Are we done here?

The two hour cup of tea

The three hour dinner date 

The silence that rings with the echo of a just-chanted Om

The happy-sad feeling of coming to the end of a beautifully written book

The wide open possibility of the very first moment your eyes open in the morning
Ahh, don’t those feel good? So good that you maybe want to hang around for a little while–you know, linger…?

Today, I’m campaigning on behalf of the Lost Art of Lingering (brace yourselves for an onslaught of ellipses!).  I’m advocating a return to the incomparably delicious pleasure of savoring something all the way through to the end…and then giving it even more time and space to resonate with and in you. And, because I know that change begins at home, this essay is my declaration of intent.

This issue popped on my radar screen when I was out to dinner with a friend recently. We had a great meal at our neighborhood spot, tasty food and solidly entertaining conversation.  I was really enjoying myself. I thought we both were. But as soon as the credit card slips were signed, my friend jumped up and, seeming to already be halfway out the door, asked me if I was ready to go.  Well, not really, but you’re not leaving me much choice, I thought. Also, what on earth have I done to send you fleeing from the table? Is there  spinach in my teeth? Do I have a spot of politics stuck to my cheek? And can I at least finish my water?

It turned out that my friend’s haste was inspired by his concerns for the waitstaff–the more tables they get in a night, the greater their income potential–and not at all a reflection of our shared experience. And once my concerns were allayed, the situation got me thinking about what I would have wanted instead. Rather than that jarring end, I would have preferred to stay at the table sharing some final words and laughter or simply sitting in companionable silence, bathing in the energy of our shared meal. In other words, I would have preferred to linger. 

That, in turn, got me to thinking about the many ways in which I have gotten in the habit of doing the precise opposite, the ways in which I tend to bring my own experiences to a jarring, incomplete end. In other words, rushing. Alas, I am very well practiced at the art of moving quickly from one experience of the next in rapid succession with little transition or even time to catch my breath. It’s just one thing to the next: Finished the book? Ok, that was nice, now it’s time to check email. Almost finished eating? Ok, then go ahead and get started on writing that note. Finished practicing asana? Ok, now it’s time to hop up and go start the laundry. Even though I knew it had become a habit, when I began to pay attention, I was astonished by how often I sacrificed opportunities to linger on the altar of busyness in the name of getting things done. 

And those missed opportunities matter. They make the difference between arriving at the end of the day with a sense of fullness and completion and falling into bed with tomorrow’s to do list running circles in my mind. They make the difference between savoring the full arc of an experience and only dimly noting its passing. They reflect the difference between being fully present to this moment and living in my mind’s version of the next. 

That’s why I’m now committing to deep practice of the Lost Art of Lingering. I want to savor, to luxuriate, to taste every last drop of every single blessing that comes my way.
So, I ask you, will you join me? And if so, how will you savor the moments?