It’s really so simple. I cringe when I think of all the things I miss because they don’t fit my imagination, when they don’t fit the pattern I have in my expectations. I don’t see when something, someone isn’t what I thought I would see.
I imagine that a cup is a cup. When I pick it up, I hardly ever am aware I am touching it, that it has smoothness, that it is warm, that it has shape. I hardly ever am aware of its color, its weight. It is in my awareness, the same old cup that I remembered, and instead of really being aware of it, I rely on my imagination of what it might be.
I often miss the pleasure, the bliss of an open awareness of simple things.
I would do well to remember that I bring something to every encounter with a person or thing. Reality is in my experience, and I shape every experience. My world is truly mine, and it is what I make it.
My imagination can be quite powerful and entertaining. It can bring me joy, excitement, fear and apprehension. It can seem so real, and I can choose whether I want to live in it. I can choose how much I rely on my imagination as I move through my daily world. I can slow down and notice that world more on its own terms and less on mine.