Notes from an ordinary person on postponing less and enjoying more
The point, up front: Tomorrow isn't guaranteed, so I'm done saving
the good things in life for the day when everything is finally sorted. Plan if
you must, but give some of today to people, attention and small pleasures. They
aren't a reward for getting life organised. They are the life.
Everything below is either why I believe that
or what I'm doing about it.
The habit that gets in the way
I make plans. The week, the year, the next
holiday, the next financial milestone. And I have a quiet habit that goes with
them: I'll call him when things are less hectic. I'll take that walk when the
weather's better. I'll enjoy all this properly once a few more things fall into
place.
Every now and then I catch myself behaving as
if the future has already confirmed its attendance.
It hasn't. That gap between what I assume and
what I know is what this piece is about.
I'm not qualified to teach anyone how to live.
I still get impatient in traffic, lose twenty minutes to my phone, put off
things I know I should do, and treat a minor inconvenience as if it deserves a
committee meeting. But one question has stuck with me lately: if so much of
life is out of my hands, what happens if I pay more attention to the part that
isn't?
Why "later" is a shaky
promise
I go to sleep every night without a guarantee
that morning will find me awake. I leave home for work, a walk, a drive, some
shopping, and I don't know for certain that I'll come back the same evening.
I know that sounds heavy for an ordinary
Thursday, and I'm not suggesting anyone lie awake over it. That would be a
miserable way to spend a perfectly good night. It's just that the uncertainty
is there whether I think about it or not, and I mostly behave as if tomorrow is
a confirmed appointment. I plan meetings three months out. I worry about
retirement ten years away. And I postpone a call to someone I love because I'm
too busy today.
So, if "later" isn't guaranteed,
putting off the people and moments that matter is the one bet I shouldn't keep
making. This isn't a reason to be anxious. It's a reason to look at an ordinary
day with more curiosity.
Where the good life is
Look at what I've enjoyed most, and almost none
of it was on a plan. A long conversation that ran over time. A ridiculously
good dosa. Rain I stopped to watch instead of converting into a traffic
forecast. A walk in the hills where nobody needed anything from me.
That doesn't mean I should stop planning, stop
working or spend recklessly. I like a sensible plan as much as anyone. I just
don't want the plan to become the whole of life.
I can't negotiate an extension, submit a
request for another decade, or appeal an unexpected ending. But I do have some
say in what goes into the time in between. I'd rather fill more of it with
people, curiosity, work that matters and small pleasures than with grudges,
regrets and unread messages.
I know which sounds better. Remembering it in
the middle of a frustrating day is another matter. Take traffic. I can be
furious that it's crawling at five kilometers an hour, or I can accept that for
the next twenty minutes I've been cast as a very expensive statue behind a
steering wheel. The traffic moves no faster either way, but on the days, I
manage the second, I reach home in a better mood.
Or growing older. I can resent it, or I can
notice the stories I've collected, the mistakes I can finally laugh about, and
the sense to avoid repeating at least some of them. Some. Let's not get carried
away.
And I can wait for the perfect life before
allowing myself to be happy, or I can enjoy a good coffee, an honest
conversation and a quiet evening as they are. They're not consolation prizes.
Most days they're the actual life.
Five small habits that put the point
to work
These aren't rules and I haven't mastered any
of them. Each one is a way of not saving today for later.
1. In the morning, before the world starts
making demands.
My first instinct is to reach for the phone and
see what went wrong overnight. Lately I try, when I remember, to wait a minute.
Open the window. Notice the light. Take a breath. It isn't meditation, and I
haven't bought any incense. I just notice that here I am, another morning. And
if my very next thought is the 10 a.m. meeting, so be it. I'm not a monk.
Why it helps: the day starts with one minute
that belongs to me, not to my inbox or phone.
2. When I meet someone, give them more of my
attention.
The shopkeeper, the security guard, the
colleague I've known for years, the person at home who has heard my stories a
hundred times. I'm often composing my reply while the other person is still
talking. When I put the phone down, remember a name, or ask "How are you,
really?", the conversation changes. People rarely remember what I said,
but they do remember whether I was listening. And it costs nothing. No GST, no
subscription, no annual maintenance contract.
