I've been on this be here/be now/be present quest lately. I mean, if sadness is a result of something that has already happened and anxiety comes from our worries about what might happen, it stands to reason that the balance lies in the present. Right? In theory, it seems easy enough - but in reality, it is a moment by moment challenge for me.The other day, I ended up at the bookstore after receiving some sad news (not like 'my dog died' sad news, but neither that 'Kanye and Kim were having a fight' sad news. Somewhere in the middle sad news). And it would be there that I ended up with a handful of opportunities to test the theory. I ordered my double dirty chai (as if any other dirty would do) and sat down to read and forget, but I couldn't focus on the words in front of me. I was still busy trying to convince myself to let go of five minutes ago and not worry about five minutes from now. But in that exact moment, the here and now really was sad. I wasn't dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. I was sad NOW - in the present. And it seemed super counter intuitive to try to stay in it. What if being in the moment isn't always awesome? Why would I want to stay there? So I looked around aimlessly, allowing my mind to wander. I have spent countless hours in this place - walking around and judging books by their covers to quiet the noise. But this time, I just sat there - scanning the place. As I did, I saw a mysterious looking older gentleman a few tables away, staring out at nothing as much as he did his laptop. An Asian mother, nursing her baby while her toddler spoke quickly to her in a language I couldn't understand, but knew immediately to be the universal language of a toddler driving his mother batshit crazy. And a young couple staring into each others eyes and laughing at things that weren't even funny - because they still had to. And then it happened. On a shelf to my right, I saw an Erector Set and I heard myself laugh out loud. (If I have to explain why, we probably don't hang out very often). That part of me that finds joy in gems like this is always present. And in that moment, I was grateful to have the mind of an immature 8th grader, because it made the here and now pretty tolerable. Dare I say, awesome. Even if only for a moment.
It wasn't long before my gut reminded my heart who reminded my head that I was sad and I was snapped back to that feeling. I reached under my glasses to catch a tear that fell before I even knew it was coming. Very discreetly, I assumed. But within three seconds of doing so, I looked up to see the aforementioned mysterious looking older gentleman hunched over near my table, so as to make eye contact and quietly say "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt you or to pry, but are you OK?" Surprised, I said, "Yes. Thank you, I am fine." As he responded with "OK, that's good, I just wanted to make sure," I realized that I instantly went from being sad to feeling comfort because of a complete stranger who, in his own "staring out at nothing," had noticed me doing the same. Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. Our "nows" just happened to cross. And it changed things… for a moment. After sitting there for a second more, I looked back over at the Erector Set, smiled again, and realized it was time to go. But before I left, as the kind stranger went back to the counter for a coffee refill, I stopped by his table and dropped a note on his keyboard that read:
And then I walked out - with a calm that wasn't there when I walked in.
When I started writing this entry, Quincy came to me, upset that she had the hiccups. And, as I tried comforting her, I found myself smiling at the unintended metaphor. Nobody really likes having the hiccups. Sometimes they are just a little annoying, but sometimes they make your "tummy feel really yucky and bouncy." She didn't have them a moment ago, but the good news was, she probably wouldn't have them much longer - because these too shall pass.
So, the take-aways are this:
There is always an Erector Set around the corner. People are inherently kind. It's almost impossible to leave a bookstore not feeling better than when you went in. And hiccups don't last forever. I've also learned that the times it means the most to hold on to a moment are the times I spend them with my children. Because, as the mother of two adult boys, I understand all too well how fleeting those moments really are. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a hiccup-free four year old yelling "I'm done hiding and I'm not behind the couch" - from behind the couch - that I need to find.
