A conversation that reminded me what presence actually means.
I came across an exchange recently that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I'm recording it here so I can return to it.
It went like this:
Minnie:"These flowers are so beautiful — and so fresh. I want to make them last. You're a florist; how do I do it?"
Mickey:"The thing is — are you ready for this? — flowers are not meant to last. They're not here to be preserved. They're here to remind you to be present. They're a small, living argument for the now."
That's it. That's the whole thing. And yet it landed somewhere deep.
We spend so much energy trying to make things permanent — photographs, routines, relationships, feelings — as if duration is what gives something value. But the flowers don't know they're temporary. They're just being exactly what they are, as fully as they can, for however long they have.
Maybe that's the reminder they're actually carrying. Not "enjoy this while it lasts" — which still orients you toward the ending — but simply: be here. The present moment is not a waiting room. It's the whole thing.
I've been trying to hold that a little more gently lately.