When I was an associate attorney years ago, I mentioned to one of my co-workers that I could not wait for the weekend. I was emotionally and intellectually drained by the practice of law and its constant demands. My much wiser and grounded friend gently admonished me and told me never to wish for what lies ahead, that I should be fully experiencing this day instead.
That was my first introduction to mindfulness. Days later, I saw a framed quote at the desk of a paralegal that said, “Put down the Duckie if you want to play the saxophone.” I asked her what it meant. She said it meant that if you want to honor the existence of a feeling or an instinct, you must let go of anything else you are doing. I was mystified.
Years later, I was taken aback when asked if I was pausing to stop and smell the roses. The question came from a well to do couple, only one of whom worked outside the home, while the other cared for their child and managed the household. I bristled at the suggestion that there was something wrong with how I allocated my time among compelling demands.
A couple of days ago, I was delicately chastised for fretting about the future instead of channeling my energy into the present. It reminded me that the study and practice of mindfulness is one of those things I promised I would do – when I had the time. But despite my best intentions, I never get around to it.
I wonder why I regularly spurn understanding and practicing mindfulness. If I am honest, it is because hopefulness of futurity brings me so much joy. Anticipating a stint off from work and household responsibilities is almost as fun as being on vacation. Fantasizing about a perfectly tidy garage while amid a massive clean-up project is what I dream about almost every night before I fall asleep. I love planning a special dinner for the day tax returns are filed. Nothing makes me happier on a dark and windy morning than the expectation of a hot shower after a run. And although my well-adjusted friends might take me to task for it, I cannot wait for the expectancy of the New Year.
In other words, the joy of my present is inseparably coupled with my eagerness for the future.
This is not to say that I do not appreciate the immediate. Some of my brightest moments occur while pounding through the woods, picking a path by intention or happenstance, reveling in the gratitude of motion. My muffled steps mimic glad-filled heartbeats, solid, rhythmic, and comforting. I trust the surety of my steps, the movement of my arms, and rise and fall of my chest. The woods whisper softly, welcoming me, never judging. My soul lightens and opens. In these minutes, I need nothing else.
I research the basic tenets of mindfulness on the internet, and I am stunned when I re-read the last paragraph. Living in the moment, self-acceptance, trusting yourself, and focusing on breathing, patience, and gratitude – it is all there, I just did not know it.
Perhaps that is why I am drawn to solitary exercise – so that I can softly shut the door on the noisy distraction of people and competition. So that the relentless list of life obligations is erased by the soulful bliss of movement and effort. If I have that, I can let go of the idea that the way I spend my time is not what it should be. I am giving myself permission to fashion a life, and an existence, that is perfect for me.
There may come a point when experiencing the present becomes more desirable than anticipating the future. But for now, I have the breathless urge to look just around the corner, or down the road, or over the crest of a hill.
I will live in the moment when that moment is right for me.