Can you live in the moment?
Or, maybe an easier (yet also harder) ask, can you define and acknowledge the existence of a single moment as it happens?
“Live in the moment.”
I’ve always found that to be a nice sentiment. Don’t fret over what has happened, don’t worry about what is to come. Just be where you are. Or, as the wise tortoise sage Master Oogway said, “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift! That is why it is called the present.”
Skadoosh.
Enjoying the present is genuinely great advice and sound wisdom. Trying to live in the moment sounds like a worthy quest. The problem is that it’s also impossible.
Go ahead and try. Don’t even worry about enjoying or embracing the current moment you’re in—just acknowledge it. You are reading a sentence right now…on your phone or laptop…in a chair…inside your home…this is where you are…you are here.
I don’t know how long you can “stay in the moment,” but for me, it’s maybe 2-3 seconds. Be honest, did you get distracted by the time you got to the word “chair” or “home?” Because I accidentally started thinking about what material the chair I’m sitting in is made of, which caused me to wonder about the subtle differences between sitting in a leather chair vs. sitting on an actual living cow and just like that the moment was gone.
If I can catch a moment while it’s happening (which I almost never can), then that moment rarely exists in my mind for more than a few seconds.
Wikipedia will tell you, however, that a moment lasts roughly 90 seconds. That number has something to do with sundials and solar hours and medieval time-keeping methods that I don’t totally understand (maybe @JTitusP can help me), but let’s run with it. Can you then live in the moment? Can you enjoy the 960 90-second increments that make up each day?
The obvious answer is no. Of course we can’t. We’ve got schedules and meetings, and to-do lists and obligations and social outings and chores, and all of those things take up more than 90-second chunks of time, so no. We can’t live in the moment, whether we enjoy the moment or not.
But sometimes, we can. Sometimes we can capture a snapshot of what is happening while it’s happening and burn that image into our brain (in a good way). A runner crossing the finish line, the birth of a child, a bride walking down the aisle. All of these seem like moments that last. Yet, there are also less significant ones too.
I’ll give you an example of a moment I experienced just this last week. We were at the beach with family and I spent some time one day doing the thing that any boy confronted with an expanse of land and an extended amount of time would do—I dug a hole.
It wasn’t the deepest of holes, but with the help of one brother-in-law and a bevy of children’s beach buckets and plastic shovels, we created a crater deep enough for my nephew to sit in and have his whole body well below ground level.
Most children might find that situation alarming and/or claustrophobic. But not this one. He just sat there, looking up at us and wondering why we had dug this hole and why we had put him in it. No fear, no reproach. Just a kid, on a beach, in a hole, like that’s how things were meant to be.
And for whatever reason, that “moment” created a snapshot in my mind. Maybe because it was funny (who doesn’t love a good beach hole?) or because it was meaningful (the absolute trust of a child is amazing), or because it just was.
That’s what moments are, after all. A 3-second or 90-second or 5-minute segment of life where time seems to stand still and where we’re left with the impression that what just happened actually happened—or, possibly, that it mattered.
I have a theory that that’s what eternal life will feel like. That life in the presence of God will be a series of never-ending moments, all of which will matter and all of which we’ll be capable to acknowledge and appreciate.
Meaning, when we happen to catch a moment while it’s happening today, we’re experiencing a taste of heaven. Whether that moment is a second of serendipity, a few minutes of focused effort, or just an instant when a trusting child stares up at you from the bottom of a stupid hole you dug. That’s a moment and that moment matters.
Thanks for reading this far.
What I’m Writing
My final paper for DTS titled Know Thy Self to Know Thy God covers the topic of self-awareness and argues that exploring who we are, why we do what we do, and what makes us feel the way we feel can help us better understand the God in whose image we were created. It’s got some history, some psychology, and plenty of theology, so let me know what you think and/or at what point you got bored and gave up.
I also had the chance to write a little bit of poetry about busyness and slowing down. A lot of Someone Else’s Seatbelt is inspired by my recent reading of John Mark Comer, but it’s also been something I keep coming back to as long summer days start to turn into busy fall ones.
What I’m Reading
I recently finished Euphoria by Lily King and found it excellent. After reading Writer and Lovers, I knew I’d go back and read something else by King, but I was surprised to find that I might’ve liked Euphoria even more. She has a keen eye for detail—always pointing out the right aspects of a scene to give you a specific feeling or mood.
I’m also halfway through The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon and having an absolute blast with it. Set in the years just before the U.S. enters WWII, two Jewish cousins start a comic book company in which they live out their wildest superhero dreams while also trying out their own form of propaganda. Also, there are misadventures. And that’s fun.
What I’m Drinking
Water.
I know. It’s so lame I didn’t even bother taking a picture. I also felt kind of dumb taking a picture of a cup of water. But I’ve noticed that almost every time I feel angry, frustrated, anxious, disappointed, and/or depressed is because I’m dehydrated. Drink a lot of water, y’all. Even if it means you’ll go to the bathroom more and people will make fun of you for your small bladder, it’s worth it. Also, water pairs great with everything.
When I was working on the first draft of this newsletter, I was sitting outside and a bird almost pooped on me. It1 landed next to my foot with a sound that can best be described with the combination of the words drop, splash, and squish. I tell you that for no reason other than I thought it was funny and that, at the time, it made me question the quality of my writing. Was I in fact creating something more substantive than what this bird had just deposited next to me? And in the end, who’s to say? I actually think the answer to both of those questions is up to…well, me. Which brings me back to the whole topic of “moments.” Do they matter? Are they worth acknowledging? Are there certain moments that are more significant than others? Ultimately, at least for the time being, we can decide that for ourselves. Some moments stay in my memory while others don’t. Some moments seem important as they happen while others don’t reveal their worth until much later. This is my question for you (my favorite of all the readers because by some combination of desire and determination you’re now reading these last sentences): what’s the least significant moment you remember from this week? Follow up: by remembering it, does it now have more significance? I can’t wait for no one to reply. Those questions are way too hard. Maybe just think about it and instead let me know what you had for lunch on Tuesday.
“It” being the poo
The least significant moment last week was probably driving from Georgia to Colorado. But that time also gave me time to reflect and let my brain wonder and ask God questions ( didn’t get any clear answers yet though ). And I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat lunch Tuesday 🤷🏼♂️