"I wish this was my life."

I looked over my mom's shoulder to the fisherman's boat behind her. The late afternoon sun made the water sparkle and the warm salty air filled my lungs.

Three old men sat on lawn chairs on the deck of their boat, sharing eachother's company while gazing off into the sea. A row of seagulls lined the dock in front of the restaurant waiting for any spare food from the customers.

I licked the crusted salt from my warming Tecate bottle and pondered over how much more time we would have sitting here in the sun before it was time again to go home.

"This is your life," My mom said to me.

I shielded my eyes from the sun and turned my gaze back to her.

"You're an hour from home and you're sitting here right now...This is your life."

While in my head I meant "this" as living on the beach of an Island with/like Hemingway writing and painting and fishing and sipping gin and tonics with suntanned skin...It was nice to reflect on the fact that, yes, this is my life.

I thought...It is so easy to wish to be in another place, with someone else, doing something different... It is a longing that is never satisfied. While home; one longs to be away, moving, shaking, traveling, doing...and while one is doing the very act of all that- somehow the opposite is now the desire. To be home, and safe, and secure, and taken care of.

Is it possible to truly enjoy today? Moments? Without thinking of the future, the past, or someplace else?

Of course it is.

I took a deep breath and felt the warmth of the sun beat down on my face.