Sunday evening. The distinct feeling of another week come and gone. Sunday nights are the sunshine of the late afternoon spilling in through the blinds of the windows, home-cooked meals, and the drowsy anticipation of the week ahead. Sundays have changed over the years. I no longer attend church with my parents or distract my sister while she attempts to finish her homework. Now, Sundays are for recovering, revising my upcoming week plans, and finding any excuse to leave the library to be in the company of my housemates.

My Sunday nights may have changed, but the sentiment that characterizes them remains the same: We tiredly forge ahead, always looking forward. Or, if you're like me, you spend this time looking back, wondering how you've gotten from the past to the present.

This feeling used to be contained to those few hours of the week's nostalgia. But something's changed. I realized that the last few weeks, maybe months, had felt like a string of Sunday evenings.

You may have asked yourself, how is it already October? With each passing year, time seems to move faster and faster. Each year disappears quicker than the last. There are moments that break up the endless days of monotony. Miraculous instances of joy or a deep laugh with friends. Seconds of feeling alive, realizing there is air in your lungs and blood running through your veins, remind you that this is your life. This recognition leaves you almost as quickly as it came.

We could blame the schoolwork, the endless to-do list, or the amount of time spent staring at our phone screens. All of those things may be a part of the issue, but they are not the root. Somewhere along the way, we forgot how to live in the present, the here and now.

Don't let your life become a continuum of Sunday evenings spent tiredly focusing on anything but the present. Stop, observe, and accept exactly where you are right now as your own reality. Take notice of the things that make you feel alive — the instances that interrupt your routine.