They say when you have one leg in the future and one leg in the past, you piss on the present. I have a small bladder, so my present is soaked.
When I was a kid, thinking was my escape. The external world is a sad, scary place, even for a middle-class, suburban kid. That’s the thing: Life sucks no matter who you are. If you are alive, you have the right to complain. Saying that a rich, well-off person can’t complain is like saying someone who got shot in one arm can’t complain because there is someone next to him who got shot in both arms. It’s like, well, yeah, the second person has it worse, and maybe they should get medical treatment first. But the first person still got shot in the arm! Getting shot, even in just one arm, warrants complaints.
So as a kid, I would hide from the outside world by going inside and distracting myself through thought. I would use my imagination and think about stories and fantasies. I was never bored because I could entertain myself for hours with just my own musings.
As I got older, those stories and fantasies began to turn into worries and anxieties. I started to think too much. I thought about all the possible outcomes of a situation. I thought about all the mistakes I had made in that last social interaction. All the things I should have or shouldn’t have said. I would think, “What if I did something wrong that I’m not even aware I did?” “What if I am always doing something wrong, but people are too polite to tell me?” “What if I shot JFK?”
There is just no way to know.
I even had intrusive thoughts, which, in my opinion, are some of the worst thoughts to have. I prefer thoughts that are unobtrusive. Invited thoughts. Like, “Maybe I’ll go on a picnic soon,” or “Maybe I’ll learn to play the piano.” Not, “Maybe I’ll jump out of a moving car.” That thought was not on the Partiful.
My sanctuary as a child had become my hell. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I had learned to use thinking as a coping mechanism, and now that it had turned against me, I couldn’t break the habit. I had to figure out how to stop thinking. I thought about it. I brainstormed. I daydreamed. I conceptualized. Until I finally realized… I was tired of thinking about this, and I started to think about whether I should be cremated or buried. Ultimately, cremation sounds better, but it would make me an even worse Jew than I already am.
The joy in the absence of thought is the reason people love horror movies, rollercoasters, sex, and other things that are nauseating. The intensity of the experience is supposed to put you in the moment. When I’m strapped to a cart, zooming straight down at one hundred and twenty miles per hour, I am not thinking about how I may have messed up my taxes and the IRS might come kill me. I’m not thinking about anything. All I’m thinking is “Ahhhhh!!!”
My mind is blank. My ego is gone. I am free to be authentic. All there is to do is scream in reaction to the experience. And that is why I always insist on having sex on rollercoasters with Freddy Krueger impersonators sitting behind us.
But those experiences are usually fast and fleeting. The only time in my life I have truly existed as myself, without thought and ego, is being on mushrooms… Portabellos, at least that’s what the guy in the park told me they were. Mushrooms made it so easy to be present. When you are present in that way, time, the outside world, and your ego all fade away. All you’re left with is a true experience. No backstory, no fears, no worries. Just acceptance of the moment.
Ultimately, that is what meditation is trying to achieve. But meditation is hard. Uggghhh. I have to sit and do nothing. It is oddly very difficult. I wonder if I could think of a way around it. No! No! I have to be present. Be still. But also, I can’t get mad at myself for thinking. But I can’t encourage it either. I have to accept it and move on? I guess? I don’t know. Does anyone know? Maybe I just need to pay the four hundred dollars for the Transcendental Meditation class. Maybe all the answers are just behind that paywall.
Tich Nant Hahn says, “The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.” But I just can’t help but think about how cool it would be if I could walk on water. Maybe if I got a pulley system and some wires… ahhh I can’t stop thinking!
It’s hard to denounce thinking altogether because, unfortunately, on occasion, thinking actually works. It’s necessary in some cases. How am I supposed to schedule my dental appointment? I need to think about what day would be best. Do I have a conflict? How about Monday? Wait, no, I’m supposed to take that four-hundred-dollar Transcendental Meditation class then. Damit, I got to keep thinking.
It never ends. Scheduling is a nightmare. If I end up in hell, the most effective torture would be forcing me to schedule my own torture. I’m sure demons have extremely tight schedules. “I can’t shove it up there Friday morning, I’m getting the hot poker sharpened.”
It’s almost impossible to stop a harmful practice that is also necessary. If I didn’t think I wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything or make any plans. All I would be able to do would be completely in the moment. But would that be so bad? It’s scary to think of living life in such a different way. But maybe letting go and allowing life to unfold would relieve suffering. I wonder if it would affect my writing. I mean, I need to think to know what to type next. It can’t just be completely spontaneous, and I like potatoes.
Okay, it’s not worth it. Maybe all we can hope for is small moments, whether it be on shrooms or on a sex horror rollercoaster, where we finally feel present.
Aidan Kushner is a comedy writer in NYC who currently writes for a sketch team at The Second City. He has written for comedian Sammy Obeid, wrote a play that went to NY Theater Festival, and is currently writing a web series called Why Try. He also writes on his walls and will not get his security deposit back. You can find him on Instagram: @aidan_kushner.
Featured image Somruthai Kewjan by on Unsplash.
