As I witness the seamless flow of each moment into the next, I develop an eerie sense that nothing outside of the present truly exists. The passing of time is a strange phenomenon. We are all strapped into a train that never stops or turns back, staring out the window at an ever-changing scene. What we see and experience through the window changes ceaselessly, leaving the last scene to our memory and the next one to our imagination. Most of us desperately fight this fate, peering ahead to predict the next turn or staring back helplessly as the train distances from our object of focus. The scene right in front of us is all that truly exists, but something that transforms every moment is incredibly difficult to trust, so we dwell in the past or the future, which paradoxically feels more substantial. But if we simply look straight out the window and practice seeing only what is in front of us, we can take each moment in stride, loving it, letting it go, and welcoming the next one.