Living in the moment

So much of what we utter is rote, said because we don't really think about what we're saying. I don't mean blurting out something that's um, shall we say, not well thought out. Rather, these are common idioms woven into our language and used without forethought.

For instance, the verbal wallpaper we respond with when asked, “How are you?” Virtually everyone reacts, “I'm fine. How are you?” TBH, the questioner probably wasn't really concerned about your health; those words were simply a polite bridge to get to what they wanted to ask in the first place. Yes, that's a bit cynical. I'm sure, on some level, each of us is interested in others' wellbeing, but only if the answer is “I'm fine.”

I present the following example as evidence. Picture this conversation: “How are you?” “My uvula is swollen to the size of a bag of giblets. I gag and drool nonstop and suffer from severe nausea and diarrhea, so I need to stay near the bathroom all day. But, thanks for asking. (Burp) And, how are you?”

(Carefully walking backward, trying not to be obvious), “Um, I'm fine. (Looking at watch.) Oh, I just realized, I've got a thing with a guy or I'd stay and talk more. Let's do lunch sometime — um, when that giblets thing gets better.”

Nah, wouldn't happen. We ask the question only because it's part of our cultural script; it's what's expected.

As long as I'm on my high horse, consider the phrase, “May I ask you a personal question?”

Think about it, that question is to the English language what MC Escher was to art. By asking, one has already presumed the answer will be “yes” and is — in reality — indeed asking said personal question without permission. Why bother to ask? Moreso, should the respondent say, “No,” what happens next?

My quasi-snarky, hopefully, somewhat-clever response has become, “Yes, would you like to ask another?”

The typical comeback is a brief pause — brain engaging — followed by a self-conscious chuckle because the expected rejoinder was not received.

OK, one more: Ponder the phrase, “I remember when I was younger…”

Let's hit pause for a second, the redundancy is startling; after all, every memory is from when one “was younger.” One could simply say, “I remember…” or “When I was younger…” and either would be a perfect preamble to the recollection following. However, if the phrase was, “I remember when I was older…,” well, you see where I'm going. Grammatically, there's nothing wrong with that. In elementary school, it could be easily diagrammed. It all makes sense — but, it doesn't. Language is odd. Yet, it's the basis for our thoughts, which give birth to our feelings, leading to our actions. If my thoughts are disquieting, it's normal to become sad or angry. Choices made while unhappy or irritated differ substantially from relaxed or joyful decisions. It stands to reason, therefore, that the emotional filter I wrap around recollections affects my day-to-day happiness. Contemplate content thoughts and be at peace; focus on unpleasantness and it follows you into the present — and beyond.

As we age, we are faced with a choice: Do we lament that which is no more, yearning for options no longer available, or anticipate with eagerness and excitement that which is yet unwritten?

I'm not very nostalgic about the “good old days.” I find it sad when men my age wax nostalgic about how their best days were playing high school football. Granted, I was not a jock; I can't relate to that. It might have been fun, I get that. But, really? You peaked at 17 and it's all downhill since then? “Pathetic, party of one.”

David Byrne, the creative force behind Talking Heads, is one of my role models. He's a few years older, extremely creative, intelligent, looks great, is active and socially engaged. Asked if he spends more time looking backward or forward at his age, he responded, “I'm not very nostalgic. The next thing I do is the thing I'm really excited about.” Mic drop.

Zig Ziglar, the worldclass motivational speaker who died in 2012, was asked “What's the best speech you've ever delivered?” He replied, “I haven't given it yet.”

Dick Van Dyke, currently 97, said, “If I am out shopping and hear music playing in a store, I start to dance. If I want to sing, I sing. I read books and get excited about new ideas. I enjoy myself. I don't think about the way I am supposed to act at my age — or at any age.”

There will be a time when the words we use, the memories we have and the ambitions we harbored no longer matter. But that day is not now.

In a survey asking those facing imminent death, “What are your biggest regrets?,” a common answer was, “I wish I'd lived more in the moment. Make each day worth remembering. Later will be now before you know it.”

Those are words that make sense no matter how you say them.