The Celebration Begins Here and Now
by Robin L. Silverman
I stopped at the grocery store tonight to pick up a few things. I was in a hurry, and felt lucky when I spied a line with only a young mother and her daughter. As I placed my few items on the belt, I noticed that the little girl, who looked to be about 5 years old, was very
beautiful. Her satiny skin was the color of milk chocolate. Her hair, tied in a ponytail, glistened under the florescent lights. She was dressed in pink from neck to toes—a tutu and slippers, having obviously just been picked up from ballet class. But most mesmerizing
were her eyes. She glanced up at me for just a second, but quickly returned her attention to the young cashier who was going about her mother’s business.
She never took her eyes off him. She watched his every move; the way his hand passed the item over the scanner. The soft placement of the item in the plastic bag. The smile he gave her mother. The movement of his back and hips as he turned to place the
money in the register. The child’s lush, curly eyelashes barely fluttered the entire time. She wasn’t staring at him. Rather, she included him, accepted him, welcomed him. She smiled softly, ever-so-gently, the entire time.
And then she was gone. The young man greeted me, and as he rang up my few items, I said, “That little girl never took her eyes off you.”
“I didn’t notice,” he said.
“Well, she noticed you, that’s for sure. I think she memorized every move you made.”
He seemed surprised as he smiled. I think I caught a faint blush.
He finished bagging my groceries, and then suddenly, he startled me with his full attention. Our eyes locked. “Thanks,” he said. “You have a good night now, y’hear?”
I felt a warm glow as I walked away, recognizing the spiritual lesson I had just been taught by the encounter. The little girl was celebrating that moment of her life by taking it all in, and likely, making a memory of it. I could only imagine the
conversation she would have with her mother later, asking questions about the boy’s actions that I was sure her mother wouldn’t remember. Yet she would know every single detail. Not just those she took in with her physical senses, but those she imprinted in her heart by
being completely, utterly, undisturbedly present the entire time.
Both the boy and the girl’s mother had not been celebrating that moment of their lives until I reminded the boy of the “party” he had just missed. Then he awakened, and I was startled by how incredibly good it felt to be included in his full awareness.
That simple act transformed a few moments as mundane and ordinary as picking up a few things at the grocery store into a celebration of life for me.
It has taken me most of my life to know that a celebration isn’t necessarily something that comes with printed invitations. When we think about celebrating our lives, we sometimes think of doing so after someone has died or at the end of their lives,
looking back at their major accomplishments and the great deeds they’d done. We celebrate our lives at other moments too, like birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, weddings and baby namings or baptisms. But those are occasional things, highly anticipated but quickly
forgotten. This is because an occasion isn’t necessarily a celebration of life; it’s the celebration of a single external milestone. If we only celebrate at those moments, we miss the easy, wonderful fact that any and every moment has the potential to be celebrated, not with
fanfare, but still with unrestrained joy and great satisfaction.
Almost everyone has had glimpses of this: the hug that lasts just a little longer than usual, when you find yourself melting into another and the borders that separate the two of you seem to dissolve. The breath of fresh air after a long winter’s
bleakness that is filled with the richness of freshly budded trees and flowers. The laughter you hear in the coffee shop; the tingle of diving into the surf on a hot summer’s day. People who have nearly lost their lives talk about these kinds of celebrations, where every
single moment counts.
But what about the rest of us? There is a great movement now towards awakening to the Now, the only moment we ever can celebrate. The world is slowly becoming conscious, moving out of our cluttered minds and into our bodies. This, in turn, is where
awareness is born, where we can experience life throwing its golden, sparkling self at our feet in glorious, unrestrained ecstasy, waiting for us to come and play, learn, laugh and love.
I shifted the car into Park and reached behind me to grab the bag of groceries. As I stepped onto the driveway, the heels of my dress shoes sounded like castanets. My key sounded like it had opened the tumblers of a safe as I opened the door. I kicked
off my shoes and felt my Achilles tendons stretch as my heels touched the floor for the first time that day since my morning shower. I sank into the cushions of the most comfortable chair in the room and looked out the window: the azalea bushes in the yard glowed fuscia in
the fading light. I took a bite of the salad I had bought and felt an explosion of water cascade over my tongue from the refrigerated lettuce.
And as the moment that would never come again in my life gave way to the next, I heard my heart say “Thanks.”
© Copyright 2008 Robin L. Silverman. All Rights Reserved.
Robin L. Silverman is the creator of Fullistic Living (TM), a method to help you fully integrate your mind, body and spirit so you can discover the joy of living. Visit her website for ideas, articles and more:
For more information on her seminars, keynote speeches, training and consulting services, visit www.fullisticliving.com
Her books include: "Take a Load Off! The mind/body way to let happiness help you lose weight";
"The Ten Gifts: Find the Personal Peace You've Always Wanted From the Ten Gifts You've Always Had"; "Something Wonderful is About to Happen: True Stories of People Who Found Happiness in Unexpected Places"; "America's Land of Tranquility: Visions of the Secret Beauty of North
Dakota"; and "Reaching Your Goals!"
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