the book of now
Let’s say that each of our lives is a story. And within each of our stories are many chapters (a few of mine might be called: “Bumper Toe Nikes and Banana Seats,” “The Sad Era of Bad Home Perms,” “Freedom and My Blue Schwinn Sierra,” “Working at Williams Pub, Smelling Like an Ashtray,” “Leaping Over the Ocean on a Qantas Flight,” “Marrying the Man I Saw on a Wrinkled Tarot Card,” and “Detonating a Bomb of Love and the Birth of Oliver,” to name a few possibilities). And within each of those chapters is a whole cast of characters, some of whom we cannot imagine our lives without, some who entered our lives for a short time and some who have been there for the long haul. Both our enemies and our angels have moved us, have shifted and added depth to our stories. Each chapter and time comes with its own setting, soundtrack, and style.
The human journey is an epic, uncertain, serendipitous story of movement and evolution, a journey of one human life on this one blue planet in the middle of a universe. Like a tomato plant, or a flower, our lives lean upward as we all try to reach that sun within ourselves, find those things that set our spirits ablaze.
I was thinking about this, about each of our lives being an epic story one ordinary day while doing the dishes, looking out the kitchen window at Mr. Vernon swing by on his daily five mile walk, at my next door neighbor Dave walking his dog along the sidewalk in front of our house, at Oliver’s best buddy Miles charging across the street after school with his Nerf gun, wanting to play “battle” in the yards along our street.
I thought, This is my life right now, my life in my house on Washburn Avenue, my life in Minneapolis, where we make snowwomen in April, where Paul and I together raise this family we have made, where I continue to live the stories that really matter each and every day.
And I thought, Our lives don’t have to be lived on many continents or be filled with hyperbole to be worthy of writing. We don’t have to sit down and write our whole life stories or start at some beginning to find some end. We can just write little stories of our lives today, call it the Book of Now, and know that someday this book will be the Book of Then.
This is our story, the story of our lives. The way in which we live our stories is an art. The art of life.