I picture us living in a small home with a decent sized yard on the outskirts of a small town in New Zealand. From the windows, we look out at the mountains framed by a brilliant blue sky. It is a simple life. We rent out some space of some sort to people traveling through and in this way stay connected to the larger world. There is a garden that allows us to produce much of the fresh food that we need. We diligently can and freeze the excess for the colder months. Every morning we go down the street for a coffee and read books from the local library. When we have free time we drive the van out to the beach. We deepen our practices: meditation, yoga, journaling.
Money? We don’t need much. Just enough.
Doesn’t all that sound nice? And yet, once again I look to an imagined future for my salvation instead of the present moment. The only relief to be found is right here, right now. It is in the hum of the refrigerator, the taste of my coffee, and the feel of the breath moving in and out of my body.
My tendency is to look outside of myself for comfort. If only I had this. When I achieve that. When I meet the right person. All of this, a fool’s errand. And though I know this to be true, I still default to having my eyes set firmly on the horizon instead of on the ground on which I stand.