As we pull out of the garage, of my family home—our baby sniffling away tears from a nap cut too short. Just as I’m about to break into my best effort of “Wheels on the bus,” I notice a sign hanging above the door to the house. It’s probably been there for 20-years at least.
A reminder as we leave home.
“Enjoy the journey,” it reads in a cursive print indicative of early 2000s home decor. “Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take your breath away.”
Mom found it on a ritualistic quest to HomeGoods.
It was the perfect addition to her, then, at home photography studio. The quote had been the flagship statement, albeit tagline, on her website. A mission statement declaring her commitment to capturing breathtaking moments. Weddings, births, portraits, many a Christmas card.
As a young teen, I’d trade surfing Myspace to sit with her as she edited. Watching in total presence as she extracted the stories hidden within each moment.
The flower girl whispering a secret to her grandfather. The subtle sentimental details donning the tables. A soft questioning look of a bride not fully sure of her groom.
The effortless glimmer in a glance of a child simply being who they are in the glow of natural light. The joy, fear, serenity of parents holding their newborn for the first time.
The quiet thoughts of a subject made loud by the way the light hit their iris. Exposing their dreams, doubts, and desires.
When I look around our family home, I see these frames in frames hanging artfully on the walls. Mom’s muses were always her kids. The four of us unfolding stories in our own right.
As a new mother, myself, I can now understand.
The presence that begets a need to capture, savor, the present moment. To extract the raw materials of a memory in the making. To try and pause time—if even for a shutter-speed of a second.
Poe once said, “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” A refrain in reverence of time eternally fleeting. A brief moment, a breath, a pause while the moment draws you in—and slowly falls farther away. Pulling you out of your head, into your body, and closer to everything—and everyone—all at once.
All too often, we rush to the next milestone. Scored by “I can’t wait,” “wait until,” and “just wait.” As though the present is a waiting room between where you were and wish you could be. Is it possible that the dream we’re waiting for is hiding in brief moments of breath?
The stills of normalcy capturing us with familiarity. A restaurant with perfectly under seasoned dishes and mediocre service. A cup of coffee brewed so strong is stains the memory with early morning moments by the family fire place. A walk to a park that marked a first kiss, that would spark a love story that birthed a full life thousands of miles from home.
I was the kid who couldn’t wait to grow up. Living life in fast forward as so many of us do. Not fully realizing how fast it would all go. Now, a married woman in my thirties, mother of a beautiful baby boy, and business owner, all I want to do is freeze time. Not to keep it the same, but to savor with all of my senses the moments I used to let slip through my fingers. Grains of sand so small, yet vast. Holding fast before the moment is reclaimed by the ocean of time once more.
Change is the only constant.
As I watch my son take in the world, each day unveils a new discovery. Today—his toes. Tomorrow… who knows. That’s the magic though, isn’t it? The unknowing.
The presence that presents a dream we get to dream. For a second, a heart beat longer, no longer needing to ponder what was or what might be.
To explore the practice of presence — and savor the sweetness of stillness — you can begin here.
