Beyond Fantasy: Thoughts on "Being" Present
How to respond when reality is begging to be savored.
To daydream this way is a gift and a prison. You can spend years of your life here, living off the vapors of potential, only to wake up at 42 and realize you remember past Christmases through your photo album, not with the intangible 5-D splendor you created in your head.
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I have to make cookies on Saturday for a party, and it occurred to me that I could make extras. Not just a few cookies, but assembly-line batches of pistachio shortbread with rose petals, cardamom butter cookies dusted in powdered sugar, those sesame halva things that take forty-five minutes each. Simple. Then, I thought, I’ll buy the good boxes from that place I always want to visit but never actually go to, with the good ribbon. I’ll maybe add little tags with our names on them in my best handwriting.
I can see myself walking the neighborhood at dusk, porch lights clicking on, me in my coat, looking like someone who has time to hand-deliver baked goods. The fantasy includes me not being tired. This is how I know I’ve left reality.
