Right Now

Tuesday evening, I had dinner with my friend J. As tends to happen in discussions between us, our conversation meandered through a maze of existential thoughts that paused, periodically, to reassess and change directions. At one point, I found myself describing my marriage and the manner in which I “lived” through it.

“I felt,” I said, considering it, “as if I was always waiting for my REAL life to begin.”

J watched me for a moment, then reached into his pocket for the notebook (or – as he calls it – his exto-cortex) that he carries with him at all times.

“Say that again.” He directed. I did, and he wrote it down.

Today, in an email, he mentioned the quote again and how it had struck a chord with him. “Anyway,” he wrote, “I guess my point is that I am getting the feeling that my real life really is the collection of things that happen to me from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep.”

These are not new thoughts – likely not for either of us – but because he is giving them such reflection I find that I am considering them with new attention as well. I am quite aware of my tendency to live out of the moment – always in the past or in the future – but allow myself the delusion that because I know that I SHOULD be in the moment I am MORE in the moment than most people. This – I think now – is not true.

As I look about me, seated in my apartment, I see all of the signs of my inability to secure myself to the present. In the business card holder in front of me rest a stack of cards that label me as a Communications Director – an identity that I shed nearly two months ago. To my right is a stack of papers, magazines, artwork and all sorts of confusing and disjointed items that I have lumped into a category that I call “to address.” Within this pile, I know, are remnants of times that I have been unwilling to leave behind. To my left rest a couple of stacks of books. There are similar stacks in my bedroom, and in the bookcase behind me. Many of these books have placeholders in them, marking the spot that I chose to abandon the path that they offered. In my mind, I am still reading them. In reality, many of them have not been opened for months.

There are known pockets of items that I need to dispose of, labeled in my mind, and multiple tasks that need to be completed. These responsibilities are the physical manifestations of the weights that that burden my mind.

I am, you see, a compulsive planner (with a healthy degree of “bend” in my personality.) At all times I have a mental list of each of these tasks that I have identified. Most of the time, I have multiple paper lists as well. I know all of the deadlines that lie ahead of me in the year, I secure living arrangements months in advance, I know what I will be doing on weekends (to a logical degree) for the rest of the summer. That’s the part of me that lives in the future. I’m quite comfortable there. A bit of that is healthy, as it allows me to be secure in the “right now.” Too much of it just keeps me in a place that does not exist.

On the flip side, there’s the part of me that’s quite attached to the past. It likes to think about it – a lot. It brings it up during business meetings, during yoga, when I’m trying to sleep, when I’m in the shower… pretty much anytime. Once the topic is raised, my mind likes to consider the past for lengthy (VERY lengthy) periods of time. It considers how I – as a person – might have done things differently, or (even MORE constructively) how OTHERS might have chosen to live differently, and how that might have impacted me.

The problem – of course – is that all I really have is "right now." Technically, the past is just a concept in my head. No one else shares the same idea of the past that I do, so how can the reality of it even be validated? Beyond taking the time needed to learn what I need to in order to live a healthier life, there is no purpose in being there – no purpose, that is, other than to avoid the present. The future is a similar delusion. There is no guarantee that it will ever arrive. What is assured is that I am here at THIS VERY MOMENT. This is the time that I have to savor, and right now I am safe, warm, and have a full tummy. I am surrounded by the noises of my pets, and I have a cozy bed in the next room waiting for me.

I know that this chaos around me is sending a message that I should heed. I know, also, that I am human, and that I am flawed, and that there is great value in the act of trying. Tonight, I will allow myself to ponder the past – a bit - and will spend a small amount of time considering what my future will bring. I will also – however – take five minutes to absorb the sensations of where I am RIGHT NOW, and when I finish I will remove the old business cards from my desk and tuck them in the drawer, where they belong.