The Only Moment
illustration by Greg Chinn for Outer Voice
“AUTHOR’S NOTE: Although this piece was published on May 29, it was written on May 24 — the day before George Floyd was killed by Minneapolis police officers. The inciting incident for this piece was national reopening from COVID-19.
This piece is in no way meant to ignore the justified and necessary national unrest and uproar over Floyd’s murder, the unconscionable violence against black bodies or the systemic racism of our society and political system.
Rather than changing this piece to address this issue, I have chosen to leave it as-is and to focus on writing new pieces in response.
I ask that you read this piece with the following quote in mind:
”This doesn’t mean we become blissed-out do-nothings who just watch the world go by. It means we place our energy where it is most effective — in the now.””
I’m protective of my Saturday mornings. I rise before the rest of the family, open windows, make coffee and curl up with a stack of books.
I’ve been guilty of getting a little too precious about it, but this time really is the core to my weekly battery recharge.
Last Saturday, I invited a cloud to loom over it.
My first mistake? I looked at my phone.
News of our collective reopening — in some places cautious and in others … less so — kicked off an instantaneous thunderclap of responses in me.
Anxiety, anger, apprehension (and that’s just the A’s) washed over me, and my bright little Saturday was flooded with all the coming days of my life, and they were all, of course, miserable.
Here’s a recap of what went through my mind in that moment:
“Everybody’s going to get Coronavirus and die.”
“I do need a haircut, though.”
“I still don’t have a job.”
“How are we going to pay our bills?”
“What if I don’t find a job?”
“What’s going to be the end of us? Virus? Environment? Racism?”
“Outer Voice isn’t financially viable yet.”
“What if I never find a job again?”
“Outer Voice wasn’t supposed to be financially viable, dummy.”
“Tell that to hungry future Clay.”
“I’m going to die alone.”
Etc.
The fearful rush of “what ifs.” The catastrophizing and borrowing trouble from the future. It’s weirdly addictive, and we train our brains to follow these patterns.
Here’s where that separation we create between intellect and emotion, between heart and mind is so painfully evident.
Intellectually, it’s easy to understand there’s a middle path between being paralyzed by fear and running in frantic circles putting out imagined fires. Easy to understand, but difficult as hell to live out.
How did I find my way back to the path last Saturday morning?
I put my arm around my imagined post-apocalyptic future self, and gently guided him from the construction of his Thunderdome back to… Saturday morning.
When I meditate, I say the following to myself as I breathe in and out:
“This breath is the only breath. This moment is the only moment. The next moment is science fiction. The last moment is a ghost story.”
Stopping, breathing and welcoming the present moment works miracles in space and time. It feels as if time is slowing around me, although actually I suppose it’s my mind and body slowing to meet time.
The moment expands. The air around me loosens. Sounds and thoughts settle and come to me as visitors, rather than invaders.
By not letting ourselves live in the present moment, we rob ourselves of joy.
How does this apply to our work as artists?
Not being present in the moment can:
Stop you from starting something in the first place
Stop you from finishing
Let loose the bad inner critic — the one who’s already going through your negative reviews before you’ve even begun
Steal your focus and keep your work from being as good as it could be
Steal the joy of doing the work, which should be a joyous moment
In his book, Essentialism, Greg McKeown says, “we may not always have control over our options, but we always have control over how we choose among them.” He adds that, to be really effective at anything, we have to learn “to tell the difference between what is truly important and everything else.”
To be able to do this, to have the distance and presence of mind to truly prioritize the onslaught of things our minds and environment produce every minute, we have to be present in the moment and we have to create the space in our minds to differentiate what really matters from what simply feels like it matters.
This doesn’t mean we become blissed-out do-nothings who just watch the world go by. It means we place our energy where it is most effective — in the now.
Did slowing down, breathing and bringing myself to the present moment dissipate my anxiety? Yes. Did it last the whole weekend? It didn’t even last the whole hour.
But that’s ok. I kept bringing myself back to the moment, back to where I was, what I was doing, and who I was with. And that’s what it’s all about.
Your life happens in this moment. It doesn’t happen in “if only” or “when I finally…” It doesn’t happen in “next time” or “back in the day.”
Change happens now. Work happens now. Love happens now.
This doesn’t mean we become blissed-out do-nothings who just watch the world go by. It means we place our energy where it is most effective — in the now.
And yes, that energy includes anger and frustration in the same way it includes compassion and kindness. But it helps us use it wisely.
We train our brains to follow paths of anxiety and planning, but we can also train them off those paths and onto those of calm, stillness and presence. It takes patience, but it makes every moment better.
Need help defining your voice or reaching your audience? Give me a shout. I offer consulting and services for all kinds of individual artists and arts organizations.
