Fireflies, Pete Holmes, and Finding Awe

On meditation

“But how,” asked sparrow, “can I stop my mind from wandering?”

“Why would you want to?” smiled fox. “That’s where the really good stuff is found.”

…

Parts + pieces of Black Beauty, The Jacobsen, Rolypoli, and The Classic

…

I was 23 when I saw my first firefly.

It was Virginia. It was summer.

A time where the air feels thick and slow.

And smells of honey, and wonder.

If you know it, you know it’s also hot. And heavy.

Like one of those weighted blankets draping your every movement, every thought.

Yet around the gloaming each night, when the sun’s almost set and dark is near, something happens.

It’s a shift, like a cosmic window has been cracked, a breeze easing in.

Like you’re standing on an asphalt tarmac in front of an open frig.

It was my favorite time. And it’s when she first came to me.

As the shadows were deepening, she sparked the darkness.

Here. Then there. Over and again. And again.

First one, then another. A hundred mini-campfires lighting the night sky.

Ever in my head, this time I wasn’t thinking. I was just feeling.

I felt wonder.

I felt awe.

I felt love.

It was freaking amazing. And I will always remember that night.

Because I felt more like a child in that moment than I did when I was a child.

It’s hard to explain. But I think you might understand.

I guess it was a revelation. And a gift.

I learned that it was okay to be in the mystery.

Without definition. Without word. Without certainty.

That's something I forget often.

The thought came again to me today as I finished listening to “Comedy Sex God,” the brilliant book by the even brilliant-er Pete Holmes.

If you haven’t read it (or listened), I can’t recommend it enough.

It’s about what happens when you decide to really show up to the life you are actually living.

I laughed. I cried (even during the Additional Reading section). And I felt seen and less alone.

Thank you, Pete Holmes. Thank you.