If you’re like me, you’ve heard a dozen dozen people say, “I can’t wait until the election is over.” I share the feeling—sorta.
Fact is, we say this kind of thing a lot: “I can’t wait ’til Spring.” “I can’t wait until _____ makes his mind up, so that we can get moving.” Etc.
Bad!
Bad!
Bad!
Your correspondent (me) will be Sweet Sixteen, whoops Sixty-Six, next week. And since I don’t expect to live to 132, I can say with assurance that I’m playing in the second half. And therefore I refuse to allow myself to fall into the “I wish it were next Wednesday” trap—even though I more or less do.
I have at least disciplined myself to the point of giving myself a verbal slap in the face when the “wish away” thought crosses my mind.
One does reasonably wish the surgery were over, that final exams were past, that their kid would get back from Iraq. Nonetheless, and I’m no Zen practitioner, the goal, as in the goal, is always, as in always, to make the absolute most of the moment—because, to state the obvious but often ignored truism, the moment-this moment is all we ever have.
And it is absolutely positively as true at 26 or 36 or 46 or 56 as it is at 66.
I am still not very good at this—and often “wish this trip were over” so I can get back home. Well, I do want to be at home, but my life for the next few days is here (lovely Durango CO and then magical Mexico City) not there—and I damn well don’t want to piss away a moment of it. Neither should you.