I find it difficult to reside in the present. My mind is usually a few years back, or a few forward. I dwell in the realms of “why?” and “what if?”
There is a type of writing which requires a head cocked to the right, and eyes raised to the left. I’m unsure what I’m trying to conjure or recall, but it must be located somewhere between my wrinkled forehead and the popcorn ceiling.
I pull my eyes back to the computer screen, where I transcribe the dishwasher churn, my wiggling foot, the blinking light on my phone, and the dreaming dog at my hip. I notice the the here and now, in its plainness, and type it on out.
This is the way I write when I don’t know what to write. I log the light, describe the sounds, capture the feelings. It is in distraction that I seek mindfulness. And by writing down the world around me, low and behold, I find a little peace.