The Gift of One Moment
I took a trip along the countryside today. It was one I longed for because my beloved baby cousin with whom I share a special bond had his matriculation. To watch a kid I lovingly carried in my arms for years don that symbolic gown was in itself a gift, and I looked forward to taking delivery as we journeyed to the venue to meet the young chap. But fate said I was due more than one gift today, so let’s examine the one I didn’t even know I’d be getting.
I’ve travelled within the country only by road, all my life. And that includes the multiple (ten to be exact) eight-hour-ish trips I made between Kogi and Oyo states during my youth service year. Every single time, my choice seat was one by the window that allowed me to use the green scenery of the countryside as a meditative channel. And today was no different, only that it was.
I rode shotgun. And as we settled into our journey, my contemplative tendencies kicked in as I swivelled my head to my right where my window was, and the absorbing views of dense vegetation welcomed me. I can’t quite recall what I was brooding on, but my experience wasn’t as immersive as it usually is. I could still hear the droning of the vehicle and the whooshing of the wind resulting from our speed. I could still see the trees I was staring at. Then, gradually, the thoughts faded, and all I noticed was what I heard, saw and felt.
Then it hit me. I was experiencing the world, actually mentally present enough to connect with reality through the interfaces of sound, sight and feeling instead of getting lost in my familiar vortex of thoughts.
Life for me in specific moments feels more real than usual. Yes, indeed, we are always up and about, doing stuff and keeping busy, and we call this living, but for me, that has always been like running at a blinding pace to the point that it becomes impossible to smell the roses or notice the beauty and feel the warmth of my running trail. It’s like a feeling of numbness induced by ceaseless activity.
And so, for me, my most compelling interactions with reality have always come in the rare moments of total rest. It’s crazy, but when I feel most alive isn’t when I’m tearing through some exciting activity. It’s when I’m present and restful enough to observe the world.
As I sat in the vehicle and was suddenly conscious of the feel of the wind, its howling sound in my ears and the trees that flew by, I was at rest yet felt alive. I consider this life’s ability to distil its essence into moments, and every one of such moments, like life itself, is a gift.
Day 10 of the Not Enough Writers 30-Day Writing Challenge
