machado: what if living in the moment isn't that good for you after all?
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sometimes the 'living in the moment' mantra can create too much pressure, and focusing on the future can provide a break from that. getty
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“the whole ‘living in the moment thing’ is baloney.”
this from a grizzled, 60-ish man who works at a store that sells stuff for pets near my house. he made the word baloney sound like “bull-loney.” i was standing in front of a tall display of bully sticks, so at first i wasn’t sure if he was making a joke. (bully sticks are also called pizzles, a cutesy name for something made from a bull’s penis) i was tired and feeling a little spicy — my dog had chewed through my new sandals, the ones i really couldn’t afford but they were orange and on sale, and well, that day, i felt like i deserved a treat. but now they were a soft mess of tears and frayed thread.
i had left them at a local shoe repair shop on the way to get the bully sticks, and the owner’s giggly, “isn’t this the third pair of shoes he’s wrecked?” felt annoying and unnecessary. and so there i was, in the pet supply store debating dried bull penises as a method of tastefully diverting my dog’s chewing urges to something other than splurge-worthy european leather, while a bitter stranger waxed grumpy about trendy mental health techniques.
it was obvious she was in a significant tussle with cancer
the man was referring to a conversation he’d had with a woman who had just left the store carrying a small bag of cat litter on her shoulder, and one of those cat toys with a stuffed mouse at the end of a long string in her hand. she wouldn’t have been that noticeable, except for the bright pink head scarf that she wore. it was wrapped a bit crookedly, showing a mostly bald head. and by the yellow tinge of her skin and the way her clothes hung off of her body, it was obvious that she was in a pretty significant tussle with cancer.
as she fumbled for her wallet, her skinny fingers trembled ever so slightly. the man rang in her litter and asked how she was doing.
“oh, you know,” she said in a dull tone, looking up at him for just a moment while her hands felt around inside the yellow fanny pack that sat on her tiny waist. then she took a deep breath. “no, i’m actually great,” she said firmly, as if she had just decided how she should feel and was determined to make it so. “it’s a sunny day, i’m standing here talking to you, there’s lots to be grateful for. people keep telling me to live in the moment, so that’s what i am doing.”
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then she was gone, continuing her moments. i couldn’t help wondering how many of them she had left.
she reminded me of someone i had been seeing around the neighbourhood with a similar head scarf and body shape — maybe it was even the same person, but i couldn’t tell. our paths often cross when i am walking the dogs in the morning and in the evening. she is sometimes joined by a friend, but mostly, it’s a young man, who i assume is her son, that walks slowly beside her, carrying her water bottle — one of those steel ones with the flip-top cap. last week, i saw them turn into a house just a few steps away from mine. the windowsill on the second floor was lined with white and blue boxes, and if you have spent any time in hospitals you’d recognize them easily: medical-grade latex gloves and gauze. there were also tall white plastic bottles with blue labels tucked into the corners of the window — i imagined rubbing alcohol and iodine.
the man at the pet store was helping me choose the pizzles — one for a big dog, one for a little one — while talking about how hard it is to live in the present.
“i personally think all this stuff about living in the moment is bogus and just makes life more difficult,” he huffed, as we walked to the cash register with the bull penises. “i have heart problems that will probably kill me one day, but i want to think about tomorrow, and next year and the many years that i have after that. i want to feel that there will be a next time.”
i felt guilty i was letting happiness be clouded by fear and worry
i had to agree with him. i spent a long time after my cancer diagnosis being stuck in — and admittedly dragged down by — the whole ‘living in the moment’ mantra. i never thought that i would live forever, but i was desperately sad that i now had concrete, scientific proof that i might not be here for as long as i had hoped. and as much as i tried to pay attention to the feeling of the sun on my face and the wonderfulness of having the soft chubby arms of my babies around my neck, my focus was shared with the sense of being gutted — anxious, too — about the chance that one day the ability to feel these things would be gone, through no fault of my own. worse, i felt guilty that i was letting precious moments of happiness be clouded by fear and worry.
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and sure, the sense that time is finite isn’t limited to people with life-threatening illnesses. we all know that our lives will end at some point, that those moments will stop coming — hopefully later, rather than sooner. most of us don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. just because one has proof that their clock is ticking doesn’t always mean that the it’s ticking any faster than someone else’s. after all, anyone could step out onto a curb and get hit by a bus — at least this is what the therapist at the cancer centre would tell me whenever i dissolved into tears after she asked me how my children were doing.
but just like there is joy in taking a moment to savour the taste of great coffee instead of swallowing it mindlessly, or spending an extra five minutes under the calming spray of warm water in the shower just because you can, there is also exquisite joy in stepping away from all that and concentrating on the future also. the good stuff, but the minutiae too — planning next year’s vacation, imagining dancing at some future wedding or even wishing today away because it’s crappy and you know that most likely you will get another chance tomorrow.
it’s also completely natural as a human for thoughts to stray backward and forward.
human psychology is evolutionarily hardwired to live in the past and the future, eyal winter writes for psychology today. in fact, it’s one of the characteristics that differentiate humans from other living things. while “other species have instincts and reflexes to help with their survival, human survival relies very much on learning and planning,” says winter, who is a professor of economics at the hebrew university. he also points out that thinking about the future — and worrying about it — is an important motivator to ensure our security and safety. if we didn’t, he posits, we wouldn’t store food, for example. instead, we’d eat as much as we wanted in the moment, get rid of the rest, and repeat when we felt the need.
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so maybe the crux of being good at the whole living-in-the-present thing isn’t about the present at all. maybe it’s about getting your brain, and heart, to a place in which you can consciously relish the mesmerizing pink and orange glow that sets in the sky on an autumn evening — maybe you even mention it to someone — while also making room to feel the ugh of the next day’s work deadline or next month’s doctor’s appointment.
“to each his own,” said the man at the store. “but personally, i hope that woman knows it’s ok to not live in the moment.”
he wished me luck with the pizzles. to be exact, he said, “good luck with the penises. hope to see you next time.”
as i walked home, i took the route past the house where the woman with cancer and her son live. all the medical supplies were still there, but the blinds were pushed aside and a ray of sunshine bathed a beige wall. one of the side windows was open and i could hear the soft sound of classical music.
it’s true what the man said, we all want a next time — we deserve it, don’t we? and whether or not you have an official timer counting down your moments, or your moments are being threatened by something beyond your control, or you’ve got the same steady ticking sound that most others have, we’re all right here, right now — and being here includes the past, the present, and what comes next.
so maybe the wellness gurus chanting about seizing the day don’t have it quite right. perhaps we don’t have to ignore, deny or push away thoughts of the future or the past in order to make room for the present and achieve inner peace and emotional wellness. instead, let’s stretch our arms out and gather all of it close and take a deep breath. after all, every moment, whether old or new, contributes to the ever-changing sum of our entire lives. and perhaps acknowledging that is where true peace lies.
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lisa machado is the executive producer of healthing.ca
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