When I was younger I was more idealistic. I believed in things like destiny and fate, and thought that somehow the universe had a way of making things okay. I used to sit by my window and listen to the rainfall. I loved how the overcast morning skies painted my room the kind of gray that made the world quiet. I would wake up early and for no reason drive to the beach just to watch the sunrise. I loved these moments of stillness. I lived in these ethereal instances of just existing to feel something, anything. When I was younger I knew how I felt about things, about people and the world. Even in my lowest moments life was still this beautiful, chaotic flow of experiences and it was in between the white noise and nonsense that I was the most like myself.
That seems like such a long time ago. I catch glimpses of that version of me. On rainy days, sitting at a red light, I’ll watch the water glide down my car window and feel calmness. Or when I am in a room filled with the people I love and the sound of their laughter swells in my chest and I’m filled with joy. I get small doses of the old me, in a lot of ways the better me. In those times I am the person that I admire. A Mario that’s just here, living this life, experiencing this moment as it is. Connected. Alive. Awake.
We all have this tendency to sleep through our lives. Trying to save our most human moments for the day we have time to enjoy them. We put real life on the backburner and convince ourselves that one day, when we’ve checked off all the boxes, we’ll start to live it. Once we retire. Once we have the money. Once the kids are grown. Once things are a little less messy, busy, or unsure. It’s not new. We’ve all heard the clichés about how fast life moves. We’ve read the quotes on Instagram and even posted them to our stories. Yet, we never quite get around to giving those words a real meaning. Life becomes this elusive idea of something we’ll get to do eventually. But it’s happening right now, in front of you. To you.
I have hopes for you. Hopes that you remember the things that I’ve forgotten. Like how to appreciate the small moments over the “next step”. Or how life is more of an ocean than it is a ladder. I hope that you get lost in sunsets and lay on your floor listening to music like you did in high school. I hope you let yourself cry when things hurt and laugh until your ribs ache. I want you to remember that every breath you take is a small miracle. It’s your body saying I’m still here. I hope you remember that pain doesn’t last forever. Sometimes things work out but sometimes they don’t and that is its own kind of beautiful too.
Most of all I hope you remember that it’s not too late to start. With all of my heart I hope you remember.