BY G.C. STOPPEL
I came to know John Thistle when we played bagpipes in the Fourth Battalion of the West Mosby Volunteers Band. The name came from a tiny village a few miles outside of Mosby, Mont. He was a good man and great father.
One summer he and his son bought a 1947 Plymouth they worked together restoring most nights in his garage. John said all his son could think about was how much fun he would have once they finished the job and he could slip behind the wheel.
He laughed at how his son liked the bench front seat because some day a girlfriend could slide left to ride next to him. If you are one of the Olds who had a car before bucket seats, you know that was a lot of teenagers’ aspiration.
One night, after hearing enough of his son’s prattle, John set down the tool he was using, looked at the boy and said, “You’re probably having as much fun now restoring this car as you will ever have driving it. How about focusing on the present and enjoying it?”
Every so often, when I’m either looking to the past or fantasizing about the future, that suggestion comes back to mind.
Have you ever gone to a high school class reunion? Before long, all the jocks would recall their glory days playing sports. The theater nerds talked about past performances that were either magnificent or utter failures. Or we would recall the best or worst teacher, school trips and other people and events from a bygone decade.
Were it a 25th reunion when many classmates were still working, their other main topics of conversation were post-retirement plans, seeing their children off to college, upcoming weddings, their eagerness to seee new grands or some other milestone event. Usually these were a few years ahead.
They were like John Jr., missing the present moment. Much of their lives were either in the rearview mirror or well ahead down the road.
A friend recalled taking a woman to a Detroit Tigers game. She brought along a book. They broke up because she was not interested in experiencing something new in the moment. He was enjoying the game but she was lost in a novel.
The poor fellow had rotten luck with his social life. Later he went out on a date that lasted almost to the end of dinner, then suddenly it was “Check, please!” Just before dessert she started asking about names for future babies.
It’s hard living in the moment. Many of us have silent conversations rattling in our brains about what we need to or should do soon. Either that or we are recalling something from the past. Though that can be a good thing, it can impede living in the present.
Actor William Shatner may be prickly, but he lives in the moment and is perpetually enthusiastic. If he sits down to a meal, even sardines on toast, he will exclaim, “These are the best sardines I’ve ever had — and get a load of this toast. It’s wonderful!”
The late English author R.F. Delderfield started his career more than 100 years ago as a reporter for the local paper. His job was to interview residents who just had a death in the family, take notes, go back to the office and write the obituary.
In his two autobiographies, Delderfield wrote about how he had to train himself to ask questions and rake notes, but not mentally start the first draft.
To learn how to live in the moment, try this unpopular approach the next time you have a family dinner. Go from person to person and shake them down for their mobile phones and devices. Trust me, they’ll hate you for it.
Stay firm, smile and tell them, “It hurts me more than you, but it’s for your own good.”
Take the phones into another room and close the door, so no one can hear the ringer on their device.
Life will be awkward and unpleasant for a few minutes. Do not give in! Soon everyone will start talking to each other.
They may have such a good time they won’t notice the absence of their phones. Why, they will be so engaged with the other guests they will even let you clean the table, put away the leftovers, wash and dry the dishes and not even think to offer help.
Consider that an achievement!
