I thoroughly enjoying the way the floor of my garage looks filled with yellow leaves, and the sky looks with those windy landscapes of clouds that come only with Nevada. Today, I forfeit all of my unhappiness. I allow myself to be, if even for a passing moment in time.

I learned this, or maybe remembered this, from two little boys wandering around Sundance bookstore looking for sci-fi novels. One of my favorite afternoon activities is sitting in sundance. Its this lovely old building, transformed with books. These two old men put an inspiring amount of love into the place, into the floor to ceiling book shelves that overwhelm my mind. There’s nooks and crannies filled with whatever it is I need to read on the particular windy afternoon.  There’s something moving and grounding about sitting in the single chair in the attic reading yoga anatomy, a subject incredibly fascinating.

So I’m sitting, curdled up with “Yoga for Pregnancy,” loving being a yoga nerd. And these two little boys run up the stairs. They take one look at the sign above the door of the room I’m in, “spirituality,” and race for the other direction. Interesting in itself. Well, a couple minutes later they realize that for some reason, there’s a sci-fi book hiding in the midst of Buddhism attempts and self help novels. One of the boys picks up a book, “The Art of Living.” And in the kindest, most authentic way he asks the rhetorical question: “why would anyone read this book, everyone knows how to live.” Then he preceded out the room, moving on to adventures with monsters and magic (the things people don’t know about, and should probably learn, I expect him to say).

So today, wherever you are reading this post, write yourself the invitation to remember how to live. We sometimes forget that we intuitively and innately know how to move through our lives. Telling ourselves story, after story in an attempt to remember. However, we are well aware of how to move through our reality: in the way that feels good. Move and act in ways that inspire you. Connect to something, if only a tad, bigger than you. Dance with the way you mind and your body and your soul interact.

Allow yourself to just be. The most simple and precious gift, given by a child so blissfully and ignorantly aware on a windy afternoon.