from the New York Times Newsletter
By Melissa Kirsch
Last week, a friend read my tarot cards. It was a lark — neither of us had much experience with the occult, but it seemed a diverting enough way to spend an evening, to engage with the messiness of our lives in a way that might offer some clarity.
We drew the cards, then used the book that came with the tarot deck to interpret them.
I made a note of one passage that seemed to invite further consideration: “Practice being present in the here and now. It’s all we have, and it’s a lot.”
I read this two ways. On the one hand, the present moment contains a rich bounty of content. No need to trouble yourself with the past or the future, there’s abundance right here.
On the other hand, I hear that understated response we often give these days when asked how we’re handling a particularly stressful moment: “It’s a lot.”
In modern parlance, “It’s a lot” says a lot without saying anything specific. It encapsulates a general feeling of being overwhelmed without getting into all the reasons why.
I noticed people saying “It’s a lot” early in the Covid pandemic, a slightly deadpan assertion that captured the experience of feeling swamped by a deluge of information.
There’s been an uptick in “It’s a lot” in my conversations and group chats and self-reflection recently. The quantity of news we’re trying to process, and the pace at which that news seems to break, seems to require constant vigilance just to keep up.
Refresh, refresh, what’s happening, what’s new. Or there are those who avoid the news altogether — it’s not just a lot, it’s too much, and they’re opting out.
There has to be a middle ground, a balanced way to keep up without losing perspective, and without burying our heads in the sand.
My own tactics are not that different from what the tarot advised: “Practice being present in the here and now.”
What that looks like for me is deliberately feeling my feet on the firm ground, reminding myself that I’m here, in my living room or on this street or in this park.
My brain may be spinning, trying to make sense of everything happening everywhere, but I’m right here on this patch of grass.
I have agency.
I can decide, for a minute or an hour, an afternoon or a weekend, to really try to observe what’s happening around me, to take one deep breath of this delectable spring air.
There is a lot going on in the world, but there’s also a lot going on in my world that I don’t want to miss.
A wise friend advised me when I was worrying recently to “move the horizon closer.”
I love this. My eyes are always cast on some distant point in the future.
Moving the horizon closer means to keep my thoughts and fantasies and fears contained to this plane, this moment, without spinning out into the atmosphere.
The here and now is all we have, and it’s a lot, for everyone. You don’t have to consult an oracle to know this.
But the reminder is useful: Where are you right now? What is happening in that space, in that moment? How can you inhabit it fully? How can you move the horizon closer?
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