The Panting Present

The news carried a story this week of a couple in Sonoma, California who had lost their home in those raging fires. It came on them without much warning. They woke up in the night smelling smoke and before they knew it their house was in flames. They jumped in their swimming pool in order to stay alive. They would come up for air only when they had to. The heat of their burning house singed their backs every time they did. They had planned a trip to Indonesia, and instead of staying in California trying to deal with all the damage and loss, they got on a plane and left. In their fifties, they said they wanted to get out of there and enjoy time together.

Good for them. The mess will be waiting when they get back. Why not get some relief and fly off to a beautiful place and live in the moment where there are no blazing fires to deal with?

British novelist Martin Amis once wrote, “The future could go this way, that way. The future's futures have never looked so rocky. Don't put money on it. Take my advice and stick to the present. It's the real stuff, the only stuff, it's all there is, the present, the panting present.”

In our society, we’re always looking off to the future. We have to start saving for the kids’ college fund. We have to plan the next vacation. We have to get ready for the upcoming weekend events.

These things are all well and good. And yet, our focus is often on something not yet. Something up ahead. Something to get ready for. And all the while we miss “the panting present.”

A Facebook friend posted the other day a stunning sunrise she caught from her back porch. Another friend posted a photo of her getting ready to run in the cool air of a new day. I often see photos of babies, of toddlers, and teens, from proud and grateful parents who stop their busy lives and capture a priceless moment with their children.

That is what enriches our days, and our lives. Those limited moments.

I chatted on the phone with an old friend this past summer. He retired several years ago. Then, out of nowhere, he was diagnosed with lymphoma. He went through a long series of chemotherapy treatments. Those who know and love him worried about his recovery. He had been so active and healthy, but his illness took a toll. Today, however, he is cancer free and doing well. In our conversation, he asked when I thought I might retire. I said I wasn’t sure. He said, “Well, you’ll know when you’re ready. You’ll be sitting in your office one day and think, ‘Why am I still doing this?’ And then you’ll quit.” I said I still like getting a steady paycheck and want to have something to retire on. He said, “It’s not about money, Tim. It’s about time.”

He is so right. And he would know. When you’ve had a cancer scare or any other serious health malady, you realize that time is life’s most precious gift. And spending it with the people you love and who love you is our best use of it.

I have another set of friends, a married couple who worked hard all their lives. They had professional, stressful careers. They both retired in their early 60s. They could have put their money in stocks, or bought a huge house, or new cars. Instead, they spend several weeks each year in Switzerland in a lovely small chalet nestled within the most spectacular scenes imaginable. They are there now and are sending me photos of their hikes and the breathtaking mountains covered in snow around them. The sights are simply magnificent.

There is nothing wrong with planning, and saving, and being prepared. But the moments of now, the very present, panting for us to be aware, to enjoy and absorb, they are what count over and above all else. I never want to miss them.

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The Unclad Soul

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