Day Seven: From This Moment On
Lately, my life has been... let's call it "challenging." Take an introverted, moderately insecure artistic type and put her in a situation where she interacts with 120 blank-eyed, apathetic teenagers and a number of largely embittered, cynical educators, daily. Beat until creamy. Bake at 400 degrees for 4 months, or until lightly mentally destroyed.
As a result, I've adopted a new mantra/prayer: This moment. Every time I get stressed, overwhelmed, frustrated, or feel like I'm about to burst into tears (i.e., 15 times a day), I take a deep breath and I think, This moment. Can I do this moment? Except for that one time I was being devoured alive by a giant mutant Teletubby (which, fortunately for everyone, was a dream), the answer is "yes." Yes, I can put up with snarky eye-rolls for this moment. Yes, I can take the embarrassment of admitting yet another mistake for this moment. Yes, I can pick up this paperclip, even if it's the 3,000th paperclip I've picked up today. This moment, this one moment, is all you ever have to handle.
On the other hand, one moment is all you get. One moment of peace. One moment of waking up and there's still an hour before your alarm goes off, so you get to snuggle in under the covers and pretend it's Sunday. One moment of sitting on the couch, talking to your best friend. One moment of being the jelly in a hug sandwich with parent-bread.
And yeah, we need to plan for other moments (because even "one at a time," you don't want to handle the moments where you're up in front of 30 12th graders with no clue what today's lesson is supposed to be). In this moment, I want to be doing everything I can to ensure that the moments which follow are pleasant ones. I want to plan for the future--but I can't live in it. I can't live in the past, either, even though it's soft and fuzzy and I already know everyone who lives there. All that we ever really have is this moment; this is where your free will lives, where your power to make choices and changes resides. Like a wall that gets built brick by brick, so go the days of our lives.
One moment at a time.
And in this moment, I have 5 days off for Thanksgiving. Which makes this moment freaking sweet.
As a result, I've adopted a new mantra/prayer: This moment. Every time I get stressed, overwhelmed, frustrated, or feel like I'm about to burst into tears (i.e., 15 times a day), I take a deep breath and I think, This moment. Can I do this moment? Except for that one time I was being devoured alive by a giant mutant Teletubby (which, fortunately for everyone, was a dream), the answer is "yes." Yes, I can put up with snarky eye-rolls for this moment. Yes, I can take the embarrassment of admitting yet another mistake for this moment. Yes, I can pick up this paperclip, even if it's the 3,000th paperclip I've picked up today. This moment, this one moment, is all you ever have to handle.
On the other hand, one moment is all you get. One moment of peace. One moment of waking up and there's still an hour before your alarm goes off, so you get to snuggle in under the covers and pretend it's Sunday. One moment of sitting on the couch, talking to your best friend. One moment of being the jelly in a hug sandwich with parent-bread.
And yeah, we need to plan for other moments (because even "one at a time," you don't want to handle the moments where you're up in front of 30 12th graders with no clue what today's lesson is supposed to be). In this moment, I want to be doing everything I can to ensure that the moments which follow are pleasant ones. I want to plan for the future--but I can't live in it. I can't live in the past, either, even though it's soft and fuzzy and I already know everyone who lives there. All that we ever really have is this moment; this is where your free will lives, where your power to make choices and changes resides. Like a wall that gets built brick by brick, so go the days of our lives.
One moment at a time.
And in this moment, I have 5 days off for Thanksgiving. Which makes this moment freaking sweet.
Wow... just wow!
ReplyDeleteThank you for being my parent-bread :)
DeleteI'll try not be such a heel.
DeleteHahaha! I get it! Heel of bread.
DeleteEmily, this is beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Christi! :)
Delete