What if this is as good as it gets?

We live in a society that encourages discontent as a path to happiness. "What? That's crazy," you say. Yes, it is. But think about it: we work 80 hour weeks and never see our children so we can have it good when we retire; we go into debt so we can have a little more now; we regularly buy things we didn't know we needed until we found them. Capitalism itself is based on supply and demand, or, to put it a little more forthrightly, creating demand for what you are supplying. Make enough people think they need something, and you can make a living selling it to them!

But what if right now is as good as it gets? What if it isn't going to get any better for me down the road? That thought can produce several possible responses in us. The first is denial. "Hah! I'll show you; I'll pull 90 hour weeks and get to my dream after all!" The second is to despair. "But I was pinning all my hopes on a better future; now I have nothing! I might as well give up."

Neither of these responses seems terribly helpful, but there is a third way. This third way, oddly enough, also involves a kind of giving up but without the despair of the second response. You see, if the past is over and cannot be changed and the future is uncertain and cannot be guaranteed, then all I ever really have is this moment. Right now. If I stop comparing the present moment to a made up, artificially enhanced, imaginary future, I can see that this moment, with all of its joy and sorrow, is a gift. I am alive in this moment, breathing in and out; and it is enough.

From every direction, I am bombarded with messages telling me what I need to be happy, whether it be a vacation on a secluded tropical beach, a home in a bigger town with more to do, a car that uses less motor oil than gasoline, a fancy electronic doodad, or a creative life as a professional novelist. The problem with all of these things, however, is that they are external and can bring only temporary pleasure, not lasting contentment. Contentment does not move from my outside to my inside. It begins in the only place it can: in me. It begins at the only time it can: right here, right now, in this moment.

I forget this a lot, but I am slowly learning to bring myself back from past recriminations or future fantasies to this present moment. This isn't fatalism. It doesn't mean not trying anything new or going anywhere new. It is freedom from the tyranny of the past, with both it's regrets and accomplishments; freedom from the tyranny of the imagined future, whether better or worse; and freedom to live fully in this present moment, the only moment I have.

Living in the moment could take a lot of forms. It might mean making do with less so I can spend more time with my children. It might mean leaving work to watch the sunset. It might mean I don't get to live in Hawaii and be a writer. It might mean not doing what everyone thinks I ought to do all the time. It might mean learning to give more than I take.

Whatever it means, living like this is as good as it gets isn't about circumstances. It's not about what I do or don't do. It's about living and sharing the gift of now right here, in the place of contentment.