What's important?

A short personal essay I wrote for writer's craft... it's kind of a fictionalized version of a real-life event.

I’m not a particularly busy or important person. I don’t save lives, I don’t pull 60-hour workweeks at the office, and I don’t have incredibly important, world-changing decisions keeping me up at night. Actually, I’m just a high school student in a small town in Southern Ontario. I’m one of the last people you’d expect to have one of those “what’s important” moments. We’ve all seen them: the part of the movie where the put-together go-getter realizes that they’re working their lives away at a job no one will remember them for, figures out what’s really important, quits, and goes home to their family.

My life to this point has generally been a huge resume-building exercise. I’ve been working tirelessly for several years toward good grades (a task that requires at least a few hours a day for homework assignments and the like) in order to prepare myself for University. If school weren’t enough, I’ve also spent plenty of time with student’s counsel, volunteer work, and assorted clubs. In short, I live in a beautifully hectic world of to-do lists and organizers, constantly pressed for time. To be honest I wouldn’t really have it any other way; when I’m not busy, I don’t know what to do with myself.

It’s funny how, despite all of this, a tiny thing can change your entire perspective on life. The other morning, around six-thirty, I was dissecting a pomegranate for breakfast. It was a normal day: I was reading while struggling with my fruit’s tiny seeds and my dining room ceiling fan’s regular tap-tap was the only noise to be heard in the house. Outside, the sun hadn’t yet risen.

My father asked me to let our dog inside, since he was scratching at the back door; begrudgingly, I complied. Then, when I stuck my head out into the biting winter air, the first thing I saw, hanging just above the treetops, was this spectacular crescent moon. It was that time right before dawn, when the morning light’s just starting out in the east, and the entire sky was a gradient from greyish-blue to inky black. In the darkest end of the sky, stars sparkled faintly. For a moment, I was overwhelmed. Such a beautiful, simple sight �" the universe’s naturally occurring light show �" free for all to see. It made me feel... connected. Connected to the world, stunning as it was, and in awe of its artistry.

As I proceeded through my morning rituals, I got to thinking about the last time I’d actually seen the moon. I was pretty sure it had been several months, maybe half a year. This small revelation surprised me so much that it made me consider all the other little things I’d been missing lately.

When was the last time I’d gone for a long walk? Sat in the grass outside? Listened to the birds? Watched the sun set? Run, anywhere? I had hardly missed any of these little things, yet when they were put together they made an essential component of life I’d nearly forgotten about.

I’m glad to have had that moment that morning, to have reminded myself of all the subtle beauty in the world. It’s so easy to get caught up in the routines and responsibilities that take up too much of our modern lives, so easy to forget to notice the glinting of snow in the sun, the patterns that rivulets shape as they slide down a car window, the pictures on erased chalkboards, and the elegance of fallen autumn leaves. But it’s essential that we don’t, because I see where that might lead: a frigid world of semi-conscious, hardworking go-getters with no “what’s important” moments in sight.

Reviews

[R. Nella]

The older I get, the more I appreciate the simple things. I used to put my education first, and I don't regret it, even if there were things I missed out on.

I don't think I ever had a major "What's important?" moment, or I've had so many I've lost count. Life is a continuous learning exercise, but at least I'm comfortable with my priorities now.