Mindfully Speaking
There Will Be A Day…
A mantra that deeply impacts my life
I want to share something with you. I will unpack it slowly, like a gift, because it is a gift.
It’s a gift I was given many years ago by a stranger named Laura Kloepper, who said that she taped this mantra to her wall.
I don’t recall where I found it (I think perhaps in a running magazine), but when I read it, I knew it was profound and that I needed to remember it. I photocopied it on lime green paper and have held onto it for years, tucked in a drawer for a time, and eventually taped to the mirrored wall in my gym.
The quote begins:
“There will be a day when you can no longer do this…”
Let’s face it — we aren’t talking about the day we die, because we are all going to die sooner or later. And when that day comes, I figure there will either be nothingness (lights out, end of the road, mic drop, consciousness extinguished) in which case there will be no sense of anything, let alone missing something in this world — or else there will be something (*this is where my money is…something better or just vastly different) and so the stuff of this little life is forgotten, swept away like dandelion fluff on the wind.
So, the “day” that Laura forewarns about is just an ordinary day — but a day when you want to do something you have always done, maybe something you love, or even something mundane — and you can’t. And oh, what a feeling, to realize what has been taken for granted, what has slipped away.
I broke my foot once and I was miserable. I wasn’t in pain once it was set and immobilized in the cast. I was miserable because suddenly I literally could not do the things I wanted to do — like walk, run, bike, soak in the bathtub (*I figured that one out eventually). You get the picture. And it hit me hard thinking about all of the times I whined about “having to go for a run” or not “feeling like going for a walk”. How I had taken my mobility for granted, assuming I could do these things later, when or if I “felt like it”. Ha.
I know people who have had to give up activities they adore because either their body will no longer comply, or it has become unsafe for them to do so. Things like swimming or bicycling or driving their car. And it’s heartbreaking to consider — that may be me one day. That will be me. It will be you, too. There will come a day…
Here is the gift, though…
The quote continues:
“…Today is not that day.”
That is the gift Laura gave me — adding those 5 extra words. Today is not that day. Like she took me firmly by the shoulders and shook, saying “Wake up! Wake up! You are lucky! You are alive and able!” like she whispered in my ear “You will miss this when it’s gone….”
So, I carry this gift with me and reflect on it often.
When I debate going for a swim because it’s a long walk down, or I am standing at the end of the dock, hesitating because the water is cold, I think “There will come a day you can no longer do this…” And I jump.
Sometimes when my alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. I moan. “Ughhhh. I don’t wanna get up. I don’t feel like working out today.” But I can. I can get dressed and go downstairs and use my muscles to lift heavy things. I can get on my spin bike and move my legs and sweat like a beast. So, I do. Because I know the grief that will come when the day arrives that I cannot.
It pops up at other times. When I am cleaning up dirty dishes or folding laundry my son has left in the dryer or I’m cooking something he has requested when I really don’t feel like it. If I catch myself grumbling, I reflect on the reality that this — having him home, under the same roof, down the hall, sharing space — will end. He won’t live with me forever. Life moves on — he is growing up, and he will go off and make a life of his own. There will come a day that I can’t pick up after him, that I can’t participate in the mundane pieces of everyday existence with him. So, I choose to do it, now, on the day that I can.
When I think “I’ll visit them tomorrow” or “I’ll take that trip eventually”. When packing up to go to the cottage feels overwhelming. When I have thoughts in my head that want to be written, but I can’t get myself to the page.
It’s the bittersweetness of this quote that is profound and affects me deeply. The balance of these two truths:
- Today, in this moment, I can do something…whatever that something is.
And
2. A day is coming, who knows when, that I won’t be able to do this thing again.
This gift that Laura (whoever she is…a person who once lived in Honolulu) gave me, and that now I give to you, is the gift of mindful awareness. The ability to see and to choose.
My hope is that these words take up residence somewhere inside of you, as they have with me. That they rise up like a messenger, a memo, an urgent reminder when you need it most. That they bubble up and do for you what they do for me.
These words are a magical elixir — they create an alchemy that transforms “ordinary” moments into amazing opportunities and celebrations of life — this life, now, in this moment — that are to be recognized, appreciated, seized, and savoured.
Do it while you can, because…
“There will come a day when you can no longer do this. Today is not that day.” (Laura Kloepper)
Thank you, Laura.