But I get why it’s important
I get really annoyed when people say “be in the moment”. It’s become such a mantra, it’s like the phrase has lost all meaning entirely. And what if the moment’s boring, or irritating, or painful? Why would I want to be in it?
I mean, I suppose I do actually get it. The times I’ve managed to be fully present, even to unpleasant emotions, I’ve realised it feels MUCH better than running from them.
Feelings pass, but only when we don’t resist them – and fleeing is resisting.
But the mantra makes me feel guilty because I so rarely succeed at it. I tend to jiggle this way and that to escape the discomfort of the moment. Even when I try to allow myself to feel fully, I tend to migrate the emotion quickly into my mind, where I analyse and investigate the feeling into a whole new frenzy.
Take yesterday: I spent the better part of Saturday writing an excruciatingly personal essay about my childhood. Then I posted it and was immediately filled with regret. What if my siblings think that I am co-opting their story? What if my mom reads it? Am I oversharing? I was also feeling rather raw, as dredging up the past is wont to do – raw and sad and somewhat cabin-feverish.
To top it off: On Thursday night I got quite terribly drunk with my neighbours. I live on a small farm and there are about seven houses here; we know each other well and walk back and forth, borrowing spices, returning dog toys. Now, since none of us are leaving the farm anytime soon, we get to visit a bit and get more safe social contact than most people would. At Thursday midnight the great South African lockdown was about to descend for 21 days and of course we all wound up on one porch, dancing to Kings of Leon and drinking too much wine.
I might have offered to guide everybody on the farm through an impromptu 21-day meditation course. Facepalm. I also tried to convert everybody to the joy of magic mushrooms (why do I do this all the time???). And I sang VERY loudly to every song my neighbour was willing to play on the guitar, googling lyrics when I didn’t know them, harmonising at the top of my lungs at every chance I got. I can’t be sure, but I am willing to bet quite a lot of money that I was decidedly off-key.
So on Friday I stayed resolutely in bed. My dog, Waldo, kept checking in on me, poking his head gingerly through the door, but I was having none of it – no walkies today. I tried to work remotely (life goes on), but mainly I ate popcorn and watched Netflix the entire day long, trying to distract myself from the embarrassing memories.
But yesterday I had no more excuses. After putting up my newest post, I had to return my neighbour’s jacket which I’d somehow managed to stumble home in on Thursday. He looked abashed. Oh God, did I flirt with him? That would be so like me. Please tell me I didn’t flirt with him – I really like his girlfriend and also, I am not even a little bit interested in him. Did I flirt with anybody else perhaps? I clearly remember telling another neighbour that I’d missed his face – would he have taken that as a come-on?
Haaaaaaaaaaaah. This moment is so cringey. I don’t want to be in it.
I think that embarrassment is legitimately the hardest kind of moment to stay present to – except perhaps for shame. And so I find myself, over and over again, trying to distract myself from my thoughts. Aargh, I think my sister might be angry at me. Okay, new thought. New series on Netflix! …Is my neighbour looking at me weird? No, new thought! What shall I eat?? …Oh fuck, everybody on the farm definitely hates me.
So I did yoga. Yoga with Adriene has a video up, “Yoga for insecurity”, that sounded perfect. I got on the mat. Waldo planted himself in front of me, as he does whenever I try to do some exercise, so I gave in and cuddled him first. I buried my face in his stinky neck – he smells exactly like a sour cloth, one of those you forgot to wring out, because he swims in the swimming pool all the time and never gets a chance to dry. I inhale. This is home.
“Acknowledge how you are feeling,” says Adriene. “I feel really shit”, I mumble while in plank. Oh, that works. A little bit. “I’m afraid that nobody’s going to like me anymore”.
Oh! I’m not embarrassed, I’m afraid. It all comes down to fear, doesn’t it? Every time I feel yucky, when I dig down I find fear somewhere in the mix.
Let’s investigate – what does my fear feel like? This time it feels like extreme tightness between my shoulder blades. And like something’s a little bit stuck in my throat.
But you can’t really be in the moment and continue to be afraid, because fear implies thinking about the future.
I realise this with a tiny jolt as I continue dropping into my body and some of my fear dissipates. I’m a little nauseous, I also realise; but that might just be because I’m still in plank. Okay, down to cobra. My back makes a creaky sound. And whoosh, back to downward dog. I hang out there for a bit. My arms ache. This feels present. This feels good.
It’s half a day later. I’m not all better now – but I’m a little better. At least I did some exercise. And I understood something: I’m afraid. So I said to my fear: never mind, you can hang out here for a little bit if you need to. It’s okay, I’m chill.
I AM chill. I check in with my heart: it’s very full. I am loved. I love. I get to breathe this moment out.
Being in the moment is a pain in the arse, but at least a pain in the arse takes your attention off your fears.