There was a talk given by a professor of mindfulness recently. People kept pouring in the door, outnumbering the chairs, so staff went hunting up more from other parts of the building. I had volunteered to greet the guests and enjoyed conversations with half a dozen friends from divergent corners of my life.  I spoke with an old classmate from high school, a woman who never forgets to send me a gift certificate at Christmas, and a young mother who is hungry for reassurance about her son's hitting. Each conversation was genuine, and I was grateful for both the words, and feelings, exchanged. 

Everyone there was self selected. We took time on a weeknight to come hear about mindfulness from a doctor on staff at an Ivy League university, so there was a collective air of circumspection. Dr. Baime spoke about his first encounter with spiritual awareness, which happened as he lay looking up at the vast sky when he was in third grade. He became aware that he and in fact all of us are intimately connected. In later years he studied with Tibetan monks, and taught their practices to other westerners. 

He led us in a guided meditation to help us settle into our physical bodies. Then he suggested that we engage in an exercise with the person next to us. One of us told a thirty second story about a stressful moment, and the other listened carefully, while counting down from a hundred. By threes. 

It was a curious experience to parcel out my attention between arithmetic and an engaging tale about a little girl acting out. Yet I found it can be done. 

Being mindful in marriage can be hard. How does one focus on the person whose life is connected to our own with a bungee cord, that alternately stretches and slacks as we zoom through our routines? How can we listen fully, while still keeping an ear out for the increasing roar upstairs from two grumpy toddlers, and the buzz of the microwave that announces that dinner is served? 

The good doctor underscored for me the value of being present in this moment. And this moment. Not continuously perched on anticipation, yet neither weighed down with regret.

Because as it turns out, this instant has something lovely to offer.