On the mindful and glorious present

Just a few weeks ago, I turned 35. Just a few months ago, my older brother, Nathan, died. I have been thinking a lot about time lately. Time and journeying and life and God and all of it.

 First, an aside.

 

I find it is an interesting and wonderful thing to be married. I say this for a good many reasons, but here is one. As a married person, I am able to regularly discuss and reflect on my anxieties, behaviors, and thought patterns with a trusting partner (who I, in turn, support through the same shared exploration). Something I’ve learned about myself in conversations with Carmen is that I think, A LOT, about the future. Where am I going next? How will I get there? What is the next target for my ambition, my authentic desire to serve the world well and be loved?

 

These thoughts are always on my mind. Am I where I am meant to be? Should I be elsewhere? How will I know?

 

Another aside.

 

I have a good friend, Amit. He taught me to meditate years ago when we were essentially roommates in New York City. I didn’t make enough money to afford my aspirational 1-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. He was willing to pay a couple bucks a month to sleep on the couch. For a few months, it was a pretty symbiotic relationship. It was during one of these meditations that Amit articulated something I’ll always remember. He basically said, “People who worry, who experience profound anxiety, are either thinking too much about the future - about what might happen, might not happen - or about the past - what went wrong, what could have been better. The idea is to stay grounded in the present.”

 

Yeah, yeah. Meditation. I know. Live in the present. All that. Yada, yada.

 

But seriously, listen up, y’all. There is some profound truth here. From my perspective, the idea of eternal life, of the best life, of the life-iest life that ever life-d, is to live, grounded in a gratitude, love, openness, and mindful awareness of the present, moving gracefully, peacefully, in God’s time.

 

I think about the future a lot. I try to ground myself in the present. It’s hard, but here’s another spiritual writing I love, loosely aligned to these many meandering thoughts.

 

“Merton once told me to quit trying so hard in prayer. He said: ‘How does an apple ripen? It just sits in the sun.’ A small green apple cannot ripen in one night by tightening all its muscles, squinting its eyes, and tightening its jaw in order to find itself the next morning miraculously large, red, ripe, and juicy beside its small green counterparts. Like the birth of a baby or the opening of a rose, the birth of the true self takes place in God’s time. We must wait for God, we must be awake; we must trust in his hidden action within us.” (James Finley)

 

When I think too long or too hard about what’s next for me, I turn to this passage. I see myself as the green apple, straining and struggling, apple knuckles white and little veins in its little apple forehead pulsing with a desire to turn red.

 

Just wait, little guy. Your day will come. The moment will be right at some point, and when it is, you’ll know. Today, check out this amazing sun, right? Say hi to your other apple pals who are ripening with you. Your moment on this tree is pretty important too. Maybe think a bit about that, eh?

 

Essentially, I am aware of the paradox. We are growing and ripening. Things will change, they are always changing, and we should be always listening for signals of the path unfolding. AND. We should be stoked for the ever bodacious present. What a gift, to be, no?

 

Anyhow. I am 35 now, and my brother has died, and I am so sad to have lost him so early. AND. I am grateful for my moment here. For this moment, and the next one, and the one after that.

 

I do not know where I am going. I am cool with that. I have a wonderful wife. I have great friends and family and love. I have endless plans for what may be, and I know full well they may never come to pass.

 

I am cool with that too.

 

I am grateful.

 

I am living in the mindful and glorious present.

 

For now at least.

 

Until next time, my friends, be very, very well.

 

All the best,

Josh