I attended the Paralympic Games this week. It was hard enough to get tickets to the Olympic Stadium, given the success of London 2012, and I was full of awe at just being there.
My eight-year-old daughter was beside herself with excitement: she’d been looking forward to it for weeks. She throws herself into whatever event, party or park she’s at, wholeheartedly and whole-bodily present. In comparison, I often find my mind wandering, and my body shifting to get comfortable. I envy her ability to truly live her moment.
Except at the Paralympic athletics this week, I lived mine. From the moment I entered the stadium – watching strong men in wheelchairs power across the finish line, one-legged men effortlessly clearing high jumps, and the whole crowd cheering for every other country’s anthems – I felt humbled to be human. Especially given the superhuman feats taking place in the stadium in front of me.
It was a hot evening, but a friendly and uplifting one. I breathed in each moment I was there, knowing there wouldn’t be any others like this. I didn’t want the lights to come on, because I knew that would signal home time.
I truly lived my BIG moment because I knew my chance to watch Paralympic athletics at the London 2012 Olympic stadium would never come again. So why don’t I appreciate all moments in the same way – big, small or otherwise – even though I know they won’t be repeated either…?