Estimated Read Time: 4 Minutes
What Would “Future You” Give to Be Here?
By Ryan Standifird
It's 7:30 a.m. and we're running late.
Jack is wearing two different shoes. Mylo keeps taking off his jacket. The breakfast I made is sitting mostly untouched. And every step of getting out the door has turned into a negotiation.
On mornings like this, I think about the advice all parents of young kids get…
"Savor it. Before you know it, they won't need you like this anymore."
I know it's true. Someday the boys won't need me to tie their shoes or make their eggs. They won’t be pulling on my pant leg asking to play blocks or read a book together.
It'll be me asking for their attention.
But when you're exhausted and running late, "savor it" can feel like one more thing you're failing at.
Every Good Thing Ends
I was recently re-reading Bill Harris's book, Expanding Awareness, and came across his chapter on impermanence. I hadn't read it in a few years.
It hit me differently now that I'm a dad.
Bill wrote that because nothing lasts - not the people we love, not the things we love, not even ourselves - human existence carries "a bittersweet sadness" when things end.
And that bittersweet feeling can push us in one of two directions.
For example, one of Bill's readers wrote to him saying that he couldn't enjoy being happy, because he knew it would go away. So the moment he noticed he was happy… he'd pull back.
"It's a bit self-defeating,” Bill replied, “to say that since everything ends there's no value in experiencing it." He wrote that when you can be present, "the now moment becomes much more significant, and much more alive."
In other words, knowing it ends doesn't have to make you hold back. It can make you lean in.
Why We Overlook the Ordinary
Of course, leaning in is hardest on ordinary stressful days. And it turns out there's a reason for that.
Scientists at Harvard Business School once asked 135 college students to fill time capsules at the start of summer. They included things like the last social event they'd attended, a recent conversation, and songs they'd been listening to.
Three months later, the students opened the capsules, and were far more curious and interested than they'd predicted.
And the gap was biggest for the mundane moments. People most underestimated how much they’d enjoy rediscovering the ordinary stuff, not the big, special occasions.
Why? Because we trust our memory of everyday life a little too much.
We assume we'll always remember the ordinary stuff… so we don't bother to notice it in the moment.
And yet, it’s those very ordinary things - a coffee cup used every morning, a chew toy that you’ve stepped on hundreds of times in the kitchen, the sound of traffic outside the window - that seem to slip away first. Until years later, something brings it all back with a jolt.
Asking Future Ryan
So on the tough mornings, I've started trying something.
I picture myself 20 years from now. Kids grown, house quiet. And I ask: what would Future Ryan give to be standing right here? What would he think about the chaos of my mornings?
He wouldn't care that we were running late, or that the eggs the boys asked for went uneaten. He'd notice the mismatched shoes, and probably smile at them. He wouldn’t snap at Mylo for feeding his cereal to the dog. Instead, he’d relish the giggles of his children at age 2 and 4.
I'll be honest… I don't catch it every time. Most difficult mornings, I'm too busy putting out fires to reflect like that.
But when I do manage to shift my perspective… the whole morning changes. I'm still tired. We're still late. But I get to savor the tough moments right along with the good ones.
And this kind of shift doesn’t only apply to parents of young children.
Maybe your kids are grown. You may already be "future you." You know exactly which little details from 20 years ago that you'd give anything to see again.
If so, try pointing your awareness somewhere new. At a parent who's getting older. At your partner. At your grandkids. At this season of your life, whatever it holds.
What would the 20-years-from-now version of you notice about them today?
Every Beginning Has an End
Someday Jack will pick out his own (hopefully matching) pair and get himself out the door without any help from me. Mylo will be right behind him.
That's the goal. It's also a little bittersweet.
Bill was right. There's no escaping the fact that good things end. But that's not a reason to hold back.
It's the reason the ordinary moments matter so much.
Every beginning has an end.
The trick is noticing the middle while you're still in it.
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