I’m Learning To Be Satisfied With The Present

Photo by Zachary Keimig on Unsplash

When I look 5 years down the road, I can see a version of myself I don’t want to come to fruition.

I see a man with tendencies of self-obsession. I see opportunities for neuroticism, of caring too much for perfection, and of creating a climate where unreasonable and unreachable standards are put on everyone I love. I see a man who tries to work ahead on every aspect of life, striving to be someone he wouldn’t actually want to be if he finally completed his never-ending to-do list of tasks.

I see someone who could become so fixated on the future that he continues to miss out on the moments of life right in front of him. I don’t want to become that man. I don’t want to become someone who spends more time seeking out the answers to all of life’s difficulties than simply soaking in the fact that there is beauty in the complexity and joy in the solving.

The greatest danger of living in the future is what awaits you when you actually reach the moment you’ve been living for. If you spend your entire life looking forward, wishing for the better days ahead, you will eventually begin to realize that the better days you long for are actually the days you are living in right now. Being fixated on the future will only lead you to look backward and you will realize that what truly mattered was right in front of you the entire time.

As my wife and I have been married now for almost five years, I look back on that couple who lived in a small apartment for the first three years of their marriage. I look back on those two youngsters who moved away from home for a job I just had to take. I see those two who learned the really hard way how to be tough, who spent more nights than I’d care to admit crying and wondering if things were supposed to be this difficult.

Looking back on those days, I see how those newlyweds learned how to endure, how to argue and fight and how to disagree and love one another no matter the circumstances. Looking back, I see the shards of beauty from the mosaic of those years.

I see all of the goofy details that now bring a big smile to my face. I think about the ways that I overdecorated that apartment because I was impatient with the process, just haphazardly putting things on walls to be done with the unpacking. I think about how my wife hung up shelves in our guest bedroom to surprise me after a long weekend of work.

I think about the garden box I built for her birthday so we could grow herbs on our tiny balcony overlooking the pool. I think about the too-tall Christmas tree that first year, the meals we ate as we suffered through Whole 30 for the first time, the endless game nights, many of which ended up with me being a jerk and overly competitive.

I think of the many late nights of work and school, of the oven that was always 25 degrees hotter than it said, about the putrid yellow walls and the fact that I fought against using the fireplace for way too long, causing us to miss out on the simple pleasure of a roaring fire on a chilly night.

That was the apartment where I started my graduate school program, where I learned how to cry in front of wife. Those were great days. Hard days. Long days of new memories, that at the moment, I couldn't wait to outgrow. That constant looking ahead caused me to miss out on a lot of normal, everyday goodness.

Looking ahead, I can see a day in the future, when we’re trying to stay awake while rocking our second child to sleep, after our oldest just celebrated her 3rd birthday. In the quietness of that night, I know that I will look back on the days we’re living in right now with appreciation and fondness.

I’ll likely look back with gratitude and a smile. I’ll yearn to return to those moments of peace and quiet, when we could sleep in until 9 or 10am on a Saturday with no distractions or go out for a date night without a babysitter.

I hope that by looking ahead at that day, I start to realize that there are more things worth celebrating today than there are complaining about. If I’ll feel that way in 5 years, then I want to work to feel that way today.

I want to be presently grateful. I’m used to futuristic gratitude or nostalgia-driven gratitude. But if I want to be less fixated on preparing on the next moment or the next day or the next task, I’ve got to start with the first small step of being thankful for what I’ve got today.