I recently attended a wedding—a very delicate and intimate wedding—of a dear friend of mine. The ceremony took place on a plantation, where an exquisite mansion stood in all of its splendor adjacent to an agreeable lake. White lights twinkled from the trees, casting their amber glow, while a family of ducks played by the waterline with seemingly lighthearted joy. It was a scene out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, or a favorited 1940s film, or the only perfection you could possibly dream up for one of your closest friends. Aside from my one-year-old daughter’s playful hiccups (which amused her), the ceremony went undisturbed and delightful. The officiant spoke with a comfort and relaxation that I can only assume came from sharing his life with another person as well. In his opening lines, he stated something that has since stayed with me. He said “take your time.”
Initially, I thought, “With what? Life happens; you’re either ready or you’re not.” Then, he continued, “Take the time to actively participate in each moment because beyond that moment, they become memories.”
I thought about this for a long time. I considered how often I’m contributing to some form of social media, or glued to ABC and CNN updates, or research of some form or another about whichever subject that recently strikes me in some evocative way. I thought about how many times my daughter may see me on my phone when she wants to play or talk awhile or read a book together.
Someone once said to me, “I wish people could really enjoy a sunset instead of take 20 pictures of/with it and try to pick the best one to post to the internet. By the time they’ve settled on one, the transformation is gone and their memory of the ordeal was only trying to obtain it.” I think that is undeniably and unfortunately true.
It speaks volumes about our generation that we become so enthralled by the quickest update, the newest post, the funniest viral video, the most controversial news, etc. We have sensationalized every moment to the point that we become bored without a shock factor, without a sensationalized story.
I wonder how often people can sit alone without the compulsion to check their phones. I have found that learning how to be alone, really alone, and honest with yourself is the most caring and healthy action you can take. Sometimes it takes removing the millions of influences that pull at your opinion, your judgment, your self-esteem, and your honor before you really see what is in front you: yourself.
It has become abundantly clear to me that children absolutely watch us. My daughter has started to imitate everything I do, down to opening the mail. The last thing I want to do is give her an impression that any large window of my tiny phone could possibly be more important than her role in my life.
So, take some time this weekend to contribute your attention, your respect, your patience, and your time to the people who play an active role in your life. Create memories that you are actually apart of and not witnessing from the sidelines, behind a lens.
God Bless,
M
Blue Withens 