I’ve been scanning the past, crafting new stories out of times long gone.
It’s a typical practice, especially now—capturing glimpses of our lives, documents of our days.
But the detriment of thinking about what was is that we miss what is. Everything else is fiction, the mind’s constant play. Each moment is holy because it is charged with possibility: an opportunity to love, to grow, to learn, to enjoy—to be human.
Instead of taking stock, I’m taking it in. Thinking back can be gratifying—a reminder of my life’s gifts and accomplishments. Doing this satisfies my ego, but attuning to the present salves my soul.