How many hours did I miss being single while I was lamenting being alone, and how many nights were wasted dreaming of the good old days which we’re told in Ecclesiastes not to ponder because we … “don’t know if they were any better than today” (Ecclesiastes 7:10).
How many times I’ve missed the runner’s high waiting for the challenge to be over and how often a special moment came and went while I was anxiously awaiting the next one.
Frantically calculating my next word has caused me to miss the person altogether, and the joy of ‘what is’ endlessly gets replaced with how much better it could be.
So often it seems life is one dreaded event after the next filled with moments of relief when one culminates and the next has yet to begin.
Life goes by too quickly and too slowly we learn that it’s really about the journey, and I don’t want to realize it’s beginning only at the very end.