Monday Mindfulness Minute: Time Flies... And That's Ok

It amazes and frustrates me how time seems to stretch or shrink depending on what I'm doing and with whom. How is it that Friday afternoon before a long weekend seems to take an eternity, while the actual weekend appears to be over in a second? Or why is it that the task we hate seems to take forever to finish, while the activity we love seems to be fleetingly short at best?

We've all heard that "Time flies when you're having fun," but why is that? More importantly, where is the fun in that? And why does it feel like such an unfair aspect of being human? Any of us, if given the chance to make our own world, would craft one where time would not speed up but would instead slow down during the good moments.

So, where does time go during the good moments? And if we are so scared and disappointed with time flying by or potentially running out of time, why do those timeless moments feel so good?

Maybe it's because joy doesn't come from timing the minutes we spend doing what we love, but from the minutes disappearing. I love the quote, "Eternity doesn't mean 'forever." Eternity means beyond time." In all the moments of joy, the mind that primarily lives in the realm of past and future somehow recedes, and we are left firmly rooted in the present. It's in the present where the clock disappears, and we are left with experiencing life unveiled by scary thoughts of running out of time or not having enough time.

It makes sense; we are afraid of losing time because it feels like we're wasting a special gift. But can we consider it lost time if we lose ourselves in the moment? Being in the moment and doing what we love is sort of like the feeling of a full belly after a satisfying meal. Would it make sense to have our bellies full and be worried that we somehow lost the food in the process? We didn't lose the food - we fully ingested the food. The same is true with time. It's not that we lose time when it disappears, we have fully ingested the life within that time and can rest in being ful-filled.

Time flying isn't a bad thing. Chase those moments when time disappears, and you'll never find yourself short of time.

Monday Mindfulness Minute: Why is it called a comfort zone if it's so uncomfortable?

My comfort zone is never as comfortable as my mind leads me to believe. Our minds crave consistency and tell us to chase it, but once we "get it," everything becomes too stable and life becomes cramped and boring. So which is it? Does stability or change bring the most comfort? To which the mind would answer, "Oh, I love change, as long as I'm the one deciding what is changing and how fast."

It's as if we want to live life as a snake that controls when it molts. But we know that's not the case. Nature decides that. Just like nature decides when it's time for us to change and let go of things that are no longer serving us.

Is it easy to grow and change? Absolutely not. Is it necessary to change? Absolutely.

This rabbi does an excellent job of explaining our predicament regarding change with his description of how lobsters grow and change and how they likely wouldn't change if they were sedated in our society.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/446a6c_7496a8059dad4fd8bcec176a50ef186b/240p/mp4/file.mp4

"Right before you elevate to your next level, there's always a moment where everything that no longer aligns starts to crumble. If things are falling apart, trust that it's making space for more light to enter. Let it happen." - Unknown

Monday Mindfulness Minute: You Can't Get it Because You Already Are it

Have you heard the story of the Musk Deer?

The deer catches a scent of something one morning early in its life and becomes obsessed with finding it. Convinced that finding this scent will fulfill its life mission, it spends each day frantically searching the valleys, mountaintops, and every corner in between, seeming always to be close but never quite reaching it. Exhausted from the search, it eventually finds itself on its deathbed. Resting for the first time, the deer pauses and, in the stillness, notices that somehow the scent remains beyond the valleys and mountains and corners. You guessed it. The scent it was chasing outside was actually coming from its own pores. It had what it was searching for.

I have been this deer many times in my life, frantically searching for the thing outside (the career/partner/vacation/friendship) that would finally bring me contentment. But collecting and grasping these externals never seemed to be enough. It's almost as if we have been convinced that these outside things are the last piece of the puzzle that will complete us.

But it turns out that we are the last piece of the puzzle. Us. Experiencing life. You see, the purpose of life isn't trying to find something outside. The purpose of life is the experience of life inside. Once we live this, the things outside will become more enjoyable because we won't be as attached to them, won't be as afraid that they keep leaving us or changing.