How a Stroll in the Park Turned Into Life’s Greatest Lesson
An Observation of the Opportunity We’re Given in Every Moment
It’s easy to feel as though a major upheaval is necessary for us to better-appreciate life’s basic moments. Last Saturday, I bore witness to how uncomplicated this process can really be.
The day wasn’t anything spectacular. On the contrary, I’d found myself with an unusually large block of time absent of company or commitments, and thus, at a crossroads at which I figured I could either drown myself in the theatrics of the NHL playoffs or do right by my lungs and walk down the street to a park that I’d hardly observed since moving here 8 months ago.
I find we’re quicker to arrive at revelations of all sizes should we recognize such crossroads and follow what we, somewhere inside of us, already know is the right option.
As for me, the very fortune of even having this open-ended boredom was not lost. It’s in moments like this one, juggling options like these ones, that I’m reminded of how many people would confuse such a seemingly simple choice with hitting the lottery. Feeling as though I’d only further alienate myself from reality if I was to stay in and watch Connor McDavid victimize his opponents once more, I chose to walk to the park.
The Man
My first sight at the park wasn’t an uncommon one, but this time, it poked and prodded at my proclivity for morbid introspection. I saw a man around my age, dressed half in work clothes and half in out-of-work clothes, gleefully bouncing around with his toddler. He spun and twirled her through the air, laughing and cheering along with her.
I thought about his clothing. Maybe he just finished his shift. I didn’t notice anyone with him. Maybe he’s a single parent, or maybe today is his turn for custody. Maybe not. Maybe the circumstances weren’t so heavy, and this man wasn’t battling life’s familiar foes as I imagined he could’ve been.
Frankly, it didn’t matter. Regardless of what was surrounding this moment of his existence, I found myself nearly moved to tears as I realized that I was witnessing the exact type of moment this man would likely be fantasizing about, yearning to return to, should he some day be on his deathbed and taking stock of how he’d spent his time.
Time stopped for a moment as I put them in my own little frame, watched the scene play out, and hoped desperately that the main character understood the value of what was happening as vividly as I felt I did.
The Girls
Fearing that my prolonged stare would soon be noticed and perceived as anywhere between disruptive and criminal, I moved along. I put down a blanket and sat by a handsome-looking tree. What I’d just seen and felt was still sitting with me, so I chose to honor it and continue contemplating it.
Remaining open and curious about it all, my attention was then derailed by what I saw on the other side of the tree - two teenage girls sharing a blanket of their own and happily lost in some combination of gossip and study.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I was quick to arrive at a similar suspicion about these girls. How fortunate they were to find themselves amidst a moment in life so ostensibly characterized by youth and a care-free attitude (at least compared to what their cares might be some time down the road) in the eyes of this spectator. Yet again, it felt as if I was witnessing the precise type of scenario these two would look so fondly upon should the day come when their lives are complicating, or perhaps ending.
By now, this walk had proven to pull at my heartstrings far more than it did at my calves. It was moving, there was perspective.
The Kids
However, with disruptiveness and criminality once again feeling at risk (not to mention the beauty of these consecutive instances being nearly too much to bear), I peered over my other shoulder and saw the playground.
And it happened again.
I saw the kids flopping and flailing, singing and screaming. A chapter of my own time on this planet far gone enough for me to feel as though I have almost nothing left in common with that version of myself that lived through it, it’s easy to miss. It’s easy to feel as though it’s out of reach. It’s easy to crave the simplicity, and wish that I’d had the presence of mind to realize that purity when I had it.
Myself
But what of the simplicity and purity that I have now? What of the stranger who might’ve been out of my line of sight, looking at me with a curiosity that others might’ve mistakenly interpreted as suspicious? What about their thoughts — thoughts of how fortunate I am, and how one day I’ll wish I had that Spring Saturday afternoon back, when I was 32, in great health, in great relationships, with a great job, and taking a breather to sit down in a park, drenched in sunlight, taking in the world around me?
The Lesson
I left the park, trying to make sense of my unexpectedly emotional visit. Forever on the lookout for the gray area, I tried to interrogate the one-sided, momentous feelings that came with these sightings. Here’s what I came up with:
Though my three sightings (plus this third-person sighting of myself) varied in more ways than I can list or even properly understand, they were knotted together by one powerful theme:
If we have the mindset to recognize it, we’re always living in a moment we might some day appreciate we had.
Now, I recognize that one other attribute my experiences at the park shared is that they were quite pleasant for me and, theoretically, based on my elaborations, for the participants. You might be thinking that perhaps in all the glory, I’ve forgotten to include moments of hardship into my equation.
I haven’t.
I know that moments such as those I witnessed at the park, marked by blissful simplicity, are easy to look back on favorably. After all, these moments might’ve just appeared blissful and simplistic, when in reality they were underpinned by something much darker that the performers were keeping from me. However, part of having that right mindset when reflecting on moments past or present is actively recognizing opportunity.
If you’re currently living through a crisis, you might look forward to it ending. If you’re thinking about when you lived through a past crisis, you might be happy it’s over.
There’s nothing wrong or unnatural about this type of thinking, but at the same time, it’s still rooted in friction or resistance. At the risk of sounding cliche, whatever you’ve gone through or are going through, you have the opportunity to learn. You have the opportunity to extract meaning. You have the opportunity to find something that can better prepare you for some facet of the future. All this to say, you have the opportunity to reframe your thinking into how any given moment is working for you as opposed to against you, while still respecting any struggle that might be there. But under life’s more dire circumstances, you might ask, “How?”
It might not be easy, but imagine a version of yourself that would want this moment back. Ask yourself: what would have to happen in your life for you to wish that you could go back here and restart — whether it be to smell the roses like I did at the park, to climb out of a hole that you could one day realize you spent more time in than you had to, or anywhere in between? If you knew this could one day be considered “the good ole days”, in which it wasn’t too late to turn in what you can now see is the preferable direction, what effect would that have on your gratitude and your approach toward life?
