Something Experienced

I've been thinking a bit about my post from yesterday, my favorite thing on a Wednesday that was
much like other Wednesdays, and I realized that I was grappling with a much larger subject, that of place and presence, time and space, fleeting and staying, sacred and mundane, literal and figurative. Travel is an excellent container for being present - at least if you travel like I did back then. A plan, but a loose plan, food would be found, shelter would be made or rented, but the only real rules were don't drive at night and give the checkpoint guard a coke. They love it. It's bloody hot in Baja Sur in August.

The grappling was, is, with this idea of memory, of experience and how no matter how much stuff I brought back from my travels (not much) or how many photos I took (hundreds of thousands) or how many words I wrote or didn't write about my days, none of that would adequately capture being there, tossing down a dirt road, eating food when certainly-not-starving-but-haven't-eaten-a-real-meal-in-48-hours hungry; roaming delighted though a cachivache or a Guatemalan market.

What I realized - my favorite thing for today - is that nothing compares to those experiences, nothing will ever recall them to a point that compares to when they were actually happening. And that little gem applies to everything: I am certainly very good at paying attention to my dog - she doesn't bark to go in or out, or to eat, or drink. She doesn't need to. I am always aware of her and by paying close attention, I know what she needs, so that she needn't ask.

The gift I was given today is to remember to pay attention like that, like that hyper-awareness of a new experience, a foreign country, an animal I love nearly more than breathing, to pay attention like that to the every day. What if I paid attention to my surroundings as if they were somewhere I'd spent years traveling to reach? Which, as it turns out, in reality I have - every step I've ever taken has led me to my exact present moment. What if I carried around a camera? Took photos of doorways, people, restaurants, pretty buildings? What if I went to art fairs as if they were thousands of miles from my home and full of art I could never dream of (which they are). What if I tried food on a regular basis I'd never tried before? What if I struggled to practice a foreign language? What if I sat down everyday, amazed at what I'd seen or experienced, and wrote about it? And what if I did all of that as if my normal was extraordinary: waking up and meditating, petting my dog, practicing my yoga, driving around the Peninsula, going to restaurants, hiking, going to the beach.

What if I began to expand my world just a little to include not only what pleases me about routine and familiarity, but what if I included a few things that were new and piqued my interest enough to want to keep them remembered as something apart, something experienced.

What if I treated every day like that?