How to Time Travel Back to Today

I spent this past weekend down in Phoenix with my kids, attending my daughter’s final national volleyball tournament of a long and successful club career. I was technically cleared to fly, but I’m still in recovery from a herniated disc in my lower back. The injury was exceptionally painful and debilitating in the beginning, keeping me in agony for a few months. I’m in my tenth month now and doing much better, but flying cross-country is one of the worst things I could put my back through, and it had me pretty nervous - not only for the day-of-travel pain itself, but also the anxiety of reliving The Bad Pain™ from the earlier days if something were to go really wrong down there.

Travel went better than I expected, and I was doing fine up until the last day of the tournament, when the back started to flare up a bit and I found myself feeling pretty stressed and a little depressed. But as I was in the hotel room getting ready to head to the convention center downtown, I decided to try a little mindfulness practice to shift my outlook.

This is something I’ve done off and on throughout my life, to great effect when used. It’s the “One Simple Trick” oft-promised in clickbaity headlines, except this one really works.

I closed my eyes and imagined that I was 80 years old.

Now when you do this, don’t just blink and think “okay, I’m 80.” Take as much time as you need to actually inhabit your 80-year-old self. Think about how it feels to be that old. Think about all the strength and freedom you once had, and how much of it you’ve lost: certainly physically, perhaps mentally.

Now think about the life you’ve led and the people you’ve loved . . . the ones still here, and the ones long gone. Are you proud of how you’ve spent your time? Did you do all you could for those who deserved your best?

Think about your only daughter, 60 years old and a grandmother now herself. Do you remember holding her as a baby, playing with her as a toddler, hugging her as a little girl when she would happily jump into your arms when you came home from work? How do you feel when you realize those days will never come back?

Do you remember her last volleyball tournament, the one in Phoenix? She’s 18 now, no longer a kid, but still happy to get a hug from her dad. She’s young and strong, in the prime of her athletic career. Time hasn’t caught up to her yet, and you’re still a step ahead of it too. Forty years and decades of sports have taken a toll on your body, and you remember that you were fighting an injury to get there with her, but how did that final day go? How did the team do? How did she play? What did she say, how did she feel when it was all over? What did you do with her and the boys after you walked off the court and out of the gym for the last time? Your memory is hazy; it’s so hard to remember the details, and it makes you sad to realize how easily life slips away.

How much would you give right now, how much would you sacrifice to be able to travel back to that singular moment, to see their young faces in vivid reality in front of yours just one more time, to talk and laugh and cheer and give hugs and go have lunch together like it’s just another day, and not a distantly fading memory? That is a blessing not afforded to us in our current state of existence, slaves to the inexorable forward flow of time. You’ll never get to see those people on that day again.

Except . . . the blessing comes.

Open your eyes. Take a breath. Look around. Wipe the tears. Everything is here. Everything is now. Everyone is mere footsteps away. Those moments are these moments, plentiful and slow, laid out ahead of you, waiting to be walked through, experienced once more. But this time you know how special they are, how irreplaceable they will become, and you will live this day - this time - with intention and appreciation.

The pain is still there, but barely noticeable. The anxiety has been replaced by gratitude. So go ahead, walk out the door and enjoy the day for the first time . . . again. No one else will know just how beautiful it is, but you will, and that will make all the difference.

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As I said at the top, I’ve done this little exercise here and there throughout my life, but I’ve only ever run into one other person who thinks this way (at least who publicly admits to it, lol). And that’s David Cain, a good friend and a good writer. Check out his thoughts here: https://www.raptitude.com/2011/09/you-and-your-friends-are-all-going-to-die-and-thats-beautiful/