This isn’t going to last forever.
I don’t know if you ever catch yourself thinking that. I do from time to time. It doesn’t even feel like a thought that comes from me most of the time. It’s more like a sudden reminder that strikes when I least expect it.
On the drive to my office. While playing with my kid. Out to dinner with my wife.
This isn’t going to last forever.
It sounds like a sad thought, especially when applied to a moment you’re really enjoying. But it can be one of the most precious reminders.
I remember being at Durdle Door in Dorset years ago. I connected with a distant relative of mine, and we met in North London. By the end of the week, he had invited me on a family trip where he would be taking his kids to the South Coast. When we got there it was beautiful.
And I remember a distinct moment of sitting on the pebbled beach, throwing small stones into the water. I was allowing myself to be amazed by all the odd happenings that led to me being there in that moment. The thought then washed over me. Being this free- to reach out to people, to venture to places I never knew about, to say yes to surprises, wouldn’t last forever. This was a sacred moment to be in.
And I continued to sit and throw stones into the water. And everything else seemed to sit still.
Somehow knowing that the moment wouldn’t last forever made it much richer.
I have a tendency to get excited about what’s next, to set my sights on the future, and to convince myself that I’ll really be able to enjoy myself after some accomplishment or milestone.
Being oriented towards the future isn’t without its upsides. But it does give me the bad habit of rushing through life.
I get a bit too absorbed by my to-do list. Wanting too much to check things off as quickly as possible so I can feel like a day was productive, not going to waste.
I get a bit impatient waiting for the things I’m working on to reach the next level. I think of how exciting it would be for my podcast to get the listeners I dream of, for my nonprofit to grow to the size I dream of.
I get so motivated by milestones, benchmarks, and accomplishments, that I often forget that the real joy is found in the process.
One of the most important reminders anyone can take on their adventure is this: Don’t rush the journey.
All good stories and life itself is driven by a journey. Things to pursue. Problems to solve. Once the problems are solved and things are settled, stories naturally come to an end. There’s nowhere left for them to go.
We tend to overrate getting to the destination at the cost of underrating the journey.
I love the way some people are able to flip this. In the words of Chris Guillebeau, it’s not about the pursuit of happiness but the happiness of pursuit.
Being a dad has helped me out a great deal. I see my kid every single day, but while we spend time together, I remind myself that the moment is indeed sacred. In one month, he’ll have grown and changed and developed so much, he’ll no longer be the same kid right in front of me in the moment.
Plus, kids are natural at being in the moment. In the earliest of months, past and future aren’t concepts that have landed yet. It’s all about the present.
Being free from the burden of time seems to be something present in the purest of hearts. Kids. Dogs. Really wise older people. And I think about the people whose lights shine brightest, and they often seem to be people who are able to shut out everything else and focus on what’s right in front of them. It’s being free from the distractions of past hang-ups, worries about the future, or just being caught up in what hasn’t been done yet.
Things like hurry take us further away from that state of lightness. From being the best versions of ourselves. No wonder Dallas Willard famously said that the best way to become the kind of person you wish to become, then you must “ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”
Hurry and love don’t mix.
Poverty can put people in desperate situations where exploitation, violence, and poor health take root. Hurry, obsessing over the future, or forgetting the value of the present run parallel to that. They create a spiritual sense of poverty that make us less like the people we want to be.
Not only that, but they also rob us of so much joy. Because in each waking moment, there is an invitation to a whole lot of joy.
The key is not to rush.