“Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand, and melting like a snowflake.”
– Sir Francis Bacon, Philosopher, Essayist, Statesman, 1561-1626

I saw this quote on a sign in a shop and it has always stuck with me, although I’m not quite sure why, as living in the moment isn’t a particular strength of mine. Being present, much like articles about meditation is something of interest to me, but the practicality of actually doing it, I find not just a little bit daunting. Instead, I find myself moving too fast most of the time.

Moving quickly really has been something of a mantra for me: thinking quickly, walking quickly, talking quickly. I always seem to be in a hurry to get on to the next thing. I know that if I work faster, I can get more done. And getting more done, means time to do more.

As I look back over the past few years, I recall myself always rushing to the next thing. The trouble was all this rushing made me tired. Over time I became cross and short. I stopped doing things I enjoyed, thinking if I could just get more rest, I could keep going. I declined invitations, often working nights and weekends. My thinking became muddled. I had trouble focusing on my work and made mistakes. At night my sleep was restless. In my dreams unknown figures and foes gave chase.

I knew something needed to change. I realized I hadn’t taken much time off over the last five years. Even after the births of my children I had started doing consulting work by 10 and 8 weeks respectively. In hindsight, why had I done that? It really wasn’t necessary. I resolved to slow down, and at the end of a busy work quarter, I took three weeks off.

As my mind unwound. I purposefully did little. And in my inactivity, I started to hear for the first time in a long time. I realized I had trouble really listening. I was too busy formulating a reply, or thinking about what I needed to do next.

In Japanese culture to listen has a much deeper meaning. The Japanese character 聴く (Kiku) means “to listen to.” Having four distinct parts, the left side represents an ear, the center lines an eye, and below it the heart or soul. Conjointly, they mean to listen, with your eyes, your mind, your heart. What a powerful notion! I realized I seldom listened like this, and resolved to try.

I listened to my children in this way, to their requests, their ideas. I was amazed at what I heard, at what their little minds were absorbing, their creative thoughts, and their enthusiasm for life.

I listened to people around me. I reconnected with old friends, visited family members. I really saw people I interacted with around the community. When my husband spoke, I tried to pause before replying, to make sure I absorbed all that was said first. It was freeing to do just this one thing at a time.

I resolved go outside, and listen. Previously whole days passed at my desk in my home office, and I never set foot outdoors. I took my 1 ½ year old for a walk and we listened to busy birds and animals. I laughed at his delight as he tried to chase squirrels and mimic their sounds. I visited my garden getting ready for a winter’s sleep. Sadly I realized I had missed whole seasons in the past, and I didn’t want that to be the reality anymore.

I tried to listen to the voice in my mind, the one that said I should write. I may never write anything great or important, but maybe I did have something to say, even if it was just for me. And so I wrote. I felt peace, and also energized, a strange sensation that had been missing for some years.

After all this listening, I felt more connected, but wished I could do more. I found myself reflecting, what was I doing to celebrate this moment? Had I made many memorable moments, or did many still pass by in a flurry of to-dos, and thinking about what I needed to do next?

I recalled a favorite childhood tradition; my Mom celebrated each of our half birthdays with a card, small gift, or special dessert. I have fond memories of the way she made us feel special on these mini-birthdays. It was much to my dismay in later years to discover this was not a common practice of most people. But, today on this, my half birthday, I want to ask myself, have I chosen to do something today that makes it worthwhile? I was after all spending a day of my life on it.

But, what makes a day worthwhile? Did I have to do something great or important? What did that mean? Was I even capable of this? As I reflected, I decided it only needed to be worthwhile to me.

I remembered Marjorie’s Kauai Inn where my husband and I spent part of our honeymoon in her charming B&B, waking up to wild roosters crowing. Marjorie’s personal mantra and challenge to each of her guests was to do more than one fun thing a day. And while I may not have a surfing lesson today, or go hiking in a post volcanic canyon, or even eat a rainbow snow cone with macadamia nut ice cream, I could to do something fun and memorable, based on my own definition of what was meaningful to me.