Most of us seem to be more geared toward one of three time orientations—the past, the present, or the future. All three are important, of course, but our personalities seem to prefer one mode over the others. Sit for a moment and see if you can readily discern your preferred orientation. None of them are bad, it’s just not a good idea to fixate on one over the other two. A healthy balance of the three is ideal.
If we don’t acknowledge where we have been, we might lose our perspective of where we have come from. Concentrating only on the here and now can cause us not only to lose sight of our past, but we can fail to plan and dream of a future.
I am mostly present-oriented, but future orientation is a close second. I have to remind myself of the importance of the past. It helps me to acknowledge all that has come before, and keeps me from making the same mistakes.
Hiking is a good illustration. I love to research and plan for future adventures. While on the trail, I fully immerse myself in the present. And reviewing my photographs and writing about the hike later helps me appreciate all that I experienced.
When I hike, especially if it’s a narrow or uneven terrain, I have to keep my eyes on the ground in front of me. That’s when I spot the mushrooms I described last week, as well as tiny insects, flowers, or interesting rocks. Every now and then, I’ll see a turtle, a toad, or another unexpected animal. This is my “present mind.”
Even while on the trail, attending to the ground at my feet, I do look ahead to see where the trail is heading, scanning for obstacles. I also like to turn around occasionally to see what the trail looks like from that perspective—how steep the ascent or descent was, for example.
So if I keep my eyes trained only on the trail, I miss things. Important things.
I once found myself within a cloud on a trail in Tennessee, only able to see a few yards into the distance. The trail was actually a rocky stream bed, and because of the drizzle and fine mist, there was running water in places. I had to watch my footing the entire way, keeping my eyes glued to my feet so that I could precisely plan each step—onto a rock or solid ground, and not directly into the water. The trail supposedly ended at a meadow with a view, but because the fog was so dense, I could see neither.
From the meadow, I was supposed to pick up another trail. I skirted the periphery of the clearing, looking for a marker in the heavy mist, but couldn’t find it. I eventually gave up and turned back down the stream bed/trail. I could have used my hiking app to locate the new trail, but I was already cold and wet, my spirits dampened. I could no longer see a future. And because of what I learned from this experience, I planned my next hike to better match the weather.
This time orientation plays out in my daily life—sometimes balanced, sometimes not.
When my husband, Harvey, was living with younger-onset Alzheimer’s disease, his time orientation had to be in the present. As did mine! I had to deal with what was directly in front of me at the time. My propensity of looking to the future helped me plan ahead by tentatively looking into possible scenarios. Past orientation is my weakest way of dealing with time, and it became even weaker during Harvey’s illness. I just did not want to look back. It made me too sad to think about all that we had lost. Only after his passing was I able to process what had happened.
And now? I still prefer to live in the moment, doing what needs to be done, appreciating what is currently happening. Writing my memoir and continuing to write these blog posts reminds me of all that has happened. As much as I might want to put it all behind me, it is a part of who I am.
But the future is beckoning, gently calling me to new things. I have to heed the voice that is urging me forward. I just don’t yet know to where it is calling me.
One Response
Good article. I want to add that a German philosopher (Moltmann) gives an interesting interpretation of the time line. He says it is reverse of the way we think. It is future, present, and past. He says God is in the future falling into the present. He says we cannot see the future because we are backing into it, using the human body to illustrate. I can only see in front (past) of me and to the sides (present). I use the markers of the past to guide me in backing into the future. I find that an interesting concept.