Why it helps: people are the part of life I'm
most tempted to postpone.
3. When something goes wrong, leave a small gap
before reacting.
Someone cuts across my lane. The laptop hangs
just before I save. Someone says something irritating at exactly the wrong
moment. My first reaction is automatic, and I'm usually certain I'm right and
quick to produce the evidence. A pause helps, though: a breath, some humor,
the thought that the other person may be having a worse day than I am. I don't
get this right often. But when I do let one irritation pass, I'm glad I didn't
let one bad minute spoil the next ten.
Why it helps: I only get so many minutes, and I
don't want to hand them to the wrong things.
4. Enjoy one thing without making it a task.
Coffee without answering emails. A meal without
the news. A song without skipping to the next one. I've become very efficient
at doing several things at once, and I'm not sure I've become any good at
enjoying even one of them. So now and then I do just one thing, not as a
productivity technique but because the coffee is there. And if it goes cold
while I'm busy talking, there's a microwave. Lukewarm coffee is not a
philosophical crisis.
Why it helps: a small pleasure only counts if
I'm actually there for it.
5. At night, take stock without putting myself
on trial.
Three questions.
- Did I
enjoy anything today?
- Did I make
something a little easier for someone?
- Is there one thing I'd do differently tomorrow?
On others, the main achievement is getting
through the day without making it harder for myself or anyone else. That counts
too. It's not a quarterly review of my soul.
Why it helps: it makes me notice the day before
it's gone.
None of this guarantee’s happiness, and it
won't make grief disappear. Life can be unfair in ways no coffee will fix. But
there are small spaces where I can choose how to respond, who to call and what
to let myself enjoy. I need reminding of that. I suspect I'm not the only one.
Planning is still allowed
I spend a lot of time getting ready to live.
When the job is settled. When the money is enough. When the house is done. When
the children are settled. Then another milestone turns up. Milestones, it
seems, reproduce when nobody's looking.
There's nothing wrong with planning, earning or
building a future. That's part of living too. I'm just trying to remember that
the life I'm preparing for is also the one happening while I prepare.
Back to the point
A breath goes out and another comes in. A
conversation ends. A day becomes a memory. I don't want to turn every breath
into philosophy, because that would make breathing exhausting. But it does
remind me that life keeps moving, that I can't hold on to every moment, and
that I can't guarantee the next one.
Life doesn't always arrive as the gift I'd have
chosen. Some days the wrapping is lovely. Some days it looks as though the
delivery company dropped it down a flight of stairs. And some days I suspect
I've been handed somebody else's parcel. I'm not trying to paste a cheerful
slogan over a hard day. Where I can, I still change what I can, ask for help
when something hurts, help someone else through a rough patch, and look for
meaning even when it doesn't arrive ready-made.
So, the question I try to ask isn't whether
I'll wake up tomorrow. It's what I'm doing with the fact that I'm awake today.
Maybe that's what getting wiser looks like, at least for me: noticing a bit
sooner, apologising a bit more readily, laughing at myself a bit more often,
and trying again without announcing it.
I don't know whether I'll wake up tomorrow.
Neither do you. That's not a reason to worry about tonight. It's a reason to
stop saving every good thing for some imaginary day when life is finally
organised.
So, while I'm here, I'd like to make time for
the conversation, drink the coffee before it goes cold, laugh at a day that
refuses to cooperate, and tell the people who matter that they matter.
While the Day Is Ours
I can't promise you tomorrow, and I can't
promise me; But there's a cup of coffee and a friend I'll call at three. So,
here's to getting started, and to getting it wrong too, and to saying "I'm
glad you're here" before the day is through.
A note from the author
This grew out of my own experiences and the
questions I keep circling. I haven't figured it out completely. I get
impatient, I get distracted, my plans go sideways, and I need reminding to
enjoy the day I'm living.
These are a few thoughts I've been turning
over, and I wanted to share them. Keep what's useful, ignore the rest, and
please don't turn any of it into another item on your to-do list.
