“Forever is composed of nows.”
—— Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
I noticed it first while making coffee. I was standing at the counter waiting for the kettle and already mentally in my inbox, composing a reply to something that could wait until after breakfast. The kettle clicked off. I’d been somewhere else the entire time it was heating up. I do this constantly — move through the present while living slightly ahead of it.
I’ve started leaving my phone in another room in the mornings. Not always, not perfectly. But even on the days I manage it for just an hour, there’s something different about the quality of the morning — like it actually happened to me instead of past me.
The life you’re waiting to live is happening right now, in the small unremarkable minutes you keep meaning to pay attention to.