Living in the moment

This is circa 2011, but maybe earlier. 

At the close of each school year, I ask my Advanced Placement English seniors to write an essay modeled on National Public Radio’s “This I Believe” series. We share the essays on our final exam day, an experience I -- and hopefully they -- find more rewarding than yet another pencil-and-paper test. Because I never ask students to do something I’m unwilling to do, I write and share, too.

This summer, one of my former students (Hi, Sam!) sent me a message saying that he thought of my essay during a trying time. He didn’t know it, but his words reached me on a bad day and made it better. Our exchange became the impetus for my sharing the essay today. (Well, that and that fact that I’m just back from vacation and this is an easy way to meet a deadline.)

This may be schmaltzy, and people who know me well may wonder if I really feel this way. I do.

***

I believe in the power of right now, today.

Somewhere out there is a sunrise to watch, a mountain to scale, a pretty girl to kiss -- even on a wet Monday morning or a meeting-filled Wednesday afternoon.

Our 24/7 society has become so focused on “what’s next” that we forget about what’s now. In my generation, a really bad band called Loverboy sang “Everybody’s Working for the Weekend,” and damned if we didn’t believe them. We’ve become so concerned about hanging on until Friday that we neglect the importance of Tuesday, so intoxicated by the thought of sleeping in on Sunday that we overlook the joy of waking up before dawn on Thursday.

For 50 weeks out of the year, we strategize for the other two. We breathlessly anticipate maturation and graduation, only to reminisce with nostalgia a few years later about the carefree days of high school. We fantasize over meeting Mister or Miss Right, getting married, having 2.5 perfect kids, a suitably fat bank account, and a nice house in the suburbs, only to look back wistfully on the freedom of our college days when we had barely two dimes to rub together. We drag ourselves to work, dreaming of the day we can retire, only to bemoan the fact that we are retired, wishing we had something worthwhile to do.

A colleague hammered this point home a few years ago when he told me that he liked to live “in the moment” with each class he taught, to be fully there for students, responding to their questions and enjoying their interactions. It made me realize what I wasn’t doing, that in the back of my mind a little voice counted down the minutes until I could announce tomorrow’s homework assignment and reminded me of papers I had to grade. Since then, I’ve tried to change and become more attuned to life in the moment -- not always successfully, but I’m working on it.

I’m not sure, but it’s possible that our future-oriented obsession is a byproduct of marketing techniques. We are, after all, the most advertising-saturated society in the history of the world, having been exposed to an average of 40,000 sales pitches a year since childhood. And each of those messages is essentially the same: Your life will be better when you own that tricycle, bicycle, first car, or sports car; when you see that new film, read that new book, or download that new album; when you lose 20 pounds or gain 20 pounds or hide 20 pounds. People who are content and oriented in the present don’t buy; people who are discontented and oriented in the past or the future, do.

I believe that we need to reclaim the primacy of today. I believe that Mondays are inherently as good as Fridays, that three days before graduation is just as exciting as graduation day itself, that we can find something about each day and each moment -- from the smile of a friend to the feeling of satisfaction we get when helping others -- to make each day special.

Take time each day to enjoy where you are and to do something small but memorable. Blow the seeds of a dandelion. Take a friend to lunch. Play fetch with a dog. Re-read a favorite poem, or better yet, read a new one. We have only a limited number of “todays.” I believe it’s best to make each one count.