My wall calendar page for February shows a dandelion puffball, some of the wishes floating out on the wind, and the text,
“Someday is made up of a thousand tiny nows.”
David used to have a bit where he’d talk about now. No, now. Yes, this now. The now when I speak is different from the now when you hear.
When is now? Now.
This now when I write these words has five white tulips – the first treat of the nearing season, and a candle flickering in a bowl. This now has laundry tumbling in the dryer, and the scrape and snap of a dog chewing a bone like the carnivore she is.
Your now as you read this will be entirely different, and every bit as much now.
Now is ever-changing, ephemeral, impossible to hold onto, like faerie dust or a dragon’s thoughts.
It is always now.
There is always a new now moving in to take its place. Now is constant, but not static. Linear time has difficulty pinpointing now. Yet it is here, right now, all the same.
If someday is indeed made up of an infinite number of tiny nows, what we do with those nows matters.
What does your someday dream look like?
What tiny now is helping you create that?