The Moment before the Moment

Christmas tree 2011

Christmas tree 2011

Christopher Robin asked Winnie the Pooh what he liked doing best in all the world. “Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.”

Anticipation, as Winnie astutely realizes, can be the best part of any activity. The moment between the knocking on the door and its opening. The moment between holding the gift and opening it. In that moment all is still possible. It’s intoxicating, to have that hope of possibility, to be at that moment just before fruition. Just before momentum kicks in and time moves forward.  It is a great and wonderful feeling in its own right.

And yet anticipation can be tricky.  So much of our lives is out of our control: weather, social systems, other people. Media offers us stories and images that have little relation to reality, which can trap us with distorted expectations. To have expectations can be an invitation to disappointment and disaster.  The Christmas season is especially fraught. Another great philosopher, Anne of Green Gables, said: “When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down to earth with a thud.”

Coming down hard in reality, dropping with a thud, is painful. And yet I would hate to live without the promise of anticipation. Anne of Green Gables herself says  “But really… the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts… it’s like soaring through a sunset. I think it almost pays for the thud.” I think so too.

In fact, anticipation can be good for us. By delighting in future possibilities the present becomes more enjoyable. Psychological studies suggest that those who are able to savour the moment, whether it be a fond remembrance of the past, pleasure in an current experience, or anticipation of the future, are more optimistic, and better able to deal with stress and depression.  Soaring through the sunset is good for us.

I admit that I love Christmas celebrations. I don’t love everything about the season, but enough that I am glad when it comes around again.  I want Nat King Cole singing The Christmas Song. I love going out to the tree farm, tramping through the snow finding just the right spruce for our small living room. I love mince pies and candy canes and Cadbury’s milk tray. The smell of clementines and cinnamon beckons me.  It is feast for the senses. Christmas is also a chance to reconnect with my distant relatives, to my british heritage of festive crackers with tissue paper hats. I love that it is a day out of the ordinary, outside of dull routine, belonging to a grander, timeless time.

What do you anticipate most about the holiday?  Can you separate out the joy of anticipation from the burden of expectation?

Adapted from a recent sermon.

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2 thoughts on “The Moment before the Moment

  1. Thanks for sharing that. I miss pure anticipation, the kind not sullied by worries about whether the kids will be sick, my ex-husband’s schedule will changes, or any of a dozen of variables that run through my mind. I also can’t dream of the future like I used to, although I’m trying to relearn that. Somehow, the practicality of life has tinged anticipation. Or maybe I just try to temper than anticipation to reduce the possible disappointment should events not go as planned.

    Here’s to finding that joy in the anticipation, an act that requires both having expectations of events and letting go of expectations of failure or disappointment. You’ve given me something to consider.

    • Losing a sense of anticipation does seem to be part of growing up – at least in our culture. I am beginning to have a better understanding of ritual and tradition, in that whatever may or may not happen within the framework of an event, there is still something joyful in the event in and of itself. When the ritual is stronger, our own lives and on-going issues can recede into the background – I find respite in that. At Fire communion this year it was great to just watch the flames as people went up and sit with that sense of letting go. (Sorry for the slow reply to your thoughts, it is a hockey tournament weekend for my son!).

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