Revelations on the South Shore

Yesterday afternoon, September 6, 2010
When I begin reading a book, I immediately check to see the number of pages. Then I continually monitor my progress with percentage-completed updates in the back of my mind. I do the same when traveling interstate highways. Milemarkers are noted, divided, as I track the fractions of my journey completed. I always know how much vacation time is gone, and how soon I will return to my life. ("3/14ths--Only 11 days left!" In this way, I manage to strangle the joy from many of life's endeavors.)

I am convinced of two things: First, these measurements are unhealthy. Like thieves, they steal my moments and my living. And second, they betray a lack of focus on and faith for the moment...the living that is at hand.

As I live this time away, I'm seeking to receive each day as a gift, and not as another thing to be accomplished. I want to capture each scent, smile and joy as they enter me. And I have already been brought to understand that I will experience pains and disappointments. But each only when and where I meet them.

I'm sitting still on the South Shore train in the South Bend Station. In moments, this train will leave for downtown Chicago. I have refused myself the option of studying the timetables...of looking ahead at how many stations we'll pass, or of how long the journey will be. I plan to live this journey as it comes to me.

We're rolling now.