Deep Thoughts (Not Really)

For the past year or so, one of J.P.'s former nannies, Laura Musten, has literally been touring the world, playing violin in a band called "Owl City."  When she came to work for us, Laura had fairly recently graduated from Belmont University after majoring, I believe, in music performance.  At the time, it seemed to me that Laura was trying to figure out where her life was going to take her.  I think (and these are my thoughts and mine only) she was having some doubts as to whether she would be able to make a living playing her violin and playing it in a way that fulfilled her, as opposed to giving children lessons, playing weddings and special events, etc.

Through a fortuitous set of circumstances, the full nature of which I'm not completely clear on, Laura hooked up "Owl City," played a few shows on a short tour, then was asked to continue to play and tour extensively with the band.  Thus, she left us and began an exciting journey to see the world, violin case in hand.  

Jude and I have enjoyed hearing about all the cities, towns and places Laura and Owl City have played the last year or so, as she "tweets" about them on Twitter (if you don't understand Twitter, I can't explain it to you).  Laura's such a kind, genuine person, who was so good to our son, that we can't help but be excited for her success. 

All of the above is a long way of getting to the point of this post.  Last week, from Hawaii, Laura tweeted "I think this is he best day of my life!"  No explanation, no details, just "I think this is the best day of my life!"

Laura's tweet got me to thinking, really, how often can any of us say that?  When have we felt, at the time, in the moment, that we were living the best day of our life?  I mean, how many times, in life, do we  get to have that feeling?  My guess is probably not that many, especially if you exclude special events, like weddings, the birth of a child or grandchild, etc.  And, when we do have that feeling, do we remember it?  My guess is in most cases, probably no, we don't remember it.  That's kind of sad, really.

The point of all this, to me, anyway, is a reminder to live in the moment.  To appreciate the day you're living.  It's trite, I know, but we're not promised anything more than today.  That being said, it's incumbent upon us to find the beauty in each and every day, and to avoid dwelling on problems that occur at work, at home, or somewhere in between.  

The day before yesterday, here at our beach house in Santa Rosa Beach, Fl, J.P. woke up early from his nap, crying.  I walked into his room and laid down on the bottom bunk of the bed, next to his "Pack-n-Play."  He stopped crying and fell sound asleep, shortly after I laid down.  A little while later, as I laid in bed and read Pay Conroy's latest novel, "South of Broad," I noticed the sunlight filtering through the wooden shades, forming a symmetrical pattern on the book and the bed where I lay.  I placed the book on my stomach, turned my head to the side and just watched my son for a few minutes, sleeping.

Then, I thought to myself, this might be the best day of my life.