Why it's Okay to Not Always Live in the Moment

The reflections of a sick girl who wants to die a lot of the time.

I always try to make sure I have something to look forward to. A trip to see my family once or twice a year because I can't afford to live in the same state as them right now. Cooking my favorite meal. Renting a movie I've been wanting to see. Getting an iced tea from the gas station on my way to work. It doesn't have to be big—and it typically isn't. But it has to be something.

I do my best to be mindful and make an honest attempt at practicing gratitude every day, but I am in the process of managing chronic illness and sometimes, after a long day of just wishing the pain would go away, you need to have something positive waiting for you on the other side other than that perpetual sense of "damn, do I really have to do this again tomorrow?"

Somebody more fortunate might say that I embody everything that’s wrong with the self-seeking mindset of my generation, unable to complete basic tasks without the promise of instant gratification. Somebody less fortunate might say "shut the fuck up, people are dying you privileged goblin." Both people might be right, but that doesn't necessarily invalidate the way that I have lived my life for the past couple of years.

Maybe I am just a self-indulgent mass of garbage; a living symbol that represents the hedonistic attitudes of the modern twenty-something that we hear horror stories about from our grandparents who have houses and retirements. Oh no, she realizes her suffering probably won't amount to anything and instead seeks joy in life's small pleasures! Get her!

I spent most of my life living for the big picture. I had plans. I worked my ass off to be the smartest, win every award, pick up the most skills and be the best at them because if you do that, you’ll get into a good college. If you get into a good college, you’ll get a good job. So that’s what I did, except now I am a burned out, 26-year-old bartender who chalks her day up to a success if she doesn’t have a hot flash and throw up in the bathroom. It is less than the bare minimum, and I have no choice but to live with the knowledge that people I knew before see me and think “she had so much potential.”

Potential. My least favorite word. It’s worse than a participation trophy or a co-presidency. It implies that you didn’t try hard enough. It implies that you were strong then but aren’t strong now, just because you had to channel that vigor into a different, yet equally Sisyphean pursuit of feeling okay-ish sometimes. Potential is an apathetic concept that disguises itself as compassion.

I’ve spent so much time dwelling on the past, reminiscing on days when I would go to three-day music festivals and scale mountains so tall that the never-melting snow grew pink mold. Thinking about who I was and could have been if I hadn’t gotten sick prevents me from thinking about what I could be if I accept my circumstances and give myself grace. I did get sick, and holding myself up to the standards I set for myself so many years ago has only ended in heartbreak.

When things are generally bleak you can't always afford to live in the moment. It's like asking a bug stuck in a Venus flytrap to just live in the moment and be grateful; he is actively being digested, and probably thinking about something more hopeful like diving into a steaming pile of poop or being on the wall for a juicy conversation. There is nothing wrong with seeking comfort in small pleasures if it’s the thing that keeps you going for now. Don’t feel silly or selfish for making it through another day.

Still, if you asked me if I could use a time machine to change anything about my life, I would say no. Not because I lived a perfect life, but because I would be a much worse person had everything always gone my way. Maybe if I was healthy, I wouldn’t appreciate the little things as much. I wouldn’t be able to daydream about a room full of plants and big windows, finally finding a perfect avocado in Colorado or discovering the perfect place in my new apartment to read a book. I wouldn’t be grateful for days that I’m able to walk in the sun for hours without sitting down or laugh without forcing it. I try not to dwell on what ifs or maybes anymore. I try not to diminish my accomplishments just because they're minor compared to what I used to be capable of.

Still, most of the time I wake up and wish that I hadn’t. Then I go to sleep that night and hope that maybe I won’t wake up. But I still do it, and I try to find reasons to do it again. Even if those reasons are small or in the distant future, looking forward to the chance of having another good day is a perfectly adequate excuse to keep going.

Dread your shift a little less today by getting that iced coffee. Set out a cute outfit for plans you don't even have this weekend. If you can't bear to live your life for today, live it for the possibility of a good tomorrow.