You Are Here

You know how when you go to some place new, like a shopping mall or an amusement park or a zoo or a high-rise office tower clutching your resume in hand, you automatically search for the lighted sign that’s a directory slash legend slash map — a device that so graciously shows you, usually with a big red dot, “YOU ARE HERE?”

Here’s something else to think about. Ever tease a kitty with a laser pointer? Yes, it’s hilarious, the kitty is game most of the time, but even when they catch the spot, they never really quite catch the spot.

Sometimes I feel like I’m never exactly at the spot, my personal YOU ARE HERE spot, that place where I’m supposed to be. When I’m on my bike, I should be cresting that distant hill. When I’m swimming, I’m wishing I were toweling off. When I’m running, I’m wishing I was walking it off. When I’m with others, I long to be alone. When I’m standing at the stove, I’m longing to be at the table, eating with my family. When I’m frustrated, I want resolution. When I have a project, I want it complete, and I want to deliver it with a certain amount of wow factor wrapped into it.

I feel this with people, too. Can we be friends? Is this too much trouble? Does their interest mirror mine? Sometimes I even feel this with my children. I wonder. Feelings slip away like sand in our fingers. Sometimes I have to tell myself that a particular moment cannot be relived, and all I have left to savor is the memory. After a while you realize the memory is embellished or tarnished, no longer exact.

As a result, you are never really here because life is a journey, and as we continue to breathe, we become more than we were a moment ago.