What if “now” is “the” time?

Maybe we don’t have to wait for perfect

What if this is as good as it gets?

What if it’s not?

Now isn’t perfect.

But what is?

I don’t even know what’s triggered this peace.

I don’t know why the realisation that now is all we actually have just hit me.

But it has.

And perhaps that’s enough.

It’s hot.

Really hot.

It’s been hot where I live for weeks, and the next ten days’ forecast has a 3 in front of every single temperature, with not a single water drop in sight.

The local grape harvests begin tomorrow; almost five weeks ahead of their usual picking.

Cracked road surfaces. Dry fields.

The fruit trees are struggling too. Imperfect crops everywhere.

Green figs are yellow.

Pears are gnarled.

And yet, they’re still fruit.

Still growing.

Still here.

Maybe “imperfect” doesn’t mean “not good enough.”

I’m not exactly smashing it

I paid for a gym subscription.

I have been once in the past month.

Once.

Not going to rebuild my bones after chemotherapy and radiotherapy anytime soon at this rate.

We know how important exercise is. We know it’s good for us. The Olympic cyclist Sir Chris Hoy (who has stage 4 cancer) famously talks about exercise as though, if it were a pill, it would be prescribed as a miracle drug.

And yet…

Once. Is more than none.

Travel is prohibitive too, with diesel at it’s most expensive ever.

€2.23 a litre.

So there’s that.

And then there’s the fact that we took our youngest to the airport recently as she flew off to start her first job.

Our nest is empty.

Another chapter closed.

Or perhaps another one opening.

The things that aren’t right

I did venture out to our nearest city for a classical music concert in a very old church.

Very thick walls.

I was sure those walls would cushion us from the heat.

They didn’t.

Not even slightly.

But the concert?

Stunning.

Then there was the blouse I bought in the sales.

I discovered afterwards that it had a couple of blood stains on it.

Too far away to return.

So that was annoying.

I have a humungous pile of filing to do.

Rooms to clean.

And and and…

I’m tired today.

I’ve been working hard on our website this week – adding resources, re-aligning content, making things work better.

It’s not perfect.

But what is?

The list of things that aren’t right is always longer than the list of things that are.

And then I stopped

No one in my family, or among my close friends, has died in the past year.

That sounds like a strange thing to celebrate.

But it is.

It’s bucking the trend of the previous decade, during which I’ve lost friends and all of my birth family.

This year, everyone I love is still here.

That matters.

My ultrasound was clear this week.

Nine years out from stage 3 breast cancer, my doctor is still recommending an annual check-up.

No mammograms for me – happy to discuss.

And I get lovely testimonials on a regular basis from strangers who appreciate what I do.

Those things matter too.

I have a home

I have food in my fridge.

I have electricity to keep it fresh.

I can pay the bill.

I have spent the past two evenings at an open weekend for a business in our village – the village where I have lived for the past 20 plus years.

There are people here who genuinely care about me.

That’s no small thing.

The classical music concert was stunning, despite the oppressive heat.

The blouse?

The stains came out in the wash.

And I love it.

The things that seemed like problems have a habit of changing shape.

Sometimes they disappear.

Sometimes they become stories.

Sometimes they remain annoying.

And sometimes, they sit alongside something much bigger.

There’s still uncertainty

I’m still wrangling with authorities over what, when and how a pension will look for me.

I’m still trying to get the compensation for an 18 hour delayed flight in January (1200 euros outstanding – worth fighting for – though it really shouldn’t be a fight – it’s European law after all.)

I’m still working through how the remainder of 2026 will play out.

Trips.

Work.

Holiday.

Awards.

Leisure.

Plans.

Possibilities.

And as for “empty nesting”?

A new chapter begins.

I don’t know exactly what it will look like yet.

Perhaps that’s the point.

So, for now…

For now, in this moment, I’m choosing to have this for lunch:

Mushroom soup.

“In this heat?”

Yes.

In this heat.

Because it’s what I fancy.

Because it’s really healthy.

Because this is the moment I’m actually in.

Not the moment when the weather cools down.

Not the moment when the filing is done.

Not the moment when the website is perfect.

Not the moment when the pension is sorted.

Not the moment when the next trip is booked.

Not the moment when I know what this next chapter looks like.

This moment.

Right now.