It was the sixth grade, and I had just been told that a fellow member of the leadership committee brought in donuts to celebrate our most recent event. The bell had just rang signifying the end of lunch and sending my classmates and I to our next class, music. But I was determined to claim my donut. So I asked my music teacher if I could be excused and surprisingly, she let me.
(Thinking back, I imagine my eyes must have been urgently saying “There’s a donut waiting for me!! I must go get it!!”. My music teacher wasn’t exactly easy going and my reason for leaving wasn’t really… well… solid.)
A few minutes later with my bounty now in hand, I contemplated what to do with myself. I unexpectedly began existentially contemplating my next move. I’d never associated eating in school with anything other than the comfort of my homeroom during lunch periods. And not having the sounds of my classmates loudly chatting and joking with each other – even though I’d spend many lunches sitting alone – felt completely unnatural. So I locked myself in the second floor bathroom and savoured my donut before leisurely walking back to music class, feeling satiated and as if I’d just gotten a lot older or seen a very emotional movie.
This memory pierced my brain earlier today as I was eating my lunch in the train station. Quick, unstructured lunches have become part of my routine as a commuter. These “lunchtimes” are really just gaps in and around my scheduled life, and sometimes make me feel the same way I did as I clutched that donut all those years ago. After being so stimulated from making notes in class to pushing my way onto the subway, these moments of stillness and waiting make me ask “well, what do I do with myself now?”. And when I turn myself on autopilot, these moments just pass me by.
With the pace at which time has gone these past three months of the Winter term at UofT, these many moments of “in between” – like waiting, considering, observing – have called me to think about how many hours I have in a day, what I choose to do with them and who I spend them with. In the sixth grade, it was circumstances beyond my control that made eating alone feel like such a grown-up experience. But today, it is circumstances entirely in my control that see me behaving sometimes complacently and causing life’s little moments to just ebb by.
During busy times like exam periods (which is in full swing here at UofT), I find myself getting hyper-focused on devoting energy to select aspects of my life. When this focus transitions into stress, it switches on “autopilot”; it blinds me to the opportunities for creativity that exist in my everyday and towards adaptations like social media “breaks”. And it’s only when the stress is over that my eyes swing open to see and appreciate everything around me.
But by that time, valuable moments have already ebbed by. I’ve been through enough exam seasons to know I don’t want this to happen again.
So to make sure that the next month doesn’t simply pass me by, I thought today: “what can I do to stay present and mindful right now?”. Today, it was listening to a podcast episode as I tried to neatly eat my burger. While I ate and listened, I found there was something so primal, vulnerable and human about eating and hunger that made me feel connected to my basic needs as opposed to the roles I’ve imposed on myself. It was a moment of reflection in a busy place during a busy time surrounded my busy Torontonians.
I don’t want the idea of “maximizing every moment” to only come front and center when timed life pressures like exams come around. Rather, I’m striving to organically appreciate more of life’s mundane and in-between moments to ground me. And as I practise this way of thinking, it is reminding me of how transformative my six-week LiA project can be if I learn to stay present.
From donuts to burgers, from the bathroom stall to the train station hall. So this is what growing up is like.
Leave a Reply