The Art of Living Between our Milestone Moments
Written by: Dr. Maggie Augustyn, FAGD, FICOI, FIADFE, FAAIP
We spend so much of our lives waiting for a climax. A finale. A big boom. We plan for it; we prepare for it. The foretold finale, as retold in the tales of our elders, defines the reason for which, so often, we get out of bed. It gives us hope to keep pushing in times of darkness. The soon-to-be-experienced climax allows us to spontaneously generate energy we didn’t know we had. Awaiting the conclusion of difficult days, readying ourselves for a sunrise of bliss and empowerment, directs our journey. And yet, as we brace for the fireworks that life so desperately owes us, that ever-so-enticing invitation of the future itself robs us of the joy, beauty, and glory that each and every moment in our lives is capable of giving. The very truth of our existence—a well-kept secret—is that previously foreseen monotonous minutes of our lives have the potential to be as powerful, as fruitful, and as emotionally fulfilling as the climax of an achievement realized.
Choosing the Monotony of Life
I have lately found myself struggling, exhausted, and more contemplative than one probably should be. I had rearranged a recent life of the constant chase—the speaking, writing, and practicing—into a monotone soundtrack of dentistry, cooking, laundry, and reading. I’d turned down multiple speaking engagements and devoted myself to a life at home with my family, and at the office with my patients. Something magical happened as life slowed down, as I stepped from the podium and began living with nothing to prove. There was a shift in how I viewed love, joy, beauty, and purpose. There was a shift in how I felt life and how I responded to it. And without seeing my name in lights, I felt more alive than ever before.
I had spent the summer cooking recipes with no direction and eating food with lust. I felt the food move through me like a force and energy. As an unseasoned cook, within the distance of a thought, I was able to seamlessly implement random ingredients into a meal. I’d spent mornings in the park chasing my dog, laughing with the gleam and wonder of a child. I’d spent evenings on my bed, connecting with my teenage daughter. I’d found more patience and devotion, more understanding and calm, than I thought would be possible in this often-challenging mother–teenage daughter relationship. I’ve held the hand of my husband proudly—not just as a breadwinner of the family, not just as the receiver of his love, but as an active participant in our friendship. I’ve compassionately broken down the problems we were facing at the practice and have humbly admitted to mistakes I didn’t even know I was making. I danced as a clinician, successfully completing more complex surgeries and feeling the pulse of every tooth and patient interaction. And yes, I also physically danced during said procedures, using the moves I’d learned in the many Latin lessons I’d recently completed.
The past six to eight months of my life have been as monotone and unexciting as life can get. And yet, this has been the time that I have tasted life the most—at its best. These last many months of my life, dedicated to one thing at a time and lacking the elusive luster of multitasking, have been the months of my life I’d want to relive over and over, till death does me part.
Emptiness in a Well-Lived Life
There is a part of me, however, as I walk into the statement above—the complete and total truth of it—that makes me look around, unamused and slightly disappointed. It feels like life should have been more. Despite the fact that I lived every moment in its moment, it feels like nothing happened. It feels like I have not advanced or made a difference. The utilitarian part of me, to which I have so devoted my life, is unappeased. It has interrupted my process; it has interrupted my joy, stomping its feet for attention. It has made me question how I design the remainder of my life, especially this following year. And as these considerations grow fire within me, I have chosen to surgically dissect the reason, hesitation, and confusion as I consider each choice.
If I had lived a great year, to the edges of my existence, why am I saying that I have not lived at all? And so I ask myself—and invite you to ask too—in this upcoming year: Do I drive, or do I ride?
Chasing Confetti as Self-Validation
What is it about the promise of some grand finale, a certificate of completion, or a climax that has such a hold on us?
I think I can probably write a book on this subject alone. When you consider how this might apply to you personally, I invite you to reflect on how many certificates of completion you’ve received in your life and how they made you feel. My personal upbringing has not been very linear; in fact, it has been fairly interrupted. I moved in eighth grade, disallowing me a formal graduation with my class; this was repeated, again, in twelfth grade. Neither of those allowed me a sense of completion. Yes, a certificate was received, but not among a community that supported me toward its reaching.
In the days of dental school graduation, the moment that was a true culmination of at least nine years in the making, I had been shunned (maybe felt shunned is a better term) by my class, thus disallowing myself from partaking in any celebration. This affected me for at least a decade later. Certificate received, climax not achieved.
