Life rushes by at a frantic pace, barely giving us time to stop and take stock of where we’re going, and how we plan to get there. So borrow a trick from the world of gaming. Hit pause, relax, breathe easy. And then, refreshed and recharged, you’ll be ready to start playing all over again.
One of the most hilarious and useful tricks my kids have taught me is to hit the pause button. This can occur mid-wrestle, when I am about to extract a pleasing groan from one of my offspring, and they shout “Pause!” And then squirm away, as I freeze, release, count and wait.
Pause? Pause what? Yelling the word, in the middle of a cricket match in order to go take a pee, or during a pantomime in the lounge so as to fetch a magic wand is a wonderful way of arresting the world for a moment. Extrapolated, it could mean: stop, look and listen.
But that might be reading a bit too much into what is essentially a device to wriggle out of the present and return to find it suspended in exactly the same state you left it. With the exception of the wrestling match, obviously, where a different formulation of limbs under pressure is sure to replace the status quo that had been established by my superior guile and expertise. Pause! It can just mean chickening out, or perhaps even some kind of safe word.
It’s a handy tool, the pause thing. I’m thinking of what my friend said the other night, when we were talking about how we found ourselves judging ourselves, based on the accumulation of goods, not having the perfect partner, the big new car, the house with the massive garden, or any variation thereof.
Conspicuous consumption is an easy one to dodge if you have no cash, but an insidious presence that keeps demanding I measure my self-worth by what I have, and have achieved, materially.
As an answer, my friend said: “Just notice it, that little voice in your head, that says ‘How the hell can that person drive that car and what did they do to deserve it?’, and notice how you feel about that. Go outside yourself and just observe. That’s all you can do. Observe.”
Kind of like a pause button, the command to observe. It’s not easy, this whole mindful exercise. How do I stay present, when there is such a heavy undertow of accumulated angst and emotion, of desire and despair, grief and trauma, of blank and confused anger, swept with a wash of pure childish love for the world? I pause. Take a breath. Let go. In theory, anyway.
And now, after mid-year, there is another kind of pause going on, after the devastation wrought by nature and climate change gives me pause to reflect, not just on the past few months, but the life that lies ahead of me. How do I want to live it? What kinds of relationships do I want to have?
Taking the time to think about these things, and not just instinctively grope towards some fuzzy idea of what this existence is and should be all about, affords me to make choices that are aligned to my values, the things I care most about.
It’s clear that I love and cherish my children, but how do I shape that love most usefully for them? Imperfect, human, prone to be reactive and volatile, as much as I can let things go and be okay with that, I feel conflicted between what I feel in the present moment and a sense of loss for what has gone before, and loss for things to come. Menopause, perhaps, and a body that fails.
Today, I imagined what it might be like for me when my children have grown up and moved along, and possibly moved away. It instantly saddened me, for reasons purely selfish, but hitting the pause button gives me an opportunity to understand that they do not belong to me, that they should and will grow up and away.
Hitting pause, an idea from a child’s game, now becomes an adult’s prerogative. It allows me to reflect on how to keep close the things I hold dear, for example, that when in need or doubt or conflict, I will be called upon to help my children get back onto their feet, and find their own pathway through this short life.
There’s not much time, really, to waste. Tempus fugit. Hitting pause stops things mid-motion, gives space for a breath, a self-affirming nod, a crick of the neck and shaking out in my body. Phew! I’m ready. Let’s play!
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