A Moment

I think a lot of us have a fear of time. We fear it because it’s a factor of almost everything in our lives: age, maturity, career, education, investments, current events, relationships… mortality. Sometimes, it seems that time moves at a snail’s pace, our eyes fixed on the second-hand of the clock, waiting for it to pass so that we can move on to what’s next, to escape from the present moment, to move on to the future. At other times, it seems to fly past us, to pass through our fingers like sand or water as we try desperately to hang on to every last second. And sometimes, time passes us by without us even realizing its gone.

My fear of time, though ever-present in my life, has evolved.

For most of my life, I was daunted by how much of it I possessed. I feared how much was left, how much more of it I would have to endure. I was blind to the gift that was this life, the time I was wasting by not appreciating the present moment. In this phase of my life, I didn’t care. I wanted the clock to stop, I yearned for the last grain of sand to fall through the hourglass. I feared having to continue living… because I thought it meant that I had to prolong my misery. I never imagined that this fear could change.

Today, I no longer fear having too much time. I fear wasting it. I fear that I won’t be able to do enough with this life before my time runs out. But then… what is “enough”?

Lately, I’ve started to realize that no matter how much I fear it, I can’t control time. It will pass at its own pace and I will do the same. There’s no slowing it down, speeding it up… there’s no pressing “pause.” I’ve learned something from both of my fears. I’ve learned not to be afraid of having too much time, but instead, to appreciate that I have any. I have a future, I have opportunities and ambitions and I have the time to pursue them. I’ve also learned not to fear losing time or not having enough, because that fear and anxiety will only take up the time I have now. That time I spend afraid could instead be spent in gratitude, in peace and serenity.

So…what is the solution to our fears? How do we overcome our anxieties about time?

Maybe it’s to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Because in truth, we don’t know how much or how little time we do have… and as scary as that is, it’s reality. It’s life.

All we can do is live as if today is our last, but also to live as if there is no limit to the future.

Time is not guaranteed, but that doesn’t mean we should give up on living.

Even if all we have is this moment, we do have this moment. And maybe, that’s all that really matters.

“Better” is Already Here.

“Be in the moment.”

 

“One day at a time.”

 

“Stay where your feet are.”

 

In the program, you hear these mottos ad infinitum. After a while, they feel like clichés, but that doesn’t make them any less true, less necessary. I’ve heard people in the rooms say that they are their own DeLorean, constantly moving backwards and forwards in time, reliving their past lives, prophesizing their futures, but never sticking to where they are today.

 

For a lot of us, we’ve moved through our lives, always anticipating what comes next. The next job, the next relationship, the next home, the next step in life. We believed it had to be better than this. I even moved to a school across the country, hoping that my problems would stay behind in the dust of my past. It took realizing that what I believed to be wrong with my past situation was actually because of me. The world wasn’t hurting me, I was hurting myself.

 

What we don’t realize is that if we don’t attend to the present moment, things won’t change. We will carry our burdens with us to tomorrow, to the future, if we don’t let go of them. Imagine a little boy who puts off learning how to swim due to his fear of drowning, That skill won’t just enter his body overnight. He can’t expect to be able to swim laps tomorrow if he never takes that first jump into the water today.

 

Our futures very much depend on the present. How can we expect tomorrow to be any different than today if we don’t take action? The world will always be changing. The seasons will come and go. Legislation will pass, new laws established. People will die and be born. The tulip bulbs outside your window will soon sprout and blossom. The question is… will you change and grow with the world? Or will you stay where you are?

 

Another lesson I’ve learned through recovery is that of perspective. Personally, I always see things as worse than they really are. I use hope sparingly, as if I’m afraid it will run out if I indulge in it too voraciously. I think I also feel that I’m keeping myself safe by having low expectations for the world and for myself. That way, I save myself from the disappointment. But with low expectations and a lack of hope, I’m containing the present from prospering into something more. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I don’t believe myself or my life capable of improving, how can I expect it to change? And what if those low expectations also keep me from appreciating where my life has led me to today? What if, because I didn’t believe it to be possible, I lose sight of my progress, my growth and recovery? How do we really appreciate the present if we never give it a moment’s attention or if we only pay attention to what remains to be wrong with it?

Take today, for example. My usual pessimistic perspective looks at all of the negatives. I could focus on my poor body image, criticize the amount of food I ate yesterday and how my stomach feels bloated and large as a result. I could immerse myself in my insecurities, imagining the cruel thoughts of others about what I say, do or look like. I could pity myself for the insensitive comments people make towards me, cry over the loneliness I feel on a daily basis. With this perspective, I can’t expect to ever feel any differently. Depression is a cycle of feeling low, pointing out things in life that make you feel low, and ruminating on them over and over, keeping yourself immersed in the same feelings that have become almost comforting in their familiarity.

