Interlude

Three of my kids play instruments—two of them are in school bands. We catch a lot of live music. Although I wish I could make it more often. I miss as many as I attend.

Concerts are special. The kids showcase their hard work. At showtime, the kids’ nerves are high, especially those with solos. The kids’ parents’ nerves are high, especially those whose kids have solos.

The concerts teach parents how to be better audience members. Similar to announcements before a movie, we are asked to take our seats, keep quiet, and silence and put away our cell phones. As the lights dim, the glowing faces in the audience showcase which parents ignored the last part.

The performances often have multiple bands. The kids move into the audience as the next band takes the stage. These moments are when I mindlessly check my phone.

One night I read a work email. I just finished reading it as the band wrapped up their warm up. This is when we are supposed to put away our phones. The lights dimmed.

The email was obnoxious. My frustration bordered on anger. The band started playing. My anger stewed into full-blown pissed off. I wasn’t going to be a face-glowing parent. So, I jammed my phone in my pocket.

My phone was gone, but the frustration was not. I spun in circles on the email. I mentally replayed their message repeatedly. I crafted a response—a takedown. Then I prepared another. I was ready with dozens of potential responses. Each draft flowed through a variety of edits. I edited and re-edited. I planned for potential responses and prepared countermeasures. This was mental office judo, and I was on the mats. I thought of traps to lay so I could entice specific responses. Then I could spring my next fully formed volley.

I kept having better and better ideas. I already knew not to reply while angry, but that didn’t stop me from drafting powerful and poetic defenses. It was so good that I heard applause.

It seems the applause was not for my email vigilantism. The room was applauding the band. The band that just finished all their pieces for the night. I missed the entire thing.

I was not able to enjoy the music. Instead, I was multiple layers deep into a non-existent conversation. I wasn’t laying traps, I was trapped. Stuck in my head about something I couldn’t do anything about. I was not going to reply—no phone, no angry email—just trapped. I used my now to dwell on an email from the past. I used my now to peer into a non-existent future of how they might respond, how I might further counter.

I could not resolve what was bothering me. I could not, or at least did not, enjoy the performance. I fear how much of my life is spent missing the moment because I am mentally engaged in unimportant things elsewhere.

Can I avoid dwelling on the past or obsessing about a possible future? Am I trading this moment for fake re-runs? What noise is distracting me from right now?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.