Alan Fox

Tomorrow, I’m leaving on a three-week trip to Japan with my family. Over the past few weeks, some of my friends have been asking me if I’m excited about my upcoming trip.

I think I might disappoint them when I say that I’m not. But then I share how I like to live in the moment. Right here, right now. So, if I’m talking with you, I’m eager to enjoy our conversation and get the most from our time together, not think about what I’ll be doing in the future.

Other friends, especially those who have known me longer, already know how I’ll respond. These friends might say, “I’m looking forward to your trip. I know you never get excited in advance – so I’ll be excited for you.”

I smile and offer thanks.

But what I’m thinking about is my intention to pay attention to everything in the moment. This day, this hour, and especially this moment that will never come again. The timbre of your voice, the hesitancy of my response, the setting itself — these are well worth making a conscious effort to observe, and appreciate

The reason is simple. If I spend today looking forward to tomorrow, I will miss a large part of today. And tomorrow I would be looking forward to the day after that, etc.  Any attention I spend thinking about the future reduces the attention I have left to appreciate the here and now. I could value only the future. The present would just be something to get through to arrive at what awaits me in in the future, instead of enjoying the good stuff that can only be found in living in today.

But I do enjoy the process of planning, as well as reminiscing about previous experiences — the poignant, the successes, and the occasional mistake — some of which are funny in retrospect. Like this afternoon after I picked up a hamburger and fish fillet sandwich at McDonalds, then remembered that my assistant had earlier placed an order for a hamburger at Five Guys.

So I drove to Five Guys and picked up their “little burger”. My light dinner consisted of the hamburger and filet of fish sandwich. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.

To fully appreciate this moment, you might pay attention to what you are reading – the words on the page, the music you are listening to, or your own reaction to my thoughts. I encourage you to luxuriate in this moment.

NOW is where you live your life. The past is prelude. The future is a but a dream.

Alan

When I was young, I read a science fiction story that made a significant impression on me. The title was, “A Little Bit of Oil,” but despite a quick google search I can’t now locate either the story or its author.

The tale was about mankind’s third round trip mission to Proxima Centauri, the nearest star to our Sun. The first two missions had never returned. Both disappeared while on track to land back on earth, and Mission Control was still trying to figure out exactly what went wrong.

On the third mission the fourth crew member did not fit neatly into any expected category. He was not a pilot or a scientist. His job seemed to be cooking, cleaning, and keeping the other three crew members amused.

After the third flight team successfully landed, it was revealed that the fourth member of their crew was a psychologist, whose job was to provide “a little bit of oil” for the inevitable human friction.  They realized that, encased in a tiny spaceship for ten years, the first two crews had become homicidal and killed each other off. The psychologist, however, was able to keep the third crew from a similar fate, primarily by using humor.

I’ve previously written about how, as a child, this story helped me personally navigate tricky situations. When family vacations went from fun to stressful, I pulled out humor and found it useful. While we often had fun during the day, once my dad needed to find a (cheap) motel, his mood usually turned sour, and he was often upset about something. (He always inspected the room before he paid for it and was often unhappy with its condition). But humor, it seemed, was always a great way to alleviate tension and stress.

One summer, I had the perfect opportunity to test this theory during a “key” moment one afternoon (pun intended).  Dad parked in front of our motel room, then discovered that he had locked his car — with his keys still in the ignition. We carefully retrieved the keys with a wire coat hanger from the room. But throughout the ordeal, I was able to keep everyone happy with a lot of topical humor. A Little Bit of Oil worked then, and it still works today.

And it’s also lots of fun.

Alan

I’ve heard it said that if you want to travel far, go with friends.  If you want to travel fast, go alone.

I believe I could separate the parts of my life into different parts. In one part, I go fast, such as writing my blog. I do that alone. Then there is the part where I go with others, such as to a dinner party.

Far and Fast.  Each one has its place in every life.

But if I had to choose just one, I think I would go far with friends.  After all, the journey – any journey, if only to the grocery store, can be more fully satisfying when you share it with others.  It might be valuable to make use of and even enjoy the time when you’re alone, especially since we all spend a lot of time alone (as when I am writing this blog).

But time spent with others connects us in a way that can be deeply meaningful and rewarding.

The problem of going far with friends is that, alas, they have their own needs and desires.  They want to go to the bathroom; it seems like every hour.  They want to take a detour to see a special view.  They sometimes just stare into space after finishing a meal instead of running to the car to resume the journey.

Upon reflection, maybe I really do prefer fast.  It’s fun to race against myself.  How fast can I actually run the 100-meter dash, or how quickly can I complete a blog?

We all face a huge variety of choices every day.  Stay at home or run errands.  Finish reading a book or attend a baby shower.  Finish the hard work first (not like me – I’ll determine if the task I dislike has to be done at all.  And if so, then perhaps I can find someone else to do it for me).

This blog is kind of an intermediate point.  I’m writing it alone, but I’m thinking about its impact on others.

I’m left with the thought that life far or life fast – both have their place.  I’m finished, for now, writing fast.  Now it’s time to send this to others for input.  It slows down the work but improves the final product. And after all – isn’t sharing with others what this blog is all about.

Alan