Off Target

by Wendy Perrotti

I popped in to Target last night to pick up some mascara and ended up in there for an hour.

What is it about that place that calls me to wander?

I found myself in the men's section - because, wandering - and I see this completely adorable little girl telling her mom a story she's made up about one of those plastic sock hangers she must have found on the floor.

I was completely entranced by this hilarious kid.

I sidled a bit closer with my back to her so I could hear every word.

At some point, the mom said, "what?" and then noticed the sock hanger. "Give me that," she said, "it's probably filthy."

Off they went, the mom with her extensive list in hand, and the kid scanning the store for her next conquest.

I almost burst into tears.

I couldn't help thinking about how many amazing moments I've missed over the years. Moments with my kids, husband, parents, grandparents, brother, and friends. Moments of spectacular sunsets, summer rains or the simple smell of coffee brewing in the morning.

Just by writing the words now, the lump has returned to my throat.

Let me be clear.

I have zero judgement for that mom. Nor am I suggesting that the scenario has caused me to judge my former self or actions. Life is busy and it's completely impossible to pay 100% attention to anything or anyone 100% of the time.

In fact, many of the forfeited moments of our past lives were overtaken by things that truly felt or actually were more urgent.

But many weren't.

Everything that's real (I know you've heard me say this a million times - and it's worth repeating a million more)...

Everything that's real exists only in this moment. Yet we spend so much of our time either thinking about yesterday, worried about tomorrow, or dividing our present attention between multiple focuses.

The only thing we can never get back is this moment and the only thing we lose forever once spent, is our time.

As corny as it sounds, when you're thinking about what presents to give this season, consider giving yourself the gift of presence. 

My grandmother used to look people in the eyes and tell them she loved them. She did this with everyone from her grandchildren to the cashier at the market where she shopped.

We all believed her, because before she said it to you, she actually saw you.

What a gift it was.