The present

In my last post on this blog, written in May of this year, I was talking about waiting for the next phase of my degree, my practicum. I spoke of it as a destination and of the plaintive cry of someone on a journey asking if we were there yet. 

But as it turned out, the practicum was not a destination, but only the beginning of another journey - one that took a sudden turn I wasn't (but should have been) expecting: basically, my practicum supervisor fired me. The sense of failure was very real, and I began to question everything about the last ten years of my life: my recovery from codependency, my personal growth, my relationships with my extended family members, my desire to become a therapist, my self-image as a kind and compassionate person, and my suitability for a helping profession. It was quite wrenching - traumatic - overwhelming.

In addition, the shock of that experience tipped me over the edge emotionally and after the initial days and days of crying, it's like the water that overflowed the dam just froze in place. Nothing penetrated. Nothing affected me. I could not feel sad, or happy, or angry, or worried. Sleep was fitful and gave me no real rest; motivation went out the window. I started to isolate myself from things, lost interest in the things I loved to do (music, word games, etc.) and just buried myself in escapist behaviors: binge-watching shows I had seen so many times I could recite the dialogue, mostly.

So I sought professional help. I asked my doctor about it and he put me on an antidepressant and referred me to a psychologist. I have my first appointment with her next month. And although I didn't want to do it, I forced myself to do certain things for myself: read something inspirational every day, brush my teeth every day, eat regular meals, and find something to do that got me out of the house once in a while. 

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom from Pexels

And - of late - I have been pondering the idea of staying in the moment, and not thinking about the past or the future. Like yesterday morning. I had eaten my breakfast and was finishing my coffee when I saw a box of Turtles (TM) on the table. I decided that I would like to eat one. Just one. Slowly. And as I bit into it, there was a part of me that said, "Hey. You'll be late for work. This is ridiculous. You're wasting time here. You have to get your makeup on and pack up your stuff to go." And from somewhere inside of me came another voice, one that said, "No. Just enjoy this moment. This is self-care. Taste the taste, really focus on it." And I did. When I was done, that part of me said, "Now, see? THAT is being in the moment. Nothing more simple than that." And I realized that I had rushed through so much of my life trying to get to the destination or the next big thing, and missed out so much on the "in-between" stuff of everyday life: the journey of thousands of moments.

It is a new learning experience for me, this 'savoring the moment' notion. It is this moment right now that I have: the now. Who was it that said, "Yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift - that is why it is called the present"? 

In that same vein, I received another unexpected present this morning, before we even opened our gifts. Our little family was having breakfast together, talking about a movie we had watched together recently, "The Greatest Showman" (which I highly recommend, by the way!), and we were saying how all the little threads of P.T. Barnum's life, which seemed so random and unrelated to each other, the glad and the sad and the mad, weaved themselves together in his life to show him his purpose and help him fulfill his dream. And that's when it hit me. All of those things in my life - glad, sad, and mad - also had purpose and were being woven together in me in the present. 

That was the gift I had been given, and even though it was not yet complete, I caught a glimpse - a freeze-frame, if you will - of becoming who I am meant to be.  In the moment, in the now, in the present, weaving the past threads together, the dark and the bright and the gray and the colored threads that seem so purposeless by themselves seemed, for one brief moment, to coalesce. 

And in that moment, I felt something. For the first time in weeks, I felt something! An emotion, a state of being, a ... whatever you want to call it. The closest I can come to describing it is by calling it hope. But it was not the wishing-for kind of hope. It was more an assurance that I am where I am supposed to be, even if it is hard. That right now is a gift: the Present. That it is okay to be where I am. And my throat tightened, and my nose stung, and tears welled up and spilled over onto my face. 

And I lifted my face upward and whispered, "Thank You." 

Not yet ...

"Are we therrre yet?" This is the plaintive, whiny cry that Western parents have come to dread; it is the stuff of comedy sketches, sitcoms, and throw-away lines in kids' movies. I poke fun at it to cope with how annoying it is, but truth be told, often I succumb to the same lack of patience, that same intolerance of waiting. 

Waiting has never been my strong suit; I have mentioned it before. It seems that my whole life has been one long wait, interrupted with periods of frantic activity when things fall into place, followed by still more waiting for things to fall into place again. The waiting seems eternal.  And yet, looking back after things have fallen into place, I ask myself where the time went. I heard an expression today that reminded me of this - it had to do with parenthood: The nights are so long, but the years are so short.  I think the concept applies to all of life. The waiting is long, but life is so short.  

Lately, my waiting has taken the form of going through a Masters degree program in counseling. Sometimes, it feels like I have been in this waiting mode forever. Wait for the textbook to get here. Wait for my marks for Assignment Three. Wait for registration to open for the next term. Wait and wait and wait. And wait. Yet, sometime around the middle of last term, it struck me that I had less time ahead of me in my program of study than I had behind me. Realizing that caught me by surprise. So did the dominoes falling into place when I finally contacted the agency where I will be doing my practicum in a few short months (starting September 2018). The waiting felt like forever, but the interviews only took a couple of weeks to set up, and in one short, noon visit with them, they offered me an internship there. Just like that. 

And then the days got long again. Such a long stretch between that and the actual practicum that not even taking another course in between is enough to make it hurry up and get here. So there is a definite part of me that is whining, "Are we therrre yet?" 

Beautiful fall (September) leaves - pic
is from Pixabay.com

And of course the answer comes. Not yet.

Not yet. It's coming, but we're not quite there ... not yet. 

The days seem so long.

Only another week before I start getting my paperwork together (copy of my undergrad degree, certificates I've passed, criminal record check, etc.). Only another month before I can start looking for an apartment (I'm doing my practicum out of province). A little over two months and I'll be moving into that apartment. And in a year, I will be finished my practicum and starting to get my qualifying hours to be a licensed counselling therapist. WOW.

I keep telling myself these little things with the hopes that they will appease that impatient inner child. They do quiet the whining. But so far, the effects are temporary. And soon there will be another plaintive, "Are we therrre yet?"  And my adult self will say, "Not yet." And before long, I will add the word "Soon."

Soon there will be a full schedule. Soon there won't be enough hours in the day (even more than it is right now, which is hard to imagine). Soon, I will be dividing my time between practicum, school assignments, working to pay the bills, and somehow finding time to do all the things I rely on others for now: shopping, cleaning, cooking (okay well I do like to cook), washing dishes, tidying, laundry, and driving myself places instead of being driven. 

But not yet. Not yet. Not... yet. Hmmm. Wait a sec.  What about NOW?

Now is the time in which I am living. Now is when I can breathe, focus on the next task (however small or possibly unpleasant), and still make time for looking after my needs for sleep, nutrition, and other kinds of self-care. Today I helped spread mulch with my family to ease their load a bit, a rather rare thing for me, but I needed a break from studying and they were outside. So out I went. It was only 20 minutes, but it was a "now" thing. Not a wishing-it-could-be-September thing. Not a can't-wait-til-I-can-get-my-apartment thing. Not a oh-my-goodness-where-am-I-going-to-live thing. It was a NOW thing. 

NOW is when I can water my plants, do my assignments, help people at work, look after myself, teach my daughter more about how to prepare and cook things (expanding her knowledge about the basics of food preparation, for example) and enjoy every second I get to spend with her and with my husband. I can pet our cats - NOW. I can fold the laundry - NOW. I can do so many little things NOW. 

And if I focus on the now, there won't be enough time for me to ask if I'm there yet. Before I know it, "soon" will BE "now" - and in hardly any time at all, the years will have been so short. 

And I will wonder where they went.