i remember sitting on my balcony one friday evening in the summer two years ago. i was reading the first dune and was engrossed in the story, barely getting up. i hadn’t been able to dedicate time to reading over an extended period in so long and suddenly here i was, this evening of reading ahead of me.
i don’t remember what compelled me to read for the evening over watching a movie or seeing friends, it just happened. it felt *perfect*. i got up at one point to make a shot of decaf espresso, for no reason. i read until the sun went down at 9pm, finished dune and had an early night. a success.
so, when the next week came around, i cancelled my friday evening plans. i closed my laptop at 4:30, grabbed my book and head to the balcony in preparation to have another calm and successful night. it didn’t feel the same. it felt forced. i even tried to make my decaf espresso shot again but it didn’t taste the same. i was irritable. i didn’t absorb anything i was reading and called it an early night.
the discomfort in that experience sat with me for a while. if i had such an amazing experience exactly a week before, why couldn’t i replicate that feeling of supreme bliss and presence for myself?
it’s because i failed to embrace a concept called ichigo ichie 一期一会 (pronunciation here). it’s a japanese proverb that has a few meanings (but one centralized idea):
“a single meeting (一会; ichie) in the course of a lifetime (一期; ichigo), or a “once-in-a-lifetime encounter”
if you haven’t gotten the gist yet, it can be interpreted as this concept that every moment is unique to the present and cannot be replicated.
if you went to a meal with your friends and had the most incredible time, even if you replicated that evening down to the placement of where everyone sat and ordered the exact same thing, it wouldn’t be the same as that original moment. the term goes way back to the 16th century in japan originating from the opportunity to sit and enjoy the intricate process of a tea ceremony.
speaking of the opportunity to embrace the present, what are you up to right now? other than reading my letter. are you on the bus? sitting in bed? at your desk? what can you take in about this moment? even if it’s a micro-second, what’s special about the now?
the concept of ichigo ichie has a two-fold meaning for me. it makes me both happy and sad.
it makes me sad because there are so many moments i wish i could recreate. it means that when i’m experiencing an incredible moment, i mourn for the loss of it because i know it will end and i will never get it back.
it also makes me happy because i can look for it in so many ways. how lucky am i that i get to have experiences that stick with me? that warm me? and are so incredible that i wish i could recreate it?
this concept can also be scary if you’re reading this and nothing stands out to you from your recent memories.
if i’m not experiencing this phenomenon how do i deal with the fact that i’m not present or putting myself in positions to make incredible moments?
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