I always wanted to live in the moment, but lately, I’ve been having a bit of trouble not obsessing over every little thing. Every occurrence, every word. It wasn’t until I read your essay that my attention became divided. I had been content with myself and my daily life until your words brought me out of my shell.
I usually shied away from reading essays as I was often more interested in fictionalized accounts of life over personal accounts. Why should a stranger’s feelings about how terrible the world is effect my well-being? That was until I read your essay on community, life and how kindness plays a part in our everyday life. What if being in the moment wasn’t good enough?
The more I pondered your essay, the more anxious I became. The more anxious I became, the more I paced. The more I paced, the less I slept. The less I slept, the more irritated I got. I did the only thing I knew to do when I didn’t feel well, I called my mother.
My mother was not the most reliable of sources because she was about as neurotic as I was. Maybe even more so. As soon as I told her what was happening, she instantly became quiet. Instantly had ‘business to attend to.’ Her reaction made me dig deeper into you, into your words. The more I researched, the more obsessed I became. Until I found out who you were and where you came from.
Standing Room Only 