I met up with a friend at lunch the other day, and after an hour of laughter and chatter, as we gathered our things to leave the restaurant, he reminded me of a conversation we’d had several years ago. It was still mid-pandemic, although the worst had passed by that point, and we had met at a favorite wine bar with a mutual friend. I remember that conversation well – it still felt strange to be out in the world, and to be with other people – because in the intimacy of shared trauma, we’d all been more transparent about our emotions than we had ever been previously.

My friend remembers something I said that night – something along the lines of acknowledging every day with the notion that life is both precious and finite. He deeply felt those words that night, and they continue to be a touchstone. It seems such a fundamental idea, but it’s the first thing I tend to forget when I get caught up in the incessant activity of the world, of the things that I think that I need to do. When I’m being carried away by a current of activity, I tend to become very lost in the pother, and I start to lose all sense of context. Because when I’m finally able to pull away, I realize that I’ve used up time as if it were endlessly replenished. Which of course it’s not.

So, today I reminded myself of the transient nature of our lives. And I reminded myself that it’s only when I arrest the fleetness of time with an awareness of each moment as it passes that I can be truly present for my life, which is precious and finite.