I live a great portion of my life waiting. Waiting for class to end. Waiting to get home for the afternoon so I can relax. Waiting to go see friends. I miss most of what’s actually going on around me because I’m too busy dreaming about all the things I want to do later, sometimes several years down the road. I’m afraid that I’ll get old and grey without even knowing it, having missed eighty percent of my life wishing for the next thing. I need to be content with the moment, but how? How can I find pleasure in the moment when all I’m doing is sitting at a cramped desk with thirty other students, being asked to do mundane tasks for an hour and a half? Of course I’ll be waiting for class to end. Then I’ll want the day to end so I can go home and unwind. It’s just an endless stream of “and then.” Where is the present moment? Does it even exist in the first place? It’s merely a second, or a millisecond, or some other, even smaller measure. We’re either reflecting on the past or planning each little thing we’re about to do–even tiny things like taking a step or writing a word. Past or future. Future or past.
Where is the present, and how can I discover meaning in it?