The family in front of us on the late August beach in Ocean Park, Maine was putting on a show.
The two elementary school-aged brothers were doing what elementary school-aged brothers do: playing, laughing, building, joking … and kicking, tackling, punching, and crying. Pretty much the entire sibling songbook.
Mom had her own book on her lap but remained invested in the mayhem. She laughed and scolded, threatened and smiled. She mostly smiled.
And dad?
Well, dad was missing all of this, his face buried in his phone. It took some willpower not to knock it out of his hands.
“Dude,” I’d say, “this is a moment you will want to embrace and revisit. It may seem like nothing, but it is in fact a core memory in hiding. And you are blowing it off.”
There is a solid aphorism that can serve as a guide: Collect moments, not things. As writer Liviu C. Tudose said, building on that theme: “You must collect moments. Those will be the true wealth of your soul.”
Don’t get me wrong: I still spend too much time on my phone, whether it be on news or sports sites, doom scrolling or mining for useless facts that I am compelled to lay out to my disinterested wife. (“Did you know Oregon and Florida are sometimes only one hour apart? OK, how about …”)
But I am trying increasingly not to totally check out. For the past several years, perhaps because I have been dealing with an ongoing cancer issue, I am much more attentive to time and the present, remaining on watch for those small moments that can mean so much more than they seem at first.
Collect moments, not things.
In our house we call some of these moments “pet joys,’’ the much less popular sibling of pet peeves. These can be something relatively insignificant that brings you more happiness than seems warranted, moments that you savor.
Quick example: Regardless of the month, I am elated when a Stewart’s has eggnog out next to its coffee.
No, I will take no questions.
Now, the big moments and blessings have always been easy to recognize as they played out. Walking my oldest down the aisle. Seeing my youngest graduate college and launch her adult life and career. Dancing with my now 1-year-old granddaughter at a rock show.
Actually, every moment with that kid is a moment. What a cool gig.
It’s the small moments that I now find more resonating, more meaningful. Doing puzzles in the morning with my wife. Coffee, drinks, or a meal with friends. Those interactions with secondary people in your life, whether they be colleagues, a neighbor, or the person you pay for your coffee with eggnog. (Again, no questions.)
All can result in an unplanned life moment, or at least a fond memory. You may not even recognize the significance at first; only time may reveal relevancy. The key is to be attuned to your life in the flash you are living it. That is the backbone of the Latin phrase memento mori: “Remember that you must die.” The philosophical concept is not meant to be morbid, but rather to reinforce the importance of the moment you are in, because that moment and death are all we are guaranteed.
And we can never know what seemingly inconsequential moment, whether it be an innocuous conversation with your kid or an exchange with a stranger at a grocery store, could prove, for lack of a better term, momentous.
So, put down your phone. Stop ruminating about work or other challenges at the expense of others around you. Remain present in the present.
Otherwise, you might be letting a moment that will only grow in importance – or at least some good dramedy by the shore - just slip by.
Mark McGuire was a longtime Times Union staff writer and columnist among his several other newspaper stops. He retired recently after seven years in the nonprofit world, most recently for Trinity Alliance of the Capital Region in Albany.
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