I recently finished reading Meditations for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. I highly recommend it. It feels a bit like Ecclesiastes (one of my favorite books of the Bible) and a very toned-down self-help book. It’s great for perfectionists, people-pleasers, and overachievers (not that I fall into any of those categories).

One of the big lessons I took from this book is that life is right now.  I felt like Burkeman wrote this book with me in mind when he talks about people who always say, “Life will really start when…” or “Once I finally figure out what I’m doing, then I’ll be set” or “Once I can get on top of all these problems, then I can enjoy my life.” Guilty as charged.

I’ve lived 36 years thus far and I have to say that one of my regrets looking back (and even looking around right now) is that I often thought (or currently do think) this way. How many once-in-a-lifetime awesome experiences did I miss out on in high school because I was so fixated on the future, thinking “life will be so much better once I’m out of here”? I always looked so forward to the bright future off in the distance. Contrary to some of my peers, it made me take things way too seriously. I wish I’d been more in the moment: at my friend’s birthday party, even in the library with my friends. Learning things to really learn them, not just to pass a test. Enjoying basketball for the wonderful game it is, instead of being so fixated on scoring X number of points in order to attract attention from college coaches. The list goes on.

So, where am I now? At 36, a nurse practitioner at a local primary care office. There’s a million things I don’t know at my job. But isn’t that what makes it somewhat exciting? The never-ending learning? The endless list of patients (many of whom are literally my neighbors and local grocery store workers and teachers, etc.) that have a million problems they need help with? My anxiety eases when I do realize truly that I will never conquer it all. I can spend all day trying to empty my in-box just to have it filled back up by the next morning. This is a real reason a lot of type-A colleagues of mine don’t make it in primary care. That’s the other lesson I got from this book: lower the bar. It’s okay if everything doesn’t get done or isn’t done perfectly. Aaahhhh….

I’m also the mother of an angelic 6-year-old Golden retriever. The only moment we have together is this one – he’s lying on the floor beside me right now, all angel-like. My husband is a few feet away cooking steak and crabcakes. Jack Johnson plays in the background. My feet are plopped up on the sofa. This moment is heavenly. It’s where I am.

The “interruptions” of the timer about to go off on my phone, of my husband butting in for a conversation about medical marijuana, of Billy barking, etc. These are the moments for which I can stop my heavenly moment to embrace an earthly one. These are the moments right now that one by one create life. Life is right here, right now. ~