i'll be looking at the moon

“There is reason, after all, that some people wish to colonize the moon, and others dance before it as an ancient friend.” - James Baldwin, No Name in the Street

eyes soft, ears back. she’s feeling. maybe she’s appreciating the cold air or the sun on her face or the warmth of her new sweater.

When I’m at a concert or in a gallery or at dinner with a friend, I’m fully present. My eyes are focused, I listen louder, and my mind is centered. And never once do I reach for my phone. Not even to grab a few pictures for Instagram. Who needs proof when you have the lived experience?

Unfortunately, too little of my time is spent gazing in awe at Stevie Nicks as she twirls too close to a stage’s edge. And I only occasionally stroll through the halls of the National Portrait Gallery. Or huddle in a dim-lit dive laughing over appetizers. I’m now realizing that my deep presence in these moments is due to their rarity.

When my life is ordinary, I reach for my phone - my smallest and most problematic friend.

At the dog park, I hurriedly seek out a bench so I can sit and cull through my emails. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll pay attention then,” I say to myself.

I’m watching a new movie but I’m scrolling social media or online shopping. “If I miss something, I’ll just rewind it.”

While working, I blast the news or a podcast, keeping my mind divided. Don’t focus on any one thing too intensely. Consume and consume but don’t feel.

Do you see the problem? Do you see how I rationalize my inattention? How I’m rarely focused on one thing? What about my presumption that there will be a tomorrow?

My privilege is showing. And my mind is frayed.

At some point, I decided that the ordinary doesn’t require my full presence. That, even worse, it’s unworthy of it.

Think of what I’ve missed. The many micro-moments of wonderfulness that have stood before me, unnoticed.

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I’m a firm believer that my attention determines the experiences I have and the experiences I have determine the life I live. But I’m currently allowing my distractions to derail me. I’m struggling to keep my attention steady and on track in a way that seems both purposeful and realistic.

And I’m worried that even when I am focused, it’s not on the right things. That, like Baldwin’s quote highlights, I’m so preoccupied with colonization (technology) that I forget to see the beauty and the rawness of the expected.

(At least I’m not a billionaire blasting off my phallic rockets with actual plans of colonizing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a part of the problem.)

I’ll admit, I’ve been so cocky about the certainty of the moon, that I haven’t bothered to look at it. I’ve forgotten to be like the tides and let it move me. It’s 4.6 billion years old, I should spend every night bowing in reverence.

I believe the wonders of this world are quiet and deliberate in their stillness. They don’t need me. They are aware of their glory. The burdens on me. To focus. To honor.

This beaming rectangle of a device, filled with my favorite apps, is extraordinary, but it pales in comparison to a full moon (or my personal favorite the crescent). Or to Delilah running free at the park with a gaggle of wagging tails coming up behind. Or to the sound of my grandfather’s Chuck Berry record floating out of my wooden Crosley. Or to watching, for the first time, Bette Davis tear down Anne Baxter peg by peg - “fasten your seatbelts.” All of this deserves all of me. But I must give myself over. Stop. Watch. Listen.

This is an ode to the things I take for granted, the mundane marvels. I’m sorrowful and ashamed and spilling over with gratitude.

Here’s to finding exquisiteness in the every day and sitting with it. With wide eyes and an open mind.

to feeling my heartbeat slow in rhythm.

to charting the freckled constellations on my face.

to hearing Delilah’s quiet snores as her cozy body steals another inch of the bed.

to watching animal-shaped cotton candy move across the sky.

to locking eyes with the mirror’s reflection.

to hearing the symphony in the breeze.

to dipping buttered bread into warm soup.

to taking my time. to marvel. to savor. every breath.

The years pass. We grow — upward, downward, into eternity, into nowhere. As the years pass, we go.

Let me be mindful before it’s all over…before I go.

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I find solace in the fact that it took Buzz Aldrin going to the moon for him to appreciate the Earth as a “brilliant jewel.” That it took being flung so far away for him to understand the fragility of all that seems assured.

I’m not alone. It’s human to be self-centered, to take for granted. To need a gentle shake or even a trip to space to reorient our gaze, our understanding.

I hope we all find holiness in moments of deep connection to nature, to each other, to the divine, or wherever we find ourselves. 

I’m always present here.

From my soul to yours.

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P.S. If you are like me and need gentle shakes and reminders to refocus, look no further than my beautiful friend,

Paolo Peralta

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When you click that ❤️, my heart explodes with joy.