 

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

 

I’m not saying that perspective is, in itself, curative, but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt to look at things differently sometimes.

 

There’s a lot of pain and situational discomforts that I could focus on today. But then again, there’s also a lot that I can appreciate in the present moment. Sitting on this dock on a beautiful lake, I can appreciate what I see: the reflected sunlight dancing across the tiny waves, the surface of the lake appearing to sparkle like glitter as it moves with the wind. I can appreciate what I feel: the sunlight kissing my bare legs, warming them ever so slightly while the breeze simultaneously covers me in a blanket of coolness. I can appreciate what I hear: almost nothing… aside from nature’s whispers of life. A frog softly croaks from the rocks by the shore, the leaves shuffle against each other as the wind tosses them side to side, a loon calls to its mate, a melodic coo that echoes through the near-silent air. I can appreciate that though life isn’t easy, though I still struggle, I am okay today. In this moment, I am safe, I am breathing, I am strong.

 

Maybe, instead of always looking forward to what comes next, we can appreciate where we are right now. Maybe, instead of anticipating something better in the future, we can look around us and realize that everything already is better than it has ever been. “Better” is already here.

 

Stop chasing tomorrow.

 

Appreciate today.

One Moment at a Time

Today is a new day.

The mistakes we made yesterday or the negativity that we felt until we closed our eyes last night… none of it has to follow into today, not if we don’t let it.

Both the greatest relief and the hardest challenge for me comes from the AA saying, “one day at a time,” or often for me, “one moment at a time.” I’ve always had a very difficult time staying present, grounded, connected. My thoughts are stubborn and powerful things that tend to pull me both backwards and forwards in time. I’m constantly ruminating on the past or contemplating my fears of the future. I know there’s a level of this that’s just human, that everyone battles to stay in the present moment, but my “terminally unique” self likes to imagine that I have it worse than anyone else. 

Though yes, it’s difficult, I need to focus on my successes rather than my failures. There have been times where I’ve been present and focused on the now. Of course, I rarely can hold onto this momentum for the entire day, but looking back on those times, I see them as freeing, unencumbered. When I’m in the moment, I’m so much less self-involved. I can give more of my attention and care to those around me, acknowledge their voice’s timbre, their facial expressions, body language… I can try to take their perspectives and to consider what they’re feeling. I’m more aware of my surroundings, the sounds in the background, the color of the walls. I can entirely focus on the content of the conversation or the happenings in front of me. Being present and focused, I can participate with full awareness of my actions, words, behaviors. Not only is it courteous and respectful to be present for others, but it leaves me with a sense of fulfillment. I was there. I was focused. I was present.

I want to be present in every moment, to experience my life, every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Syliva Plath once wrote in her journal: “I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.” I agree, because there is so much beauty in this life that I’m missing. I’m blind to it. Even if my eyes are directed at it, I don’t see it, not really. I surely don’t appreciate it. It make me sad to think of all of the beautiful places, people, cultures, feelings, sights, sounds, tastes, smells… that I’ve missed throughout my life.

Working with the elderly, I see a lot of patients with dementia. My grandpa had it, too. It’s a progressive loss of brain function that occurs with various diseases including Alzheimer’s Disease. Memory loss is an example of dementia. I believe to lose one’s memories is one of the most tragic things to happen to a person. Memories are what keep us company as we grow older, giving us satisfaction in knowing that we lived, that we experienced, that we loved. There’s so much fear that comes with losing those assurances of what we’ve accomplished. Victims of dementia can lose both long-term and short-term memories. There are a few that I work with who will have a conversation with you about something and then, begin the same conversation several minutes later, having forgotten that it has already taken place. I act as if nothing is wrong, because I hate seeing the expression of embarrassment, fear or sadness when they are told that we’ve already spoken about it.

Dementia acts as a reminder in my life to appreciate every moment, because part of me feels that the more present I am today, the more salient that memory will be, the longer it will last. There are so many moments in my life that I want to hold onto, to have the option of reliving when I feel lost, scared, or alone. Working with these people with dementia makes me want to cherish the experiences I have today, because I may not always remember them.

It almost feels greedy, this new desire to milk a moment for all its worth. I want to suck the marrow from this experience, to feel all that I can feel, to sense and appreciate all that exists at this very point in time. Because like everything in this world, there is no guarantee that it will be there tomorrow.

I think also that because I’ve missed so much of my life while immersed in my addictions, I feel like I’ve lost too much to afford to lose any more. So to avoid missing this moment, I’m trying with all my might to quiet my mind, to silence the insecurities, the fears, the time-traveling thoughts, the distractions. There’s so much to be grateful for in every second of this life and I don’t want to miss a single moment more by being ungrateful, unappreciative, disconnected.

For once, I am in this moment.

I am participating.

I am present.