The Power of Small Moments

If you’ve ever lost a beloved partner, you know that the road to being ok with the world can be a long one.

People who haven’t been through it can sympathise, but it’s such a tough one to understand.  Before it happened to me, I think I had the subconscious assumption that it was just about getting back to being happy again.  But it wasn’t.

The happiness part was a duty.  Other people wanted me to be happy.  I didn’t.  I wanted my life to come to an end as quickly as possible.  I had no thoughts of harming myself, but I also had no thoughts of ‘getting better’.  Because I wasn’t ill.  I had just had the person that I loved most in the world surgically excised from my life.  All the plans for the future were suddenly defunct.  I had no idea how to go on, who I was without him, or what the point of it all was.

I knew I had to ‘get better’ for the sake of the people around me.  But I wanted to stay in the mire because that was the closest place to him.  That was where I felt something.  Moving on meant losing him.  Leaving him behind.  Accepting the unacceptable.

It took me a long time to move out of that place of hopelessness.  And even then, I was stuck.  I couldn’t imagine a new relationship.  I couldn’t see what my life could be other than as a sad person.  Seven years after his death, I came across mindfulness.  I had created an existence for myself where I could channel everything into a purpose, which was helping other people to heal.  Mindfulness didn’t let me get away with that.  It got me to open up a bit, and see more clearly what I was doing.  Then it showed me that joy was possible, in little moments.   And that started to pry open the door to wellbeing.  I have joy now.  Not all the time, but who does?  But I do have access to joy.  My life is no longer unremitting pain.

Mindfulness was the gentlest, most loving, kindest kick up the backside. It had me looking at the things I didn’t want to look at, but in the most loving way possible.

I was talking to another widow the other day and she said that she had to try to be happy, for her family, mostly, but also for herself.  And I found myself saying:  Maybe don’t think of it as everything.  Maybe don’t see this need to be happy as wiping out all that is currently unhappy. Perhaps instead, opt for moments.

This moment, when I can look at the snowdrops as they tentatively risk opening out into flowers.  This moment, when the ducks I routinely feed see me coming and come racing each other to get hold of the duck food I carry.  This moment when the crows spot me walking my dog and follow me for treats.  This moment when I listen to a beautiful piece of music.  This moment when my cat lies on her back with her back legs stretched out and her big fluffy tummy going up and down with her breath.  This moment, when I hear something funny and I laugh.

Noticing the moments where we experience joy is a much more achievable goal than ‘being happy.’

‘Being happy’, when you’re grieving, feels so unachievable.  And sometimes undesirable.  And unavailable.

But noticing the moments of pleasure and paying attention to them, that is a much more attainable goal.  The beauty is, we can start small.  Maybe notice one or two in a day.  Write them down at the end of the day.  Think about them.  Pay attention to the way the body feels as you relive them.

And the next day, notice some more.  Notice what happens in the body as you experience them.  Notice your breathing - is it held?  Is it free?

Our lives are filled with experiences that provide us with both sides of the emotional coin.  We tend to be very aware of what’s going wrong - or what could go wrong, or what has gone wrong.  But we spend less mental energy on the things that bring us the more pleasurable emotions.  And these things don’t have to be huge.  It can be a ripple in the water, which is so beautiful in that moment, and the noticing and the allowing of the emotion associated with it.  Something so small but so precious.

In the noticing, we find a moment where we are not in the noticing of pain, or the worry about it, or the regret of it.  In the moment of noticing something joyful, we are temporarily uplifted.  And then we have the freedom to return to our habitual way of being.

Pressure to feel happy will only push happiness away.

But noticing the moments?  That is something we can do.  Something that breaks the monotony of pain and sadness.  And lifts it.