all my normal excuses for not writing or practicing or reading or exercising.
Sometimes — when life takes an unexpected turn — we can’t seem to move. We lose our direction. our engine stalls and refuses to start. We fret, we stew, we rant, we rave, we sometimes lash out at innocents — because we just want life to be as we planned. In a sense, we have an adult temper tantrum — we want what we want — right now!! This moment is certainly not fine, and definitely not enough!
So how do we get from “not o.k.” to “fine?” How can we ever say
for this moment, the snow is fine
for this moment, the rain is fine
for this moment, being housebound is fine
for this moment, mice in the pantry are fine
The concept for attitude change is relatively easy, though it takes practice. We have to consider what this moment is — even though it’s not one we chose. Your previous hopes and plans are irrelevant now. This is the moment you have.
Look closely at your moment, dig deep into it’s center. Be grateful for the tiniest things you find in your looking and digging. Perhaps it’s a cup of tea, or a photo on the fridge, or a pen to write with, or ears to hear wind blowing snow, or warm socks on cold toes. Savor it in all its possibilities — and be grateful.
And the moment will be fine, perhaps even abundant.
Until next Tuesday . . .