Over the summer, a good friend of mine recommended that I listen to Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. I had heard of the book before, but had just never gotten around to listening to it. I was never a huge fan of self-help books. I figured that whatever lessons I needed to learn I would learn on my own. The idea of living vicariously was foreign to me, and looking back, I think having the ability to do that would have saved me a lot of heartbreak.
Being deeply interested in human psychology, Tolle’s book intrigued me. He speaks about the human psyche from the position of “spiritual guru” rather than a psychologist. Despite that, lots of his book focuses on tried and true psychological methods and strategies. Whether he is unaware of these commonalities or simply neglected to acknowledge them, I am not sure.
Tolle became “enlightened”—as he calls it—at his deepest point of despair. The strength and depth of his emotions made them too strong to resist, and therefore he surrendered to “the now”. For someone who hasn’t read the book (or listened to the audiobook), all of this probably sounds like nonsensical gibberish. To be honest, I understand why.
Growing up, my life was constantly in a state of planning and organization. Being raised by goal-oriented parents, my gaze was almost always forward-focused. I was in a state of constant awareness that there were bigger and better things on the horizon, if only I had the motivation to work towards them and the tenacity to stay my course when I was faced with obstacles. Objectively, I did attain a lot of those goals. I was (and still am) a planner. I like to know what is coming, what to expect and how to best prepare. While those qualities have facilitated my success in some ways, they have also greatly contributed to my discomfort in times of uncertainty or instability. This has become increasingly apparent in the last six months.
The pandemic uprooted everyone’s life, not just my own. One day I was sitting in class, talking about a virus that was plaguing communities halfway across the world. The next, that same virus was turning my world upside down and destroying any semblance of normalcy that it once had. It is easy to say, ‘Oh, that could never happen to us.’ Then it does, and we are left feeling shocked and utterly unprepared. Without any real information, we were forced to use our best judgement to move forward. It was (and still is) a guessing game, and as an audience member, there is a lot to be learned here.
While the pandemic completely changed the current reality, it also rid us of the privilege of planning for the future. For the first time that I could remember, nothing was guaranteed. There was an infinite number of possibilities, and therefore an impossible number of contingency plans to imagine. There was no power to be found in planning, only disappointment and wasted energy. I was taught that planning is necessary, but not sufficient for success. With an inability to anticipate, it was not long before I was doubting my ability to flourish in this type of an environment.
The first few days of the lockdown, I felt almost relieved to be taking a break from my typically demanding life. However, it was not long at all before that feeling wore off. Next thing I knew, I was binge watching Netflix, binge eating, and talking to myself just to avoid the inevitable silence that comes with living in isolation. I really felt that I was losing it, trapped alone with my own thoughts and feelings with no escape route. I was stuck in my apartment and in my own head, a self-proclaimed prisoner to both.
I continued on this way for several months. When I moved into a house with roommates in May, the feelings of loneliness subsided but the fear of uncertainty remained. I continued on with my negative habits in a failed effort to self-soothe. I figured that if I could cope long enough to ride out this pandemic, I could make it out on the other side at least somewhat resembling my former self. That was all that I had really hoped for.
With nothing else to do, I spent a lot of time walking. Sometimes I was accompanied on these walks, but most of the time I was my sole company. I had no firm deadlines, no times at which I was required to be home or available. So, I meandered aimlessly through the parks and neighbourhoods of London, just looking to pass the time.
One day, as I was walking my regular route, I looked to my right and saw a gap in the trees. There was a winding path that seemed to lead deep into the trees. I had seen this path several times, but never walked down it. The past few weeks had been rainy, and I had used the mud as an excuse to remain on the paved path. Today though, the path was predominantly dry. My curiosity got the best of me, and I allowed myself to take what I had initially thought would be a brief detour.
I walked down the path in my Birkenstocks, utterly inappropriate footwear for the terrain that I was now covering. I maneuvered around puddles and over fallen branches, losing and then regaining sight of the path every hundred feet or so. After about twenty minutes of walking, the trees opened up and I found myself in a small, intimate glen.
It was the type of landscape that I had wished for as a child, one in which I imagined living out my long-besotted dreams of being a fairy. The large, ancient trees canopied over the valley, filtering the sun into rays of light that speckled the ground. As the wind blew, the rays of light danced along with the moving leaves and the ground seemed to sparkle. There was a small brook to my left; it divided the glen into two sections, trickling leisurely toward a larger body of water that I could not see. Butterflies and bumblebees buzzed from flowering plant to flowering plant, occasionally engaging with each other in a waltz-like dance before continuing on their way. Birds chirped in casual conversation, growing quiet as I approached. The forest was peaceful, but not silent. It was very much alive.
What I felt could best be described as tranquility, simultaneously a participant in and an observer of the natural world. I felt at one with the universe, but was acutely aware of my minuteness in it. I found my insignificance strangely comforting. I had always believed that my decisions carried a great weight, and my mistakes the power to ruin me. But here, in this place, I realized that ultimately these small choices did not matter. I was only a small part of something so much bigger.
When I was sitting in that glen, what was in front of me was all that mattered. I was not worried about yesterday, or tomorrow. I was not preoccupied with work or school or other people. I was present. This was a rare feeling, one that I am sure is rare for many others too. In our fast paced world, we rarely take the time to pause and absorb wherever we are at. We are always planning, anticipating the next thing, working towards the next goal. We seldom let ourselves just be.
I finally understood at this moment what Tolle was talking about. There is no past, no future, only the present. The past and the future are intangible, nothing but memories or imaginations. We cannot change the past, or predict the future. The only thing that truly exists is what Tolle calls “the now”, the present. It is the only time in which we are able to act, to react. By incessantly dwelling on the past or trying to predict the future, we miss out on our opportunity to exert our influence over the things that we can change, and to enjoy the things that are right in front of us.
The pandemic has robbed me of many things, but it has given me time. It has given me the chance to slow down, to pause, to absorb. By having so many things I value taken from me, I have also learned the importance of slowing down, pausing, absorbing. The pandemic has given me a lesson and a rationale all wrapped into one.
I am not sure what the future will hold, but I will hold on to that feeling I had sitting alone in the forest. The feeling of presence, of being. Even when life regains its momentum, I will remember to pause, and to appreciate the present for what it is–a gift. I hope that moving forward, the rest of the world does not lose sight of what we have lost and what we have gained. I hope we learn to absorb all of the important moments, for it is in having them taken away that we realize how truly precious they are. Although there is an undeniable temptation to return to our previous standard of normal, I hope this forced pause has shown people the power of simply being, the power of slowing down. When things return to normal, I hope we take the time throughout our day to stop, to breathe, and to be present–I know I will.