Tag Archives: passage of time

I Will Enjoy This Life


If I can’t enjoy the little moments
tucked inside my hours,
how will I enjoy my days?
If I can’t enjoy my days,
how I will enjoy my weeks?
If I can’t enjoy my weeks,
how will I enjoy my months?
My years?
My decades?
How will I enjoy my life?
Lorien of the future,
Lorien on your death bed,
I vow to you—
I will enjoy this life now.
I will enjoy my moments,
my hours and days and weeks
and months and years.
I will enjoy my decades.
I will enjoy this life.

Somewhere Around 3am


I awoke in terror
in the middle of the night.
I tried to sleep,
but eventually got up.
It was 3am.
I sat, breathed,
forced myself to smile.
I read from my daily devotionals
(nine in all),
ate some breakfast,
went back to bed.
It was 5am.
Then my son woke me up.
It was 6:30am.
I asked him
to get himself some cereal.
At 7 years old,
he can do that
(thank God).
I tried to sleep.
I did, for a little while.
Then I got up. Again.
It was 8:42am.
I made it through final preparations
for teaching a yoga class
and leading a training.
The sitter came to watch my kids,
I drove to the studio
and found myself
in front of a room full of students.
It was 11:45 am.
I taught my class,
drove to another studio
and found myself
in front of a room full of teachers.
It was 2pm.
I led a four hour training,
drove back home,
took care of my kids,
got them showered,
settled down here at my desk.
It was 8:51pm.
Now I’m feeling crazy.
It’s 9:08 pm.
I have no idea where my mind is.
Probably wandering
somewhere around 3am.

Motherhood is Letting Go


Time is flying
but we don’t notice
because it all unfolds
in this one moment.
I look at you, my children,
and cannot believe
how much you’ve grown.
Every moment of motherhood
a giving away,
a letting go.
Celebrating your steps,
your leaps and bounds,
knowing that someday
you’ll fly away
and I’ll have only the memory
of your tiny hands
reaching out to me
asking for the comfort of my arms.
It takes every ounce of courage
to not hold on too tight.
I don’t want my love to be a cage
that obscures the light you need
to flourish.
So I hold you when you let me
and breathe and let you go
when you’re ready to stand on your own.
Every moment of motherhood
a giving away,
a letting go.

Nighttime Gratitdue


Day is done
gone the sun
and the cake
and the wine
and the baked brie

time flows quickly
it’s all over so soon.
I blink,
and my big sister is 40.

I know we were children once,
I’ve seen pictures.
How did we get to now?

Doesn’t matter.
I don’t need to know.

So grateful now,
and so sleepy.
Good night.
Happy Birthday Sis.
Thank you Life.

Waiting for the Right Time


He wanted to talk last night.
I was too emotionally charged
and I declined.
He wanted to talk this morning.
I was still too charged,
was a bit snarky, and declined.

I wanted to talk tonight.
He was grumpy
and sore at me for declining
his invitations,
so he declined,
took a shower,
went to bed.

And here I am,
waiting for the right time
to try again.

She Would’ve Been


Today my grandmother would’ve celebrated her ninety-third birthday
She took her life in the month of June of my twelfth year…
and now, twenty-five years later,
I wish I could’ve related to her as an adult,
asked her to tell me stories of life
growing up in the 20’s and 30’s

I have never judged her for her decision
because, like all of us,
I too have experienced pain and suffering,
and can understand wanting to escape such misery

But I miss her still
and wish to hear her voice,
her laughter.

Being an adult now,
and knowing a little more of the way of sorrow,
I would like to put my hand on her shoulder
and whisper
You are not alone.

I wish I could know
the woman she would’ve been
if we could sing “Happy Birthday” to her, today.

It’s fitting that her birthday falls so near to Halloween,
a time of honoring ancestors and seeking their wisdom
as the veil between the two worlds wears thin.

Wherever you are Gram,
Know that I love you,
and honor the woman you were,
even as I long to know the woman you would’ve been.
Whatever of your being that remains, dear soul,
I hope you know the joy of the dance of existence.