I don’t remember who said that life is in the details. It is. Life is what happens when I’m busy making lists and running from one place to another. When I’m up late or up early worrying about what-ifs and maybes.

Life happens. And I certainly can miss it if my eye is not trained on the moment.

Take this awareness test: Moonwalking Bear.

I built a business on the principle that community-building can boost business success, by focusing on relationship marketing. And so I thought all of my new clients shared the characteristic of caring about community.

And while they all may very well do that, I realized today that what connects these inspiring companies – Hiller’s Markets, Yoga Shelter, YogaMedics, Zoup!, Hacienda Mexican Foods, the Grekin Skin Institute, the Hiller ALS Center – is awareness and intention.

Seems like an easy thing, doesn’t it? Obvious, even? Of course, by asking the question I am establishing that it is not, in fact, easy or common at all.

The other day, in a moment of swirling anxiety, someone told me, “You’re already doing the work. Don’t focus on the destination.”

I’ve known that forever – why didn’t I hear myself saying it? Why does it take another voice for me to listen?

And today, in an orientation for Zoup!, an adage of the decade-old company hit me from a new angle: the customer is always … the customer.

Of course they are! “It is not what we do; it is who we are,” someone said today.

It is who I am. And who is that?

Lately, I’ve been basking in the superficial glow of people admiring my straight hair. No, my hair is not straight. But on a lark, I used big brushes and a powerful hair dryer and a pink-for-breast-cancer-awareness straightening iron to elongate my curls and frame my face with silky, flowing locks.

I haven’t changed at all. The reactions of others to my appearance has. And I will consider that by changing who I am in the mirror, I somehow boost who I am beneath the surface? Maybe?

This seems like a silly topic for a blog and I have work to do and it’s already after 9 o’clock at night.

And so I will leave you with this: think of who you were on the side of the mountain, when all you heard was the rush of a far-off waterfall that you couldn’t even see, and the call of the birds from very high treetops. You stopped to catch your breath and inhaled the scent of pine needles beneath your feet. The distance was everywhere. The drumbeat of your heart inside your chest was all the music you needed to know you were alive and living and in this very moment unlike any other moment before or ahead.

You didn’t even know that in an hour, you would sit on a bed of wildflowers and eat strawberries until your fingers bled with their juice and below you, the salmon were running their course against the current of the Columbia River.

You thought not of love or of loneliness or who would inhabit your bed that night or a week later or months before. You thought not of writing a poem or of the angst you clutched in your 20s like a tattered soft blanket dragged behind you through the years.

You did not think at all as you listened to the fast-call of the wind against an open arching mountainside and you were not even at the summit and you were so far from the base. And all was good and all was good and that sun shone like white into a night-dark tunnel and you tilted your sweaty head back against the air and closed your eyes. You could still see the jewel-blue of the water.

Connect with Lynne

Register for The Writers Community