This moment

What does it mean to live in the moment?

Last March, when the ability to make plans was taken away from us, there was a lot of noise online about appreciating what we have, being mindful of where we are and being grateful for “the now”. With the article in front of it, just like that. (One practitioner further emphasised the brevity of the moment by repeating “now, now, now” and saying once the word was gone, so was the moment.)

I struggled with this. I hate not knowing what is going to happen, and not even being allowed to think about it was difficult. Impossible, actually. Because all I do is think — worry, speculate, plan — about what could happen. Later in the day, tomorrow, next week, next year — and it doesn’t even have to be about my own life. So you can understand how I could feel that my imagination was cut off.

My possibilities were cut down to here and now. Many would argue that that is all any of us have — and they would be right. But I’m saying I had always believed I had the right to more. I enjoyed having things to be uncertain about. I say “enjoyed” because my therapist and your friendly YouTube life coach would have me take full responsibility for my destructive behaviours.

I had nowhere to go but inside my mind, so I tried things. I went to a therapist, I did yoga, I followed some dance tutorials, I even started making video calls despite my hatred of phone calls and being recorded on camera. I worked to fill my days so that I wouldn’t be going through my top terrifying thoughts for 24 hours (because sleep became a thing of the past, too).

I am scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to get sick. Can I go out? I don’t want to leave the house. Am I okay? Will we be okay? What do I do? I don’t want to be here.

Over one year later, some things have stuck with me. I catch myself changing my inner dialogue during the day. I remind myself to breathe properly. I know more about keeping a rubber plant alive and healthy. I don’t do yoga regularly anymore but I now know that I can get through 20 minutes of planking and stretching and twisting if I really put my mind to it.

I am still scared. There’s this constant awareness of time, and mistakes, and choices, and plans, and death. And that, I still have not been able to get over. How do you get over your own mortality?

I don’t know if the answer is to just accept death, whatever that means, or to constantly prepare for it. I don’t have a will. I don’t have a bucket list. I don’t have a “legacy”.

So what am I doing?

I likely won’t have the answer to that soon.
But I can buy a scented candle, I can meditate, I can laugh loudly and decide quickly. I can eat and drink and dress and talk and be… present.

I hope that’s enough.