Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in

Host: The sunset had settled into the horizon like an ember slowly cooling to gold. The river below glimmered, carrying the light away one ripple at a time. The city was quieting — its day’s noise fading into the soft rhythm of evening: the distant hum of traffic, the call of a lone bird, and the faint laughter from a café across the water.

On an old footbridge, half-rusted but still steady, Jack leaned against the railing, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. His eyes, grey and reflective, followed the motion of the water as though it were telling him something he’d forgotten to hear.

Jeeny approached from the other end of the bridge, her scarf fluttering, her steps slow and unhurried. She stopped beside him, not speaking at first — just breathing in the last light of the day. The wind brushed past them, cool and clear, the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain lingering in the air.

After a moment, Jeeny spoke, her voice a soft echo of thought.

"Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness." — James Thurber

The words fell gently into the stillness — like stones in deep water, making ripples that took their time to fade.

Jack: (half-smiling) You always bring quotes that sound like medicine.

Jeeny: (grinning) You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Jack: (looking at the river) Maybe because medicine usually means something’s broken.

Jeeny: (softly) Maybe it just means something’s healing.

Host: A pause, tender and necessary. The sunlight flickered off the river’s surface, breaking into tiny gold fractures. Jack’s face shifted — from cynicism to something quieter, less guarded.

Jeeny: Thurber was right, though. Most people live like ghosts — haunted by the past or terrified of the future.

Jack: (nods slowly) Yeah. We spend our days replaying and rehearsing. Never arriving.

Jeeny: (smiles) Exactly. Always somewhere else. Never here.

Jack: (bitter laugh) You make “awareness” sound easy. But it’s not, Jeeny. Standing in the present feels like trying to balance on smoke.

Jeeny: (gently) Maybe that’s because awareness isn’t balance. It’s surrender. You stop trying to stand still — you just notice the movement.

Host: The wind picked up, scattering leaves across the bridge, tiny oranges and browns swirling like restless thoughts. Jack followed one as it danced over the railing, vanishing into the water below.

Jack: You ever think awareness is overrated? Sometimes ignorance feels like peace.

Jeeny: (turns toward him) No, Jack. Ignorance is numbness. Peace is the moment after pain stops pretending to be power.

Jack: (quietly) You talk like someone who’s practiced letting go.

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) I had to. My anger kept rewriting the past, and my fear kept stealing the future. I got tired of living in rooms that didn’t exist anymore.

Jack: (looks at her) And awareness — that’s your new house?

Jeeny: (nods) It’s smaller, quieter, but I can finally breathe there.

Host: The light dimmed further, the sky deepening to indigo. The river’s surface reflected the world in broken, trembling mirrors. Jack exhaled, slow and long, like a man releasing something he didn’t know he was carrying.

Jack: (after a pause) I’m not good at this — awareness thing. My head’s full of ghosts. Regrets. Missed chances. The usual wreckage.

Jeeny: (softly) Everyone’s head is. The trick isn’t clearing it — it’s noticing what’s still alive in the ruins.

Jack: (half-smiling) Poetic as ever.

Jeeny: (playfully) Someone has to balance out your skepticism.

Jack: (looking down at the water) I used to think awareness meant enlightenment — candles, meditation, peace. But it’s not like that, is it?

Jeeny: (shaking her head) No. Awareness is raw. It’s messy. It’s looking at your life exactly as it is — and not flinching.

Jack: (softly) Even when it hurts.

Jeeny: Especially when it hurts.

Host: A faint rain began to fall, so light it was almost invisible — just the sensation of coolness touching skin. The bridge hummed beneath their feet, the sound of raindrops mingling with the river’s rhythm.

Jeeny: (after a long silence) You know what awareness really is, Jack? It’s mercy. It’s the ability to stop punishing yourself for what you didn’t know before you learned it.

Jack: (turns to her, voice low) Mercy, huh? Never thought of it that way.

Jeeny: (nodding) We can’t rewrite what happened. But we can stop narrating it like a tragedy.

Jack: (half-laughs) And the future? What do we do with all that?

Jeeny: (smiles) You stop trying to control it. You let it surprise you. That’s awareness too — trusting that not knowing doesn’t mean doom.

Host: The rain thickened now, the drops larger, heavier. The streetlights flickered on one by one, spilling soft circles of gold along the pathway. Jack’s hair was damp, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just stared at the water, his reflection rippling, uncertain but alive.

Jack: (after a while) You make it sound like the past and future are traps.

Jeeny: (quietly) They are — beautiful ones. The past whispers guilt, the future whispers fear, and both drown out the voice that’s asking, “What about now?”

Jack: (softly) And what about now?

Jeeny: (smiling gently) Now is everything we keep missing while we wait for life to start again.

Host: The rain softened into a mist, the sky clearing slightly, and for a moment — just one — everything around them seemed utterly still. The sound of water, the smell of rain, the feel of breath, the weight of being here — all of it converged into something unnameable but true.

Jack: (quietly) I think I’ve been angry so long I mistook it for identity.

Jeeny: (softly) Then let this be the moment you notice. Not fix it, not erase it — just notice it. That’s awareness.

Jack: (nodding slowly) And fear?

Jeeny: (smiles) Fear’s just imagination without balance. Look at it, learn from it, but don’t live in it.

Jack: (half-smiles) So — no anger, no fear. Just awareness.

Jeeny: (shaking her head) Not “no.” Just “less.” Awareness isn’t the absence of emotion — it’s the friendship with it.

Host: A long silence followed, but it was different now — not the silence of avoidance, but of presence. The river flowed, the city glowed, the world breathed, and for once, they breathed with it.

Jeeny: (softly) You know, Thurber didn’t mean awareness as some mystical state. I think he meant compassion. For ourselves, for each other. Because when we stop being angry or afraid, we start to see how much we still have to love.

Jack: (smiling faintly) Love’s awareness too, then.

Jeeny: (nodding) The highest kind.

Host: The rain stopped, leaving the air cool and clean. The bridge lights shimmered on the water below, bending and breaking — imperfect, yet breathtaking. Jack turned toward Jeeny, his expression unguarded for the first time all evening.

Jack: (softly) You ever think awareness feels like waking up in the middle of your own life — realizing it’s been happening all along, and you just… weren’t there for it?

Jeeny: (whispers) Every day. But the miracle is — you can always start now.

Host: The river moved beneath them, endless and forgiving. The rain-soaked leaves gleamed like new coins under the light.

And as they stood together, two souls no longer looking backward or forward but simply — around — the world itself seemed to breathe easier.

Because sometimes, awareness isn’t about seeing more.
It’s about finally seeing what’s already there.