50 Percent

When I add up the daydreaming, dreaming, reading books, and watching movies, my life must be at least 50 percent imaginary. I walk to work. Am I really aware of all that's happening between points A and B? No, I am scheming, speculating, dreaming as I avoid stepping on the remnants of hoagies. Only when I reach Market Street and face the risk of injury and death does my life reality percentage shoot up past 90 percent. At my desk, it's the same. Reality does not engage me as much as the hypothetical, or even as much as memory. Something tells me this is not so good. Yet I wonder how else could life be? Who is out there white water rafting, making love, tasting fresh berries, squishing damp sand between their toes, contemplating the dappled light through the trees all the time? Let me take a moment to be mindful of my present reality.

In this room, I hearken to the drone of the idle laser printer, I cool myself in the fluorescence of the overhead fixture. So much beige. So much gray. So many parallel lines. A ringing phone. The drone undercut by the baritone anti-W mumblings of the librarian across the hall.

Okay. I'll have to make a few changes before I can do straight 100 percent proof reality. Maybe I should aim for 45 percent imaginary, 65 percent reality to start, then work my way up to a more mindful mix.