Years ago, I had some neighbors who had a condo in Ocean City and they would spend weekends and a few weeks there every summer. I had been regaled with tales of how wonderful . . . the restaurants were. We have to go to such-n-such place, they have the BEST fill-in-the-blank, they would say. So one summer, we went to visit for the day. They were right on the ocean with a beautiful view overlooking the water. There was lots of chit-chat, just wait til you get to the beach. Oh, it's beautiful. Then we made it down to the beach. As we were sitting on the beach: just wait til we have lunch, we'll go to ________, they have the best crab legs/cakes/soup/whatever. What made this extra-amusing to me was that my husband HATES seafood. Loathes it. Is allergic.
We didn't stay long on the beach because we were off to lunch. At lunch, as we are eating the-best-whatever: Just wait til we have dinner. We'll go to _____, they have the best....
Well, you get the idea. The present moment was preoccupied with the future. There was no present moment. It was also infused with a sense of urgent rushing to the Next Thing. It was . . . exhausting.
Next week, I'm going to the beach. I'm taking my books, I'm taking my juicer to make frozen banana smoothies. My brother, a gourmet chef, has meals planned and organized. We are going to spend time on the beach, building sandcastles, splashing in the water, collecting treasures. The BEST!