Take a Beat

I may be alone in this, but I don’t think so…

There are moments and experiences that are special, unique; maybe even once-in-a-lifetime. They exist for all of us, but do we recognize them? Do we appreciate things while they’re happening, or only in the rearview? Do we take the time to step back and say, “Wow, this is pretty cool; I may never be here again.”

I’m not sure I ever really did.

I think, by doing so—by simply taking a beat—not only can genuine gratitude be built into those experiences (and the memories of them), but the experiences themselves can be changed. There’s no reason why we couldn’t see these things coming and plan accordingly. Not always, of course—you can never know what’s ahead or what you may once see as significant. And nostalgia can cloud your judgment.

It sounds like I’m describing FOMO (fear of missing out), but I see it as the opposite—kind of. Enjoying the moment and, possibly, seizing opportunities. Embracing experiences while recognizing life’s fleeting nature. Do you know what I mean? Do you do that?

I was watching Gilmore Girls some years back (TV and movies can be inexhaustible sources of wisdom. No joke. Also, I learned all my life lessons from Gilmore Girls—at 35.) and was pretty shocked (OK, shocked might be a bit strong) at the presence and self-awareness of teenage girls. I thought, Wow, did other (high school and college) kids do that?

It was well-planned FOMO; deliberate attempts to experience what they “should.” We’re in college now, we should throw a party. It’s spring break, we should road trip to Florida. (For nerdy girls, deliberate attempts at fun and minor irresponsibility must be made.) Is it possible to have perspective in the moment—as a teenager?! When someone who’s been there tries to get through to you, do you listen? Let me try some examples from my life.

I worked as a banquet server at the Sheraton Burlington (now DoubleTree by Hilton, between UVM and I-89), in college. Over a few days one summer, some friends and I went canoe camping in the Adirondack Mountains. (Two of us set out the first day, and three more arrived the following.) We parked at the entrance to Little Clear Pond on Route 30, packed our tent and gear and cooler into an enormous 90-pound aluminum canoe, and paddled north to the carry (trail between ponds). Unable to lug the loaded boat the half-mile (or so) to Saint Regis Pond, we took two trips in the mosquito-and-blackfly-infested woods. Once again fully-loaded, we made our way across the water and chose to set up camp on a small peninsula on the northeastern shore.

The next day—before the others arrived—the two of us completed an epic paddle and hike to the Saint Regis Mountain Fire Tower. Having already traversed two ponds, we crossed (and carried) three more, covered more than a mile up the western shore of the enormous (by comparison) Upper Saint Regis Lake, and bushwacked our way to the base of the mountain trail. Several desktops and laptops later, I still have the pictures from the top.

Though it took crossing two ponds with a special accompaniment, and a 2 ½ hour drive back to Burlington, I left a day early. I had to work. At a temporary college job. Ugh. What a spectacular waste. I could have called in; could have asked for those days off; I could have blown it off altogether.

Sure, I needed the money—for rent, for food, to (barely) keep my car on the road—but really. You’re in college! Have some fun! I’ve heard it said that you’ll never miss a day at work (but you will wish you could have back the experiences that you missed while working). Duh.

Priorities may differ; I recognize that. There are certainly those who have put career ahead of everything—to varying extremes—for years or decades or life, and look back with pride and satisfaction. More power to them; they were their authentic selves and very likely credit those values with their success. This is only about work insomuch as work is often the dominant force in life.

You’re only young once, right? I guess that’s the lesson here. There were other canoe camping trips, but not that many. Each carries a unique and treasured set of memories; a shift at the Sheraton is not similarly cherished.

I just didn’t get that. I was taught to prioritize work, and fit everything else in-between.

When kids (employees) would request time off at the restaurant—for birthdays, especially—almost without exception, my dad, frustrated at trying to piece together the week’s schedule, would put them down. (I’m not even sure why a reasons were provided; it was as if the boss had to validate the “excuse”.) He’d say they should “grow up”.

Without much thought, that shaped my perspective. Just yesterday, a friend and I exchanged stories of our 21^st birthdays; mine began with a day at work. In my five years at Equity Services, I never took a full week off. Because I didn’t have a “reason;” I didn’t plan anything. I didn’t even keep track of my whopping ten vacation days. I remember a few long weekends and once, on a snowy Monday after an overnight dumping, leaving an early voice mail and heading up to Jay Peak for a glorious powder day with a friend.

Soon after college graduation, three of us took a two-week cross-country road trip—final destination: Santa Cruz, California. With five (yes, five) years of college—and really, the entire first section of my life: my education—behind me, and full-time, shirt-and-tie employment awaiting my return, you’d think I’d recognize (and appreciate) the milestone. And besides that, I’d never been more than a few hours off the East Coast. Everything, from the sunrise over the corn fields of Iowa, to Vail, Colorado, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, the Pacific Ocean, and four unbelievable National Parks, was fresh and new.

Bryce Canyon National Park

But at 22, I didn’t see how special that trip was—how unique, how once-in-a-lifetime—in anticipation, while it was happening, or immediately after. I think, in some ways, I wasn’t fully aware of the life I was living. I avoided big feelings.

I didn’t try out for the middle school baseball team in the 7^th grade because I didn’t think I would make it. (I believe only five of my classmates did, along with maybe twice as many 8^th graders.) I didn’t try to pitch on my junior varsity or varsity teams, in part because throwing off the plastic mound in the gym was intimidating. (I had a strong, but wild arm, and in addition to feeling on display, was afraid I’d hit someone or something in that confined space.) I went to the prom once, and really didn’t need to go again, but I could have, if only I’d asked someone. I didn’t get a senior portrait and don’t have a yearbook. And, of course, I could go on.

I was scared. So often I allowed momentary fears (yes, I was afraid to approach the yearbook table or committee members) power over more substantial desires. The default of the immature. Within all of the structure of my young life, I didn’t often choose to experience any discomfort if I didn’t have to. If only I knew: the discomfort means you care.

People talk about presence—they want to be more present in their lives. In the moment; without distraction. But, I think, for some (for me), the moment is the distraction. You move quickly from one thing to the next, without thought, without reflection. Without at least trying to look at the big picture, or listening to those who may advise such a thing. It’s easier that way, to stay blind, without consideration—or emotion.

This looks like a(nother) simple list of regrets, and it is, but it’s also examples of my not recognizing the importance of the moment. And certainly, sitting in my parents’ house at 40, unable to see the possibilities of the present or the future, changes my perspective. The past may seem more important to me. I’ve been shown that these things aren’t forever. High school isn’t forever. College isn’t forever. And throughout life, special moments and opportunities are fleeting. Don’t avoid looking at them. Try to step back and see things for what they are. It can’t hurt.