In more personal parts of my life, because of some past event, I had chosen for multiple decades not to celebrate the climax of New Year’s Eve; I have discounted birthdays for making me feel like I was too self-indulgent. So maybe it’s no wonder that within me exists a preoccupation with confetti and balloons. There have been very few outward displays of an oncoming transition. The transitions have either been premature and thus lone-serving, or simply and seamlessly blended into the next phase of life. So yes, completion and climax, in my life, are of utmost desire.
Furthermore, with a boom, a bang, and some fireworks, one might enjoy a moment of self-celebration—and just as importantly, a celebration with an audience of others—and just as importantly, an outward display of said accomplishment. It gives validity to our past efforts, even if for a moment, allowing us to feel that moment of elevation. There is that moment—and for some, it’s longer than a moment—where we just feel like we are a little bit better than “the others.” And for so many people who walk the earth unseen, the idea of this kind of boost is pretty alluring. It makes us feel more lovable, more worthy, even if it is solely through our accomplishments rather than the quality of our humanness.
When the Diploma Falls Flat
Many of us imagine a climax of an accomplishment—specifically one which has taken much effort and many years—to be felt like a rush of energy beginning at your toes and driving toward the top of your neck. It is a rush capable of replicating all the moments of joy and sorrow, uniformly and in balance at first, but with joy ultimately winning. The sensation one is to feel when you touch your diploma ought to be akin to caressing your child for the first time (or at least that’s what I imagined before I became a parent). There should have been a moment of tears and monumental pride, a moment where effort was well worth it. This should have been a moment of utter completion, in all that has been learned, of upcoming desires coming to fruition. It should be a moment when larger dreams are being woven with a very tangible promise of their realization.
Now, granted, as disclosed, I had not participated in many moments of a “boom” in my life. But the ones I have participated in have not, in any way, felt that fulfilling or that grand. Each completion of a certificate has fallen flat on my expectation of grandiosity. Instead, the moment that your hands touch said diploma, the mind almost speeds right past the flash of fireworks. We just want to move on to the next.
But if that commencement was so worth waiting for and working toward, why do we not allow ourselves to stay in the moment? Why do we zip into the next with all of our might and strength and formidable fascination?
The Ordinary with More Color Than the Extraordinary
If the latter part of my statement is true, and the climax doesn’t actually feel anything like we’d imagined, why does it continue to have such a hold over us? Why pursue? Why drive and not ride? And the answer is very much the reason for which I started writing this article.
We push and choose to hold that wheel because the alternative is boring. The day-to-day life of laundry and cooking, of eating and clothing ourselves, is unexciting, monotonous, repetitious, uninteresting, and colorless. But life appears monotonous and uninteresting and colorless because we’ve made it that. Everything we do in life, we have designed to bypass and un-feel the judged and inadequately labeled uninteresting moments. And we partly do this because, in the bypass, we also survive the very difficult tragedy that life surfaces as it unfolds.
After we avoid feeling sadness or pain, we keep zooming because there is a foretold promise of a better moment soon thereafter. And if there is a better moment ahead, then we must hurry past this one to get to that next one. And we are willing to sometimes spend days, weeks, years, bypassing moments. But how many moments— incredible moments of life—are we detouring this way? Ummm… like, almost all of them.
In Buddhist teachings, one might be taught to focus on the chewing of a raisin for several minutes. Maybe even fifteen minutes. Imagine the undiscovered sensations one might realize in fifteen minutes of chewing a single raisin. What might life be like if we were to break down and really feel the texture of our enduring minutes? Feel pain as deeply as we seek joy? That is living life to its full edges.
I can give you countless examples of how living fully in the previously foreseen monotonous instants has enriched my life over the last few months. But there is one specific one that comes to mind. I was shade matching for an anterior bridge. I made a map and took multiple photos. Many minutes must have passed, because I heard my assistant say, “Dr. Augustyn, is the patient done?” I had been staring at her tooth #8 for what might have seemed like an eternity. Quite frankly, I got lost in it. Examining every little bit about it, I somehow also got lost in its connection to her body, in a gratitude one might feel for having a natural tooth. I got lost in the complexity of building a symmetrical smile. I got lost in the fear of inadequacy. I got lost in her excitement for a restored dentition.
I was in an utter place of flow, where time made no sense, but life… life was felt on both edges of the spectrum for both myself and the patient. Please realize that I know what I am stating and communicating here. I understand how challenging this upcoming statement is: the moments I spent getting lost in the mundane shade match were more colorful and significant than the ones spent collecting my dental school diploma.
