Much is made of the defining moment, an idealistically transcendent episode that shapes our character; a singular incident that heightens our awareness, understanding, helping to reconcile our place in life’s rich pageant. For better or worse, people aren’t that simple. Nothing is, really.
When pressed, my 93-year-old grandmother could never pinpoint her life’s defining moment. More than nine decades of moments is difficult to fathom and nearly impossible to quantify or put in perspective, let alone recall. When I last visited her, we met for numerous lunches, each time pouring over a seemingly endless trove of photographs, haphazardly curated shoeboxes cataloging my family’s history for more than a century. She’s the only family docent who can identify the stories behind the photos that help define my heritage. At her age, each moment redefines who she is. As she put it: “I’m 93 years old, Ivan. I’m thrilled to be having any moments.”
If you inquire as to the defining moment of any young girl or boy, you’ll find similar perspective, though born of inexperience, rather than wisdom. The future is not a consideration, and the past occurred before clear memories could be stored. A trip to the zoo, those first few feet riding solo on two wheels, a perfectly tied shoe lace or a comparatively huge ice cream cone: these are all defining moments at the time. Although barely into their first decade of life, kids have an astute appreciation for special moments. They’re not yet hardwired as modern cynics or bewildered optimists, nor approaching the end of the proverbial road. They simply live in the moment as they lack the discriminatory faculties to do otherwise.
So, where does that leave me? I’m 30. Centuries ago, I would’ve been considered old. Today, I’m “still extremely young.” Am I too young to assess my defining moment? Too old to simply "live in the moment"? 2010 has answered those questions: I'm neither too young, nor too old, and the trappings of each allow me to do both. How novel.
Life is filled with many moments that continually mold our beings like the gradual erosion of the Lake Erie shoreline, distorting our perceptions, changing notions and creating a new body of thought. In an ideal environment, over time, we are whittled to our core best, gradually moving to higher ground. In reality, we experience torrents of change that require precise adaptation that rarely occurs in an effectively timely fashion. The one constant is change: it's inevitable, and futile as it may be, we strive to control the speed of it.
When the end of a year rolls around, it gives us pause, allowing us to try and catch-up with the whirlwind around us. New Year's Eve is wonderful for it allows everyone, if for only 10 seconds, to live in the moment. It's juvenile, and it's excellent – and we can pretend to control the movement of the clocks. It's one of my favorite tricks.
Like nearly everybody who will read this, my year had its glorious ups and its devastating lows. At times the year has seemed like an eternity, though months have passed with alarming dispatch.
