Live for Today: A Personal Reflection

Pieces of a chapter once lived. Reminders that every ending is also a beginning.

I recently took a trip back to the small town where we used to live before finding the place that feels truly like home. You know how it is in small towns, everyone knows everyone, and stories seem to keep moving even when you’ve left.

My husband still talks with old friends there, so I hear bits and pieces about the house we once called home, that little place that held ten years of our lives. It’s funny how hearing those updates can stir something inside you, even when you think you’ve moved on.

When I drove past the house to reminisce, it felt strange, almost like I was a stranger on the street. That home had carried us through some of our hardest seasons, for me, for my husband, for our daughter. It was a place filled with both love and struggle, laughter and lessons.

We bought it from a couple’s son. His parents had built the home themselves and had lived there for decades. There was no driveway, no light switches, just pull cords dangling from the ceiling lights, one outlet per room, no shower, a leaky basement, and a lot of character. I still remember him telling us stories about how their yard used to be the neighborhood playground, how the kids would slide down the tiniest hill as if it were a mountain. It made me smile, imagining the joy that had lived there long before us.

When we first saw it, it felt right. The yard stretched across five acres of marsh, woods, and open space, and all of it so full of potential. We could see ourselves there. We could see a future.

So we dove in.

Over our time there, we remodeled, one project at a time. We put in a driveway (we called it “SpongeBob” because the clay ground wanted to swallow every machine that touched it and jiggled as you stomped across it), built a garage, and renovated room by room. It wasn’t easy, but it was ours. It was perfect, or at least, it was the perfect version of what we needed at the time.

We thought we’d stay there for almost forever, that maybe someday when we retired, we’d move farther north. But life, as it does, nudged us forward before we expected.

As a family, we decided to move on, to start something new. Our daughter wasn’t quite ready (she’s always been the sentimental one), but she too knew it was time for her own chapter to begin.

The house sold fast, almost too fast. One moment we were there, surrounded by a decade of memories, and the next we were gone. Brianna moving South and my husband and I moving North.

Recently, came the hard part: hearing that the house had been ruined. That the person who bought it had gone through their own struggles, and that the home, once so full of care, beauty, and story, had been damaged.

It broke my heart.

Not just because of the house itself, but because of what it represented. All that work, all that energy, all that love, changed.

But that’s the lesson, isn’t it?

Nothing stays the same.

In yoga, we call this aparigraha, the practice of non-attachment. It’s not about caring less; it’s about loosening our grip and letting life flow without trying to hold onto what is meant to evolve.

We build, we grow, we nurture something until it no longer belongs to us, and then it changes. People change it. Time changes it. Life changes us.

And that’s okay.

We cannot live in the past, replaying what was. We cannot live in the future, trying to predict what will be. We can only live today.

So I started asking myself,

What brings me joy today?

What brings me peace today?

What am I holding onto that no longer serves the version of me who exists right now?

Because what made me happy ten years ago might not fulfill me now. And what fills me now might not be what I need tomorrow. We evolve, we shed, we rebuild. Just as we do on the mat, each breath, each movement, and each posture teach us to meet ourselves where we are, not where we once were. And if we’re lucky, we keep learning to be present for it all.

So take the trip.

Buy the thing.

Speak kind words to yourself.

Spend time with the people who make your heart feel light.

Watch the seasons change, the wind move through the trees, your own heart shift in rhythm with the world around you.

Because our time here, in this body and in this life, is short. Days blur into months, months into years, and before we know it, we’re driving past old houses wondering how time moved so fast.

So pause. Breathe. Look around.

And ask yourself,

Am I living for today?

And if not,

What can I do to begin?

Hi there! I’m Wren, the owner and founder of Lily & Sage Yoga. I created this space to help others reconnect with themselves through movement, stillness, breath, and presence. I believe in meeting people where they are, honoring every part of the journey, and creating space that feels supportive, safe, and full of heart. My work is rooted in self-care, personal evolution, and the deep knowing that we are all worthy of love, healing, and growth. Whether I’m guiding a class, writing reflections, or holding space in community, my hope is to remind you that you already carry so much wisdom within. To learn more about my story and my mission, read my bio here. Thank you for being here!