We are in the midst of a winter storm here in Michigan, though my side of the state has avoided the blizzard designation for now. Instead, we’re in “winter storm warning” mode, praying that our power stays on and the roads are clear for Christmas Eve.

I’ve been trying really hard lately to live in the present moment and not worry about the past or the future, but weather events like these invite a kind of necessity to think ahead. If our power goes out, what do we do? How much gas do we have for the generator? Do we have enough food and water? Do we have batteries for flashlights?

When a big storm hits, we need to plan ahead, so living only in the present moment is risky. It’s foolhardy to never prepare for the future.

I don’t want to be caught off-guard, so I spend a lot of time thinking about the future and making contingency plans. In some ways, I’m being wise. If our power goes out later tonight, we’ll be glad we bought that generator.

But in other ways, my worry about the future is a hindrance. It not only makes me anxious and leads me to catastrophize, but it also makes me miss what’s happening in the here and now.

A few weeks ago, my youngest child was in the midst of a tantrum and I was at my wit’s end. I wanted him to stop screaming, but I couldn’t skip through the tantrum and jump to the calm that always comes in the end. I had to endure the screaming and flailing and acting out. I wanted it to be the future, but I was stuck in the present. We are all stuck in the present like this: stuck in a moment of drudgery or pain or annoyance or helplessness. What we want is to skip ahead. Get to the future. Leave the bad stuff behind.

But I can’t skip over my child’s tantrum, or an illness, or a snowstorm. I have to endure it. And that means I can either think about the future when everything will be better (I hope), or I can accept the present moment in all its agony and move beyond endurance to something approaching an embrace.

This doesn’t mean I’m happy about my child’s tantrum, or the fact that we might lose power from cyclone winds, or whatever other maladies befall me during my lifetime, but even in the midst of these maladies, I’m still here. I’m still alive. Living in the present moment is about living. I’m not embracing the bad as if it’s good, but I’m embracing the fact that I’m alive.

And being alive is good, even in the midst of moments when it’s hard.

It’s a bit hard right now with my whole family cooped up in the house while the winds whip through the trees and snow swirls in all directions. The kids are getting cabin fever, and I’m still worried about what the roads will be like tomorrow for Christmas Eve. The future is making me anxious, but so is the present.

And even though it’s hard, I’ve got to embrace this present moment. It’s frustrating. I’m nervous about the winds. But there are still small moments, present moments, that I can embrace. The sweetness of honey in my peppermint tea. The glow of lights on the Christmas tree. The birds gathered around the feeder, their muted colors of gray and brown, their bright colors of red and white all a flurry of wings and beaks, swarming and scattering the sunflower seeds like tiny pebbles on the hard, smooth surface of the stark-white snow.

I don’t know what tonight will bring, but for this present moment, I’m content.