A short letter on time, mindfulness, and acceptance.

S.R.,

Wasn’t it just a moment ago that the days were long, the nights cool, and the sun, overhead, scorched the pavement and the passers-by?

And to think that now the ground is covered in leaves, there’s a chill in the air, and it’s gotten dark hardly before I’ve gotten out of bed.

Where did the days go?

It seemed as if just yesterday it was May, and yet now it’s November. (As I’m editing this, it’s actually December. And I’m left just as puzzled. As if I’d woken up from a long sleep.)

“For what is not “but a moment ago” when one begins to use the memory?” ([Seneca](_https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seneca_the_Younger), 49.1, Trans. by G.W.)_

I’ve decided, for your sake and for mine, to write down some thoughts I’ve gleaned from my reading – they might at least benefit someone, if I haven’t yet used them to benefit myself.

And so, something from our Seneca:

“_No one is only unhappy in the present.” (5.9, my translation)_

One finds, unsurprisingly, a similar sentiment in Horace:

_”_The wise god buries the future’s outcome deep

in shadowy night, and smiles at those mortals

who are agitated far beyond

what’s sensible. Remember, with calmness,

reconcile yourself to what is: the rest is

carried along like a river_.” (Odes_3.29, Trans. by A.S. Kline)

All of this running around, devising grand narratives, seeking, casting ourselves out into any moment except the present.

I’ve noticed in myself that much of my time is spent with thoughts turned to the past or future. Much of my time coloured by regret or longing. Much of myself neither here nor there.

“_We [conversely] are tortured both by the future and the past.”_

(5.9, my translation)

— You’ll ask, “So? What are you going to do about it?”

I’ll step outside, and watch the falling leaves.

Farewell.

Sincerely,

George