The first time, the last time. [The Nerd Out]

I recently finished Anne Patchett's Tom Lake.

It tells the story of Laura Kineson, a mom of three who has lived a Forrest Gump-esque life: in interesting situations, doing interesting things, and interacting with famous people over the decades.

As she recounts her life to her grown daughters, she remembers one summer spent on the shores of Tom Lake as a performer in Our Town. During one such performance, a fellow performer had a medical emergency and missed the show, and ended up passing away shortly thereafter:

“Was that his last performance?” Nell asks. “That night with you?”

Funny how we never know. Uncle Wallace didn’t go onstage thinking it would be his last night.

When my last night came I didn’t know it either, my last time to play Emily, my last swim in the lake.

More often than not, we don't know:

The last time we see our favorite band perform our favorite song.

The last time we get to hug a grandparent.

The last time we get to visit our childhood home.

Because we never really know, it's easy to forget how special that particular moment might be.

I'm reminded of Andy Bernard in The Office finale:

“I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.”

I've spent the past few months studying Wabi-Sabi, a Japanese philosophy that encourages us to reflect on the beauty of all things being imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.

If we can accept that everything is impermanent (including the universe), we can appreciate life for what it is:

A sandcastle on the shore.

Beautiful and temporary, made even more beautiful specifically because it's temporary.

As author Oliver Burkeman shares in his newsletter, we can look to the ancient art of the Japanese Tea Ceremony for more inspiration:

Great attention should be given to a tea gathering, which we can speak of as “one time, one meeting” ("ichi-go, ichi-e").

Even though the host and guests may see each other often socially, one day’s gathering can never be repeated exactly. Viewed this way, the meeting is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

Or, in the thought-provoking film Perfect Days, the janitor Hirayama tells his niece:

"Next time is next time, now is now."

Every time we do something, it's both the first time and the the last time it happens.

If we can bring awareness to an event - no matter how mundane - it can help us remember that we are living life. Right now. With its messy chaos and challenges. Today.

I'm a perpetual time-traveler, and have spent large chunks of life living in fast-forward.

I have to remind myself that today, in all its mundane normalcy, will never happen again.

Next time is next time, now is now.

-Steve

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