Snow will fall. And you will, too.

Two days ago, we received a late-season snowfall with big, sloppy, wet flakes. It had been unseasonably warm the week before, so the main roadways remained clear, while the sideroads and walkways were a mess.

This morning, I decided to walk to the neighborhood coffee shop to enjoy some light reading with chai latte' in hand. Weather conditions since the snowfall had been around 30 degrees and sunny, so I thought the sidewalks would be melted and clear. I put on my sneakers and set out - forgoing my colorful Wellies.

Along the way, I spied a father and daughter building a snowman. I noticed waves cresting rhythmically on the breeze-swept waterways. Birds chattered cheerfully and celebrated the sunshine. Two robins hopped this way and that, inspecting a nest supported by the arms of a naked tree. I wondered: Was this their own new construction? Or were they surveying the worthiness of a pre-owned domicile to accommodate their family plans?

I was wrong to expect clear sidewalks. The topographical ups and downs of glistening silver and white footprints covered most of my path with a mix of slush, crunchy snow, and ice covered with meltwater. I alternated between navigating cautiously (stepping carefully within the prints of those who’d gone before) and circumnavigating the tricky sidewalk altogether!

Here and there, a little slip. Nothing much – just enough to spark a moment of the mischievous joy one feels when steering a semi-controlled fishtail. In moments of complacency, when I stopped paying attention to my steps, I realized that if I fell, I might leave a “me”-sized print in the trail. And I’d chill in soggy pants the rest of the way home. Someone peeping out from behind a curtained window might see me fall. They might even laugh.

But the universe reminded me that if I fell because of a misstep, my discomfort would be temporary. And any proof of a fall would disappear within hours – minutes if the sun shone just right. And who am I kidding? Who am I to think that anyone who laughed would remember my spill after I rounded the corner, or after the print was gone?

Any discomfort lasting more than an hour or two would be the result of me dwelling on the fall.

Then the universe startled me with the other possibility.

I have the option to step into untouched snow spots (i.e., not slippery) where no one has stepped before, and create my own trail. There’s a certain satisfaction in arriving at one’s destination with no falls, and marking steps no one else has made.

Such a path would also quietly disappear before the next time I pass by this way (just like the “me”-sized print of a fall). And taking only cautious steps would eliminate the uncertain thrill of a near-miss!

It was the perfect reminder that all we have is right now. Our mistakes and our creations. Our embarrassments and our successes. These all melt away with time. Indeed, even the noble and resolute glaciers melt away, revealing new landscapes to explore.

Oh! To be someone who leaves footprints that last forever and change the world! Most of us aren’t that someone, so why not focus on this moment instead and live as Jesus Jones once sang (or was it Pepsi?):

Right here, right now. There is no other place I want to be.

We often spend so much time worrying about making fools of ourselves that we build up salt domes for adverse times; then we don’t even go outside. Or we worry about a fall that actually happened and assume others think about our mistake as much as we do. (Hint: They don't. They're busy obsessing over their own steps.)

Sometimes we spend so much thought and energy plotting a path, we forget it’s the actual steps that take us anywhere. The path itself does nothing.

It all disappears.

This truth is sobering and liberating all at once!

Accepting that life is temporary allows us to make the most of this moment. This hour. Today. And when we do, we're more likely to come up with something completely original that does leave a mark on the world.

Notice the temporal joys: the birds, the water, the sunshine. Notice the father and daughter building the snowman. Better yet - get out and build your own! And don’t worry if your creation (or evidence of failure) will be there tomorrow.

Make the conscious choice to nourish your body and soul with the sights, sounds, and flavors in the air.

Breathe in deeply and be here now.

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