I’m calling it the “Spyglass Syndrome.”
It’s a chronic condition in which the sufferer is so totally focused on the future — holidays, vacations and events yet to come — that he or she is completely oblivious to the wonders and the joys of the current day and the present moment.
Apparently, it’s contagious.
This morning, my 6-year-old was crossing off the days on her February calendar with a fat green marker. Being that it’s the last day of the month, she wanted to put a big “X” through today, move on and flip the page to March. I was appalled! “No, you can’t put an ‘X’ through today! It’s a whole day of your life!”
Granted, today is Monday. And nobody in our house likes Mondays. Further, it’s Leap Day — that pesky February 29 that only crops up once every four years. A day that doesn’t even exist 75 percent of the time! So if ever there was a day to just cross off and move past, I guess today would be that day.
But as I went about my Monday, I thought of all the things I would have missed had this day never existed:
- Catching up on happenings with my closest friend and sister-in-law after our class at the gym;
- Belting out lyrics to some classic country songs as I ran errands in my minivan;
- Praying a quiet Rosary in the few minutes I had before picking the girls up from school;
- Watching my children play soccer together in the driveway;
- Serving their favorite homemade soup for dinner;
- Enjoying a glass of shiraz with my husband in the quiet of the evening.
I did spend “some” time today making plans for the future. But I’m trying to be more intentional on living in the moment — better at practicing mindfulness, if you will. There’s no guarantee those vacations will ever happen. Nothing is guaranteed beyond today.
“Can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory. Can’t live on promises, winter to spring. This is my moment and now is my story. I’ll laugh, and I’ll cry and I’ll sing.”
~ John Denver~
One of my favorite songs when I was little was “Today” by John Denver. I felt a special connection to the artist because, by a fluke of geography, I was actually born in Colorado. Anyway, the lyrics of that song continue to speak to me — especially the part that says: “A million tomorrows will all pass away, ‘ere I forget all the joys that are mine today.”
So I’m putting down my spyglass and insisting that my daughter do the same. We read books together tonight even a few minutes past her bedtime, and I didn’t rush through our nightly routine of singing the girls a song and tucking them in bed like I usually do when it’s getting late.
“This is my moment and now is my story.” I’m mindfully focusing on the blessings of today — yes, even this goofy Leap Day — and thanking God for being so generous in handing them out.
LB