Most days I don’t really know what to expect. I wake up after the third time hitting the snooze button on my ancient clock radio, and I slowly bring myself up into consciousness. Back during those months when I was unemployed and the days and weeks all blurred together, upon waking I used to announce to myself what day it was. “Today is Monday,” I would tell myself so that I could orient myself in time and space. I generally didn’t state the date; upon waking, simply knowing the day of the week was good enough. The rest I could sort out later. Back in those tumultuous days I often woke with a burning, fiery energy coursing through my limbs and chest. I referred to it in the early days of this blog as my “adrenalized” state; a sense of subconscious panic that set my nerves on fire. This morning there was none of that, it was simply the exhaustion from having gone to bed too late and waking a little later than I’d wanted.
These days I don’t need to announce to myself what day it is: I write the day and date and time each morning at the top of the page of my journal. Even as I’m writing my morningly reflections a part of my mind is running over what I can remember of my schedule so I can figure out what I am wearing to work. This as my alarm continues to ring. It sounds every seven minutes. I let it ring while I’m writing my journal so I keep a general sense of what time it is without having to look at the clock. I know, it’s weird, but it’s sort of my routine at the moment. I recognized within myself this morning that I was a little off my game; I couldn’t put my finger right on it, but I simply felt a bit off kilter. That turned out to be alright for the most part–I was able to function, just not as crisply as I would have liked. Over the course of the day I had my usual assortment of meetings and functions–some on the schedule, many not. I had things I wanted to accomplish today that in the midst of everything else I did not complete. I could choose to focus on what did not get done or I could turn my energy toward what I did.
What has been done, has been done; what has not been done has not been done. Let it be…I find that I am a bit panicked by how quickly time is passing, and yet I recognize that panic is neither helpful or necessary. It will do nothing to slow the passage of time and if anything will waste the time I do have. So the best I can do is hold on for dear life as I hurtle into all the things that are unfolding around me. The idea that I can be truly prepared for any eventuality is ludicrous. I might as well relax and enjoy the ride, preparing and planning where I can, but improvising and adapting as “conditions on the ground” change, which they inevitably will. So I hold loosely to the idea of planning and try not to get too attached to outcomes, though this is a challenging notion. I show up most days simply wanting to be the best person I can, to do the best job that I can with what’s in front of me. Some days I am more “successful” than others, depending on how you define success.
I am grateful, then, for living in the moment as best I can. This moment is all I have. The weight of my entire life, my “legacy,” my impact on the world does not likely hinge on this moment. My impact on the world happens in small moments, not the grandiose ones I’d often imagined for myself. In “A Path with Heart” teacher and writer Jack Kornfield reminds us that at the end of our lives the questions we ask ourselves are very simple, “Did I love well? Did I live fully? Did I learn to let go?” These are among the questions I ask myself now, at this time in my life. It’s not really about how many meetings I attended, good suggestions I made to the powers that be, times I got something “right,” or looked good in what I was doing. It’s fundamentally about how I show up in the world and do I live my life with consistency, authenticity, integrity?
No, most days I really don’t know what to expect. So I start each day with an intention to do the best I can, to be the best I can and leave the rest of it to God.
