Riding Shotgun


Have you heard this song? Drama. Turn that *&$ing radio up. You can't NOT sing along. "I just want to feel this moment." 

We have heard this song. Over. And over. Wyatt is Mr. Top 40 these days. (Plus John Mayer. Cute. John Mayer is for 40 year olds.) I told Yancey Maroon 5's Overexposed album will always remind me of Wyatt's fourth grade year. I already imagine listening to it after he's gone away to college, lying on the floor and bawling. Drama. 

My father-in-law has been in the hospital for some work on his heart. He's going to be okay, but it's been a strange week. I can't help but be reminded of how perilous life is, how little control we have, and that "the lie of tomorrow" is exactly that. All we have is now.


Wyatt and I were driving home from the hospital the other night and he talked me into riding shotgun. He likes to be in charge of channel surfing, rattling off song titles, artists, and singing along. This song came on, Wyatt turned it up, and something about the moment put me in touch with my essence, the sensation of being alive and embodied.

I felt that my body was tired and hot. I felt Wyatt's presence next to me and the complete preciousness of every one of his limbs--all the scratches and bruises from biking, the bug bites from bonfires in the back yard. I felt my fear and sadness around Wayne's suffering and hospital stay. I felt satisfaction in the conflicts I helped mediate at work this week. I felt the wind through the window and noticed all the drivers around me, doing their best in their lives just like I am. I felt pain in my lower back and irritation that I'd been in the car so much. I felt anxious about the dog being left alone for so long and expectation about what might be in the mailbox. 

One of the meditation books I'm reading pokes fun at our need to "share" about what we experience. This blog post is a prime example. Somehow, the moment feels more complete if I remember it this way. I'm learning that awareness is intense and sometimes painful, but it's a whole lot better than not being aware. As one of the mystics says, the deepest me is God. There's no reason to fear going deeper. 

Our family is about to launch into an unusually crazy week. My hope is to be present in all the coming and going, notice anxieties as they crop up, and find transformative moments in the middle of it all. I hope the same for you.