The Landmark of Presence
I was honored with a Fellowship this November from the International Academy of Dental and Facial Esthetics. This is a wonderful society headed by Drs. George Freedman and David Hoexter, whose mission is to network and elevate dental professionals from all around the country.
In order to accept this award, I needed to fly to New York.
I have always wanted to experience the magic of New York. The last time I was scheduled to come to New York, I was a college student heading a committee to compete in the Model UN. I never made the trip and disappointed my team by withdrawing from the competition because, a few hours before the flight, I was hospitalized for a suicide attempt. The air of that guilt and shame of my actions might have put a cloud over how seriously I pursued another trip to NYC.
So, coming to New York this year was significant for me, and it was about twenty-five years late. I only had three days in NYC, including the travel. I booked a hotel close to the Harmonie Club, where the award ceremony would take place, and within walking distance of some touristy attractions.
Since I was in the area, I thought I’d stop by Times Square, an incredibly iconic NYC destination. I’d seen it many times in shows and movies and desperately wanted to feel what it would be like standing amidst all the big screens in the Big Apple.
I ventured out on a cold, rainy evening to find myself spinning without awe. The moment lacked the sexy promise and allure of what I’d built up in my head. It was nothing like the twenty-seven-year-late “climax” was to have felt like. It was a bunch of large TV screens with commercials. I could not conceptualize in my mind what the big deal was. I recorded myself spinning one more time… and overheard someone say, “The magic of Times Square is that there are no two moments alike. You cannot take the same photo twice in this place.”
And that’s when, yet again, I was reminded that living life should have little to do with crossing things off the bucket list, like I just did. Living on the edges of life, living life fully, was not coming to NYC and standing in the rain watching the big screens. Living at the edges of life, fully engaging in the texture of what life has to offer, had everything to do with the utmost respect for the fact that life was beautiful and important in each moment. It really is about the journey and not the destination.
Listening for the Whisper and Not the Roar
So, why is it that when we get to the big moment, the promises of a climax are unrealized? Does it have to do with how long we’d dreamt up that moment? Does it have to do with our over-imaginative human spirit folding in the lack of glory of what is real? And the older we grow, the more reality disappoints us in those predisposed and elevated future moments.
It’s designed that way—that is my opinion. It’s designed that way so that we can manage to bring our lives to living in the present. It’s not a dissuasion from driving, winning, or pursuing. Not in the least. The completion is important—that’s coming from someone short on completions. But completion is only a dessert portion for a Michelin-star meal.
And it’s also about how we view that final phase. If we drive for a completion and life shorts us of it, we begin to accept the notion of an uncompleted event. However, if we no longer expect the big grand finale, everything else starts to matter. If we no longer await a climax, we will have no choice but to look for joy and wonder in every human interaction. We will live life more closely, actually, within the glory of the moment that is right in front of us. We will not hold off on life; we will not hold off on allowing ourselves to feel until that completion ceremony.
Living without an end puts us exactly where we are. But we have to be brave enough to receive what comes in that moment, both good and bad. And when received without resistance, when received in full human spirit, every moment, every turn becomes better and more profound than finding yourself in Times Square twenty-five years (or so) too late.
Be brave. All in. Learn to live life differently. Ride in the moment of now.
When life doesn’t deliver what you thought you needed or wanted, could it be that the good you’re searching for is already here? Can it be a whisper… quieter, smaller, and more unassuming than you expected? What if, in chasing the extraordinary, the roar, you’re missing the profound beauty of the ordinary moments unfolding right in front of you?
It is not always about scaling the mountain; often, life is about noticing the wildflowers growing at its base.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Maggie Augustyn, FAGD, FICOI, FIADFE, FAAIP, is a Dawson-trained practicing general dentist, owner of Happy Tooth, author, and inspirational keynote speaker. Featured on 4 dental magazine covers and recognized by Dentistry Today as one of the top 250 leaders, she inspires others through her writing, helping them find healing and connection. Dr. Augustyn serves as the national spokesperson for the Academy of General Dentistry and as a faculty member for the Productive Dentist Academy. She contributes monthly to her “Mindful Moments” column for Dentistry Today and AGD Impact and writes for other publications as well. With unwavering compassion and a dedication to excellence, Dr. Augustyn addresses audiences ranging from a few dozen to thousands, guiding them toward fulfillment and meaningful impact. To contact her, email [email protected].
FEATURED IMAGE CREDIT: Golden Dayz/Shutterstock.com.
