Rather than worrying about leaving yesterday behind, work on making today as good as yesterday, and tomorrow even better, writes Lindsay Razaq.
“I don’t want you to grow old, mummy. I wish I could press pause.”
The unexpected remark from my daughter, who has just turned five, sends me reeling. Not only because it seems so profound from such a little person, but because I hear myself in her words.
This kind of feeling – a tendency to want to cling to things rather than move forward – has plagued me for as long as I can remember.
I don’t do well with endings, to the extent that, often – instead of enjoying something while it’s happening and until it’s over – I worry about the fact that it is coming to an end.
A holiday, for instance, my university years, our wedding celebrations, being pregnant… And, most recently, saying goodbye to the baby phase, now that our youngest is a fully-fledged, walking and talking toddler.
It’s partly nostalgia – a sentimental longing for the past, and for experiences I won’t ever get to live through again – but also chronophobia; namely anxiety – dread, even – about the passage of time itself. Fear of wasting precious time, and, ultimately, of time running out.
It’s the reason I find it difficult to lie in or go to bed early, why I always insist on squeezing out every last drop of fun on family trips, and why I struggle to sit down and relax without feeling guilty.
And it explains why significant milestones, like Maya completing her first term of primary school, for example, or my son Kamran transitioning from his highchair to the family table, which should be happy – albeit perhaps bittersweet – landmark moments, can sometimes be marred by an accompanying, underlying sensation of time slipping away.
None of us can stop or slow down time
Having grappled with this myself, it’s deeply upsetting to discover that Maya might already be starting to see the world through a similar lens. It pains me to acknowledge that she has probably inherited this trait from me or – worse – developed it as a result of comments I’ve made, or behaviour she’s witnessed.
Firstly, because I instinctively want to protect my children – and this mindset is potentially a heavy burden for young shoulders – but, also, because there’s no way of eliminating the source of this particular preoccupation. None of us can stop or slow down time.
All we can do is learn to accept what is beyond our control and focus our efforts on the aspects of life we do have a say in; on being the very best we can be when it is up to us.
This is easier said than done, of course. Thankfully, over the years, I’ve got much better at it, especially since becoming a parent, which for me – in this specific sense, at least – has been a bizarrely liberating process.
On a practical level, the all-consuming nature of looking after small kids has left me with minimal headspace for introspection, but there’s also reassurance in knowing that their time is merely beginning.
‘Happiness, not in another place, but this place’
I recently came across a quote by New York Times bestselling author and public speaker Gary Zukav, who co-founded the Seat of the Soul Institute, which hits this nail on its head.
“We cannot stop the winter or the summer from coming. We cannot stop the spring or the fall or make them other than they are. They are gifts from the universe that we cannot refuse. But we can choose what we will contribute to life when each arrives.”
But we do get to determine how bright we shine, how colourful we make our canvas as we travel along this weird and wonderful journey
So, build that snowman, even though we know he won’t last forever, and even though we might feel sad when he melts. Make those sandcastles, even though the sea will reclaim them before the day is out.
Or, to put it another way, rather than worrying about leaving yesterday behind, work on making today as good as yesterday, and tomorrow even better. Approach each day as a chance to achieve or understand something new, and embrace the ever-changing stages of life, rather than being afraid that the next chapter might not measure up to the previous.
Nineteenth century American poet Walt Whitman said it well, too: “Happiness, not in another place, but this place… not for another hour, but this hour.”
I’ve also found it useful to remember, when I start to get overwhelmed about how quickly life seems to be happening to me, that we aren’t simply passing through as passive beings.
Yes, when it comes down to it, life is just a series of days unravelling one after the other, a period of time that ticks by. We are, indeed, powerless in that respect. But we do get to determine how bright we shine, how colourful we make our canvas as we travel along this weird and wonderful journey.
We make an imprint through every decision, every action, and every relationship. I choose to live well – to make the most of it.
Lindsay Razaq is a journalist and former P&J Westminster political correspondent who now combines freelance writing with being a mum
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