"It is simply no good trying to keep any thrill: that is the very worst thing you can do. Let the thrill go...and you will find you are living in a world of new thrills all the time.... It is much better fun to learn to swim than to go on endlessly (and hopelessly) trying to get back the feeling you had when you first went paddling as a small boy."
~ Mere Christianity
When the Thrill is Gone or Why is the Present Always Chopped Liver compared to the Past and Future?
As is often the case, C.S. Lewis's words inspire me not only because they are beautifully written, but because I recognize the truth in each line and in all the spaces that lie in between. Holding on to a thrill long after the thrill is gone has been a source of considerable personal suffering, causing me to wander through many days as a somnambulist suspended in the twilight between worry and hope for the future and regret and nostalgia for the past. I've wasted too much time making plans and then lamenting over circumstances when those plans fail to match up with my internal mandate. You think I'd know by now that things never happen the way my mind ordains that they should. It's been the work of my life to pay close attention when my thoughts of past and future circle the present, a neurotic orbit if ever there was!
Once I was driving to the beach with one of my younger sons. The sun was shining in a blue, cloudless sky, and The Band was playing on the radio. My son was singing, or trying to yodel with Levon Helm to Up on Cripple Creek, but I kept on interrupting his yodels with complaints about his older brother, who as it happened, was driving me crazy at the time. Finally, my poor son yelled at me in frustration, "Mom, I understand that you're upset about -----, but he's not here with you now. I am. Don't I count for something?" His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't even notice how I was affecting him as I ranted on about his brother and his perceived offenses against me. "I'm sorry," I told him, turning the volume up on the radio, and joining in with a chorus of "yo yo Oooo, yo yo yo hoo Ooooo..." I almost missed it.
Some time ago, I went on a three day silent retreat in a bucolic, contemplative setting. I would often go out walking by myself while taking in the beauty of the countryside. Instead of letting the beauty bless me, I became obsessed with photographing the spring flowers that dotted the landscape and the soft meadow grasses that surrounded the retreat house. The light wasn't right; my camera couldn't quite capture what I saw with my naked eye. I kept shooting, but the scene eluded me. It wasn't until I returned home and reviewed all my photos that I realized that my picture taking was a failed attempt to capture the present moment that I had rejected in real time. Instead of allowing myself to be present in the beauty, I tried to control it with my photography, to stretch it out for commentary and proof. The weekend became about freezing my contemplative experience on a digital screen. The result was dissatisfaction and frustration at my mediocre photographs. Who knew what other moments of beauty I had missed while snapping away on my camera? The next time I returned to the retreat house, I designated a specific time for photographs, and the rest of the time, I simply received what I experienced.
As I age, I realize how much energy I waste looking over my shoulder at my past, trying to recapture the joys I experienced then. In doing so, I cut myself off from the present and the treasures God has hidden in the ordinary moments of the here and now.
After dinner this evening my youngest son asked if I would have a brandy with him. I chose to have sambuca instead. I opened up my china closet and took out two diamond cut brandy snifters that were given to me as a wedding present. We poured the libation into our glasses and held them aloft in the dusky glow of the kitchen window. "Salud," we toasted one another with a clink of shiny, crystal, our eyes locked in mischief and affection. The silver liquid tasted sweet on my lips and tongue and then warmed my throat as I swallowed until it burned in my belly. The first sip was the best.
