(The lilac bushes in our backyard)
*A quick note to paid members…I still have memberships on pause, so you’re not being charged anything for these occasional posts. If I start writing more frequently, I may turn on memberships again, but I’ll be sure to give you lots of notice if and when I do. Thanks, as always, for your support. Warmly, Ian
(audio version)
The other day, for some reason, I had the idea to pretend that that very ordinary day was the only day of my life. Not the last day of my life, the only day. I did not imagine, in other words, that I had lived 57 years and hoped to live another decade or three, when suddenly I knew it was all coming to an end. Rather, I tried imagining that life (everyone’s life) only lasts for ONE day, and I was in the middle of mine.
Which, it turns out, feels very different. When I imagine this is the last day of my life, I feel sadness, regret, and a sudden desire to immediately do everything I never did. But to imagine everyone gets one day and that’s perfectly normal and I’m not getting short-changed and nothing is wrong…well, then it loses its sting. Now there’s no need to eat an entire chocolate cake, climb a 14er, and tell everyone that I’ve ever loved how much I love them. There’s just this one day. And I’m just passing through it. No past, no future. Just an experience of being alive for awhile.
It takes a little practice to move from this just being an idea to really letting it sink in, but I invite you to try. Because at least for me, some interesting things happened. I found myself, for example, standing at the counter at 1stBank, fascinated by the teller’s intricately-decorated fingernails. And there was the tiniest little purple rubber duck sitting on her countertop that I normally would never have noticed.
Normally, I would have been thinking about my next stop, or the next day, or the next…something. Because when you assume you’re going to have hundreds, if not thousands more of these ‘day’ things, then any one of them isn’t especially special. But when you only have one of something, it suddenly becomes precious.
I think part of the gift of this was the blessed break from having a past and future. True, there was nothing to plan, achieve, dream or reminisce about - and those things can be really fun to do. But there was also nothing to worry, fear, regret or feel sorry about. When I really sank into the feeling of “My whole life is just this one day,” everything became more simple, and the world became more interesting, and I felt more present and peaceful. Even the most ordinary thing, like that little purple duck, seemed fascinating. And fascinating things, like the little purple buds opening on our lilac bush, seemed almost miraculous.
I’ve been continuing this little game for the past few days. Whenever I remember, I just pause and try to imagine this day is all I get…and when I surrender into it, something shifts. I become more awake. I want to soak in every second of every moment. I feel grateful for just about everything. And I don’t feel so consumed by the state of the world, or the direction of my life, or who did what to so-and-so. Instead I just feel a simple appreciation, enjoyment and curiosity about whatever life is presenting. Instead of turning on the radio in the car, I want to watch the world go by – the tired mom at the bus stop, the sun lighting up the clouds, even the sound of traffic is more interesting now because I can let myself just be interested in it. I’m not invested in it in the way I usually would be.
Now I know there’s a problem with this. For one thing, it’s very likely I am going to have a next day, and many of them. So a certain amount of planning ahead is required. And even if I wasn’t, I still choose to care about the world and its future and that comes with its share of worry and fear. But with the way the world is right now, that worry and fear can become all-consuming, and stepping out of it now and then to spend a little time ‘as if’ can be a helpful corrective.
Have you ever been on a speeding train looking out the window? When you look down the track at where you’re going, things seem relatively steady and in focus. Equally, if you look backwards at where you’ve come from. But if you look straight out the window at what you are passing right now, it’s just a blur, right?
Well, I think that’s a bit like how we spend our lives. Rushing toward the next thing with excitement (and worry) or looking back at where we’ve been with nostalgia (and regret), so much so that those are the only things in focus. This experiment is like slowing down the train, almost to a stop. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to come from. Just looking straight out at this one single, ordinary, precious day, suddenly in focus like never before.