Living in the moment

As wasteful and illogical as it ultimately proves to be, I regularly fail to abide by the well-known admonishment to live in the moment. Instead I ritualistically dwell upon the past or the future, the periphery of life. There is always the air of a compelling reason to do so - a recapitulation of where I've been or where I'm headed, laden with misguided pragmatism and false intellect. Sometimes the preoccupation arises from favourable and stimulating terms; at other times the obsession is less charitable (such as reliving a disagreement or worrying about what might transpire).  Unquestionably the fixation is seldom worth the effort (except perhaps when the reflection gives rise to a more in-depth comprehension of the matter under consideration).  The dalliance certainly will not change the past or predict the future. More notably the absorption diminishes whatever is at hand - a circumstance which is palpable and may well be superlative.

Perhaps it is like herding cats perpetually to capture the present.  Yet when as today the opportunity arose I was pleased to have done so. I specifically confined myself to a window of about eight hours, from 8:00 o'clock this morning when I got out of bed until 4:00 o'clock this afternoon when I was winding up my purposeful day.  During that period I accomplished several small duties in the morning; breakfast at the golf club; celebrated the arrival of a parcel; got the car washed (surprise!); drank two cups of strong coffee (espresso); then aimlessly wandered into the hinterland of Eastern Ontario, relishing the splendid late summer air and sunshine, greedily watching the verdant fields and glistening waterways, and finally dipping into a favourite hamlet for some homemade bread.

Nor was this a completely mindless indulgence. I fully appreciated the moment even to the point of actively counting my blessings. The luxuriance of the meadows after this summer's repeated heat and rain is remarkable. Living in Canada with its familiarity and recognizable advantages is a privilege. And though I know I am in the winter of my life, that each day may be my last, that this isn't going on for ever, I sought to milk the serendipity for everything it offered. It is lucky for me that I haven't any great ambition, that I can savour the country road with its bumps and bruises. Nothing could be more foreign to my enterprise than concern about my legacy.