My mind is in a constant state of motion. I ponder, I reflect, I imagine, I contemplate.
My internal monologues last days at a time; my showers stretch into contemplative explorations of my world, sometimes lasting thirty minutes or more, as I work through occupational or relationship issues.
I over-think.
When I’m out on a date, I’m like a chess player, only I think three dates ahead: running down possibilities; the potentials for joy and betrayal; the deal-breakers; the pros and cons; how my heart will be broken; my exit strategies.
I’m always in my head.
When I took Simone to see WALL-E (a masterpiece), I sat through the trailers wondering if I had time to go to the bathroom once more and how I could have saved a buck by not upgrading to medium popcorn and Sprite.
I can paralyze myself in thought.
When I was in college, I got fired from my favorite cooking job because I answered the local newspaper’s “man on the street” question, which was “What’s the worst addiction?” with: “Being so addicted to making a living that you don’t have time to really live.” It was naïve and idealistic, but it was a good way to look at the world. I’d begun to notice how everyone had something to look forward to, and how it usually meant they weren’t present in what was going on at that very moment.
I remember meeting up with my whole family in southern California, and driving to Manhattan Beach, late for a wedding reception. We parked at the top of a hill, the road running straight down to the ocean. The sea below us was metallic green, dashed and rippled with orange flecks as the sun approached the horizon. It was maybe thirty seconds until sunset, and I shouted, “Wait!” as everyone exited the car in a rush. I told my family we needed to stop and catch the last glimmers of sun as it sank into the ocean. My dad resisted, saying we were late, but his mother, my Bubbe, called him by name and told him to hold it.
We all stood there, rapt in the moment. And watched together. Twenty years later, I can still describe that sunset to you, the way it felt to be with the family for that one present moment.
From that day on, I decided to try to narrow that “looking forward to” gap to the present—instead of looking forward to something a week away, I’d find something to look forward to a day away. And then hours away. And then minutes away, until I was looking forward to (and very aware of) this very second. Sometimes I was better at it than others.
But I’ve drifted from that path in my grown-up years. I have a propensity for becoming so wrapped up in my mind that I’m no longer a part of the world. Simone’s mom has expressed concern that I’ll slip away like that when I’m solo-parenting our daughter. Fortunately, Simone is a constant reminder to be present—I couldn’t possibly be anywhere else but with her when we’re together.
A while back, the Peach gave me a book called “The Power of Now.” (Yeah, we still talk. I feel fortunate for that.) I’m still struggling with some of the more ethereal bits, but it has reminded me about the importance of being present in the present, and it provided me with the exercise of recognizing when I’m thinking—of stopping my mind for a second, all twisted in knots of reason and emotion—to say to myself, "Look: you're doing it. What are you thinking about? Why?" and it breaks the cycle, at least for the moment.
I see Simone over-thinking, too.
She’s constantly sifting and sorting, exposing gems of thought and understanding in the strangest of contexts. She’ll get suddenly quiet during bath time, and I can almost see the cogs and pulleys in motion, churning out a question or a revelation.
“Where did you go?” I’ll ask her.
I want to encourage Simone’s deep thinking but also to help her get out of her mind before it becomes too integral a part of her daily life. Her mother and I are both thinkers, analyzers, processors. Simone will be the same way. But if I can help her and teach her to know when to let the rationalizing go and just be here, in this moment, she’ll be so much more able to appreciate the power of being in the now.
Last summer, the whole family was together at my middle sister’s place in Montana, and my mother took photo after photo. That was fine, but she’d immediately look at the pictures she took, missing whatever else was happening around her. One time, seconds after she took pix of us in the pool, she turned the camera around to show us the digital shots.
I said, “I remember when we did that! When we were all in the pool, and you were taking pictures of us!”
She gave me a sour look. But she knew I was right.
The Power of Now is amazing. So many of us live in the past - either regretting it or glorifying it - neither of which serves us well in the present. And the future doesn't exist, so going there in our minds is futile. Pulling yourself into the now is the only way to actually be present in your own life.
It's interesting what you said about your mom taking pics. I'm the family photographer, and it just dawned on me that I'm so busy trying to preserve the memory with photos that I only half experience the event - and with one eye shut at that.
I need to open both eyes and just "be."
Posted by: deanna | July 07, 2008 at 03:13 PM