Dona E. Bowens

I don’t live in the moment anymore. I live in the future now, looking towards the past. I have never been one to dwell much on the past, much less attempt to recreate it. Forward! Onward! What adventure lurks just around the bend? However, traveling, literally, to my past in Barcelona keeps my mind off of the horror that is the moment. People have asked, “Then why did you return in the first place? Wasn’t it to be closer to your mom? Family?” Indeed, that was a motivating factor. But, considering the moment we are in, I realized two things. Thing #1—my Mom, gods be praised, is healthier than I am. America, coupled with my inability to not indulge myself, menage a trois’ed with the sedentary lifestyle of my current moment—I mean, I haven’t walked 4 blocks carrying 5 bags of groceries in years—has added 50 pounds to my half-century old body. At least my legs still look good. So, Mom is healthy but me…meh.

Thing #2—Dear fam, and especially you MOM, you have to make a commitment to visit more than ONCE in 16 years. If you don’t exodus yourselves, and I understand why that’s hard to do—for the love of sanity, for the love of us, come and visit. Come and stay awhile. Make it a habit. Moments are what we have and more moments are behind us than ahead, so let’s spend them indulging bliss and being shameless about it.

Because the moment we are in now, can make you forget that bliss even exists. I truly believe that bliss will be in short supply around these parts for awhile. There’s a word I can’t get out of my head lately, because I’m hoping to stumble across a better word to capture the vibe of the moment here in America, the word is aggression. Driving is an act of aggression. Hunting cheap chicken and eggs is aggression. I’ve been subbing the last few weeks in a middle school which is a microcosm of American aggression. The kids have learned it well. I’ve broken up 2 fights during my short tenure like I was a bouncer at a strip club. And the way they speak to each other—the hatred bubbles up at the drop of a pencil. But, this is the aggressive American way. Spain has adopted into Spanish the word “bully” because they had no need for such a word until recently. Somehow, we’ve exported our aggression.

I’m privileged. I have amazing friends from my past who are moving mountains to help me get to my future. I’m privileged. I have exodus option #1 and option #2. One of them is going to work out. As each moment passes, option #1 becomes clearer, nearly tangible. I’m privileged. I want everyone who desires to make a mad dash for the exit to have options. I know that 99% do not. I selfishly put that thought out of my head. I’m so privileged that sometimes, I don’t even bother washing the dishes and instead just throw them out. Can’t take them into the future with me. I’m pacing the platter purge so that by the time September rolls around I’ll be down to one plate, fork, knife, spoon and cup. They already have those things where I’m headed in the future and I already know how to get them cheap…because I was there in the past.

Think about the moment. Let’s be in the moment for just a moment. How much worse must the moment be for you to risk it. To say that whatever is unknown around the bend, on another shore, in the future, can’t be worse than the moment I’m living in now? In the distant future, when I’m dust, I want someone to stumble across a 1930’s, American-made Davenport in an antique shop in Barcelona and ask, “How did this get here? There must be an amazing story behind it.”

Indeed there is, my friend, an amazing story.