Living in the Moment
A calm day at Carey Point, the entrance to the Big Bras d’Or Lake in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. The serenity of calmly sitting on placid waters that are usually ruled by strong currents is difficult to explain to others. It afforded a “snapshot moment” to which I vividly return.
Carey -
For a compulsive time manager and someone whose mind always raced ahead to the things on the pending list, this has proven to be a learned skill that I haven’t come close to mastering. For those with a terminal illness, learning to live in the moment is important. Next to the “dealing with guilt” this has proven to be one of the biggest challenges my illness but one that is very rewarding. After all, my future is closing in fast and the ending of the story approaches. But really this is a philosophical exercise closely akin to mindfulness. Reflection and reminiscing are important, but differ from the process of appreciating the here and now. Perhaps living in the moment is closest to meditation but with an “eyes open” awareness. It can begin simply, such as thinking about the feeling of the sun warming your body, the breeze rustling the trees, listening to the full notes of a bird’s song, watching clouds unfurl and reform or, one of my favorites, the feel of the irregularities of the tiles on my feet as I shower. I found that I began to stop switch-tasking (sorry folks, no one “multitasks” and those that believe they do this should do some simple research. You simply do two or more things poorly and with more cognitive workload). This allowed me to listen better without the internal distractions, and I found it was easy to leave my phone on the counter and away from me for longer and longer periods of time. In addition to expanding the use of all of your senses, it allows reflection about one’s reaction to the stimuli. It’s quite amazing what one can find in this newly discovered “microworld” that we’ve been immersed in throughout life, but likely never really gave a second thought. The calming effect of discovering the moment works far better than any medication or drug ever can. “The Moment” can and often entails revisiting snapshots of the past. The detail in these re-explored moments are stunning.
Great blue herons photographed at sunrise in Echo Canyon State Park in Nevada.
The glow comes from reflected light of mountains in the distance. The serenity of watching these large birds settle in together over 30 minutes was a special time.
Nicole-
What does living in the moment mean? Sometimes moments are terrible and we don’t want to linger there. When I was in training to be a doctor we would say “They can kill you but they cannot turn off the clock” meaning the shift could be devastating to the body and soul but that it would end. It says a lot that this is a phrase frequently used by people working in medicine. I’ve learned that living in the moment for me means slowing time by noticing its passage. Feeling the soap as I wash dishes and recalling a time I washed dishes with a beloved friend. Breathing slowly with purpose and thinking of gratitude help us to live in the moment. Even in hard moments, we can feel alive. The “tile under the feet” or the wind on our faces help anchor us to the now. In our busy lives, our thoughts are often processed in the center of our brains in a planning center called the amygdala. Moving our thoughts out of planning mode to the frontal lobe of our brain allows us to be present in the moment rather than constantly scheduling the future. Both are necessary but the balance should be mostly living in the moment (frontal lobe) versus a little bit of planning (amygdala). What does this change? It allows space for joy. The simplicity and feeling of small things throughout our day. We become present for all of life, including the hard things.
Looking at Carey’s pictures brings me into the moment and art in all forms can do the same. The awe of the Milky Way, the wonder of space and the mysterious stars shut down my planning brain and I enjoy seeing the cosmos like humans have done for thousands of years. When I am with Carey and Robin on their back porch as friends, we laugh about their smoking Solo stove (“It never does that” as I reassure them I truly love the smell and feel like I’m camping!) and I delight in the connection and their advice to me. Carey is still my mentor and I need his wisdom on a multitude of subjects. We forget that trading roles and continuing to help each other is important for meaning in life. I love when he sends me recipes or helpful journal articles. Or advises on restaurants and places they have been. It isn’t denial of where we are in Carey’s journey towards death but rather acknowledgement that on this journey we can continue to be teacher, student, doctor, patient and friends depending on the needs of the day. Our own unique journey of living in the moment.
“For one minute, walk outside, stand there in silence, look up at the sky and contemplate how amazing life is.” ~Unknown
Robin -
Caring for the caregiver – the hardest part for me. I have always been independent and self-reliant. I often feel that asking for help puts a burden on someone else, so I don’t ask. Our daughters told us that they feel left out when we don’t ask for help. I will try to include asking for help (even if I don’t really need it – thanks Dr. Pelly) as we progress on this journey. In the spirit of self-care, I started a mindfulness practice using guided meditation to foster living in the moment and for the better part of the last year have journaled each day including writing down things that I am grateful for. It is amazing how much better I feel when I force myself to think about joy each day. Even in the worst moments, we can find joy in a hug, or petting the dog, or feeling the wind, or the warmth of the sun. I think about music as a model for finding the joy amid the darkness - the undercurrent of discord births the brilliant melody of the music. There is always an optimal balance between extremes – joy and sorrow, sunlight and shadow, birth and death that changes every minute.
As part of “living in the moment” we bought a Sprinter camper van almost a year after Carey’s diagnosis. We have always enjoyed camping and travel but not as much packing up wet tents and sleeping on the ground. I drive and Carey watches for places to take pictures. This works well for both of us as at some point he will not be able to drive and I won’t have to tell him he can’t drive. Carey is able to nap in the back if he is tired and we have access to snacks and drinks as needed. We have been able to do some travelling during COVID since our van is totally self-contained and we can pack enough food for two weeks on the road. We have put over 32,000 miles on the van in less than two years of use and visited some beautiful places.