I am sitting in the dark womb of my son’s bedroom, listening to quiet music that is supposed to help him fall asleep, but usually works on me faster, than on him. At five, he still refuses to fall asleep alone. At five, he still crawls into my bed every night. Now he is sleeping and I am looking for reasons to delay my exit. Light and work and maybe a glass of wine are waiting for me in the living room, but I like being in this liminal space, out of time and tethered to the present moment. When I was a teenager, I’ve been told, and I believed for a very long time, that the only right way to live was to look beyond the present moment and into eternity. My don’t know if it was right, but it surely didn’t make me happy in the long run. Now I am feeling more and more the irresistible pull of the here and now. The warmth of the setting sun in my face, as I am walking home after a run. The first sip of strong latte from a coffee shop on my way to work. A glimmer of a lake somewhere in the distance. Feeling safe and well right now, feeling love towards so many people. Wanting to tell them: I love you. Send them a letter. I love you. Be well.