I was out for a run recently on one of those early fall days where the sun still feels hot against your skin,
Even though you're more than ready for that first hint of crisp fall air.
And there were little signs all around me that the season was beginning to shift.
Every so often I'd catch a leaf floating down from a tree,
Or notice a few scattered across the road,
And almost immediately my mind started wandering towards what was coming next.
I started thinking about cooler mornings and crisp air,
And how good that would feel compared to the hot sun beating down on me in that moment.
The smell of dried leaves,
Sweaters and open windows,
And that feeling of coziness that comes when the days begin to get shorter.
And I found myself really wishing that fall would just hurry up and get here.
But somewhere in the middle of that thought,
I caught myself.
I shifted my attention back to that glorious warm sunshine.
The way it was giving my skin a little color and making sweat bead across my body.
And I realized that soon enough I'd probably be missing exactly this.
It also occurred to me that no amount of my wanting for change was going to make it happen any faster.
So why not enjoy the way things were right now?
I could still want the air to cool down and wish the leaves into shades of red and orange.
I could be completely ready for the season to give way to something new,
But none of my wanting was going to make fall arrive any sooner than it was ready to.
The season would change when it changed.
So why am I sharing all of this with you?
Well,
It got me thinking about how often we do this with our lives.
How much time we spend looking towards what's next.
Maybe even fixating on it.
The next season,
The next trip.
The next relationship or milestone.
The thing we're waiting to change or hoping will finally fall into place.
Telling ourselves that then,
Life will be perfect.
Or better at the very least.
And there's nothing wrong with looking forward to things.
I think anticipation can be one of the really beautiful parts of life.
We should have things we want,
Things we're excited about,
Ways we'd like to grow and places we'd like our lives to take us.
But I wonder how often looking forward quietly turns into living forward.
One of my mentors,
John Kim,
Who goes by the moniker The Angry Therapist,
Talks about how much time we spend living in time machines,
Leaving the reality of the present moment to mentally travel somewhere else.
Sometimes we travel forward,
Imagining how we'll feel when something finally changes,
When we meet someone,
When we reach that goal.
When we become some future version of ourselves we can already see in our mind's eye.
And sometimes we travel backwards.
We replay conversations,
Revisit choices,
Long for a version of life that no longer exists.
Or maybe we find ourselves ruminating on something we wish had happened differently.
And while we're moving between what was and what might be,
There's a whole life happening in the middle.
The one right here.
Right now.
And so often,
We're not only projecting ourselves into another time,
But we're also projecting our happiness there too.
I'll feel better when.
.
.
I'll be happier when.
.
.
I'll be less stressed if.
.
.
Things will be good when.
.
.
Or we look backward and tell ourselves that life was better then,
Or things could have been different if.
And without necessarily meaning to,
We start placing peace and happiness everywhere except where we actually are.
Thich Nhat Hanh teaches us,
Only this actual moment is life.
Let me repeat that.
Only this actual moment is life.
This moment right now is where life is happening.
Not tomorrow,
Not next week.
Not last month or years past.
Right here.
Right now.
So let's try something.
If it feels comfortable.
Allow yourself to close down the eyes for a moment.
Feel where your body is making contact with the chair beneath you.
Or the floor or ground under your feet.
Begin to notice the sounds around you.
The temperature of the air against your skin.
Your breath moving in and out.
Taking note of the tangibility of life right now.
And maybe that's the practice.
Can we begin to catch ourselves when we step into that time machine?
When we notice ourselves living somewhere in the future or returning again and again to the past,
Can we find something tactile,
Something connected to this moment?
And gently bring ourselves back to the life that's happening now.
That doesn't mean we stop looking forward to things.
It doesn't mean we stop remembering.
And it certainly doesn't mean that we have to want everything in our lives to stay exactly as it is.
It simply means practicing being here while we're here.
And that is not easy.
Our minds are going to wander.
We're going to find ourselves back in the time machine again and again.
But that's why it's a practice.
We notice,
We come back.
And then we do it again.
And bit by bit,
Maybe we begin to spend a little less time somewhere else,
And a little more time here.
Here for the warmth of the sun against our skin.
The leaves as they fall.
The people were with.
The ordinary moments we might otherwise miss while we're waiting for something else to arrive.
Simply here for the life that's happening now.
