My 8 year-old son wakes up religiously every morning at 6 AM, or just before. He travels into my bedroom with arms full of books to read while I finish exercising, spreads them out on my bed, and begins his day…
Wasted Time
My 8 year-old son wakes up religiously every morning at 6 AM, or just before. He travels into my bedroom with arms full of books to read while I finish exercising, spreads them out on my bed, and begins his day. The only divergence from this routine is that some mornings he reads and some he pushes the books to the side to start telling me about his dreams or plans for future movies and amusement parks. A few weeks ago, on the last morning of his summer vacation, he instead called me into his room at about 6:15. We cuddled for a little bit, then he got up to use the bathroom, and went back to bed. Just before 7 AM, I went in to check on him, a little concerned that he wasn’t feeling well or that he was anxious about starting a new school year.
“Still tired?” I asked, kissing him on his forehead.
“Not really” he answered thoughtfully.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow, bud? Or just relaxing and enjoying the last, lazy day of summer?”
“You know what” he said, jumping out of the bed as if it had caught fire “I’m not going to waste another minute!”
He was so sincere, so determined, and so excited to take on the new day; every minute of it, just as it was. It was one of the most innocent, yet profound moments I had ever witnessed. And the timing was a gift. Unbeknownst to my son, I had already wasted nearly an hour of that day. Prior to him calling me into his room I was not exercising as usual. I had been laying in my own bed since just before 5 AM, replaying a recent conversation that I had with someone close to me. In the moments that it was happening, the conversation had felt fine, good even. But then little parts of it had since whirled in the depths of my mind like hot sugar in a cotton candy machine.
At first just spinning and tossing out bits, but then slowly, without notice, webbing and sticking to every reachable surface, until finally creating a dense cloud. I replayed the conversation, inspecting it for an undertone or intention that I had possibly missed. Rewrote it to try to create a scenario that would leave me feeling less vulnerable. I designed future discussions on the same subject with multiple outcomes, none of which were positive or productive. I spent nearly 60 minutes of the dawning day in dialogues that didn’t actually exist. I had gotten myself so worked up that I was nearly in tears when my son did call me into his room, heavy with the weight of circumstances that were entirely fictional scenarios which I created with sixty wasted minutes.
It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? It is crazy! But we all do it. We all taste that flavor of crazy. By taking a small token of unsettling information, a tiny imperfection, or a moment of discomfort and cocooning it in imaginary outcomes or conversations of potential conflict we simultaneously feed our fear and comfort ourselves. We defend ourselves against completely unaware opponents, play the imaginary victim or victor, concurrently validating our righteousness and our anxieties. When we stay here, in this alternate universe that we’ve created entirely on our own, we are wasting not only the moment that we are in, but we miss the beauty of the ones that surround it. Simply because we are afraid. We are afraid of what has happened, or afraid of what may, or even of our own actions, inactions, or emotions.
There will always be moments or memories that stick with us, that make us feel uneasy, that we can rehearse or rewrite to validate or feed our ego. Past conversations with a romantic partner. Difficult discussions with an employer. Arguments with a child, a parent, a friend or family member. Sometimes even a small exchange with a stranger can stick in our craw and dominate our thoughts for days.
Our emotional reaction during these actual events lasts 90 seconds. We have a 90 second physiological chemical response to any environmental influence. When we receive the difficult communication, or when we say the uncomfortable thing, or while we are engaged in the strenuous conversation, our body needs less than two minutes to allow that wave of emotion to come and pass, so we can recognize the feeling, and respond accordingly, then let go. Any discomfort or unease beyond those 90 seconds is the consequence of our own thoughts, our own self-created waves produced by holding on to a moment that doesn’t exist anywhere but in our minds. We remain a part of what was or what could be, no longer participating in the moment that is. We literally and purposefully, however unconsciously, waste our own time.
There will always be seminal moments of birth, rebirth, or loss that we routinely revisit. There are some waves that we recreate because they are simply too precious or too painful to release forever. Even in these moments though, we have the power to notice the strands of thought webbing and taking hold before they create an impenetrable cloud. We can still ride the wave, and release, knowing that the next will come again and we can do the same. For the smaller moments though, the passing uncomfortable exchanges, we can do better. We don’t need to allow them more than the 90-seconds that they require.
It’s completely our will to continue the conversation or just get out of bed. Not to say that we won’t think of it again. We will. I still think about the subject that I allowed to steal an hour of my summer morning. It visits occasionally for me to notice, acknowledge, and release. I take a breath, returning to reality, and remember my son’s excitement on his last morning of vacation. I remember his enthusiasm for the possibility of the present moment, and don’t allow my own fear to diminish mine. The only thing that beautiful boy was afraid of on his last summer morning, was missing the moment that he was in, and that’s all that any of us ever really have.
Need a Little Clarity?
Feel free to reach out below and ask whatever is on your mind.
