Stillness in the Park

I found a park, somehow by mistake, on my way home from grabbing a take-home dinner. I used to think that this park was actually a schoolyard, until I realized that there were plenty of picnic tables and park benches.
  I sat peacefully on the bench eating dinner, watching the family practice tennis in the nearby tennis court. And for a while, everything just happened synchronously, falling together in one place, without a me to grasp at anything. Everything separate yet harmonized; nothing interfering with the process of anything else, and everything together in motion and in stillness. It seemed to me that everything, in spite of my misgivings, felt okay to me. But then, of course, the anxieties of everyday start to creep in again: will I be okay ? Will there be enough work for me to do tomorrow?  And as these anxieties kick in  naturally, I forget that the self is not so real, and there is nothing really enduring to cling to. Everything comes and goes like the breeze, the birds, the seasons, and the passing of the ball back and forth.
And though I will still worry about what happens to me, perhaps I can also make room for uncertainty. This is because the self is a fabrication, and cherishing the self is no more than like cherishing a smoke that is always changing.