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“For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity.”
-C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
I was raised in the rural Appalachian Mountains of eastern Kentucky. I am the only child of an educator (my mother) and a welder (my father). I was raised in a small home directly next door to my grandparents, who also played a crucial role in my upbringing. With both my parents at work, a substantial portion of my earliest years were spent in my grandparents’ company. The benefits of their early influence on my life endure to this day. My grandmother taught me to read well before I started school, and I have always considered my grandfather to be my best friend, even to this day.
As I aged, my mother helped me navigate the local public school system. Her background in education gave me not only valuable tools for scholastic success, but also an insight into public education. She pushed me toward academic pursuits and supported my increasingly zany endeavors - whether they involved building time machines, designing elaborate suits of armor, or scheduling my journey to the center of the Earth.
These endeavors were part of a larger phenomenon I experienced during my childhood which followed me into college life, though in a much evolved form. I was, and to some extent still am, a daydreamer. I was easily enchanted by the prospects of the future, enamored by the idea that I could construct infinite and perfect future realities for myself. My pure childhood eccentricity matured into teenage obsession with “climbing the ladder”. I consumed my time with work that would bring me closer to my goals, planning my every academic action to eventually achieve my idea of a perfect career.
This becomes, in a word, exhausting. While flying toward the ether of ambition, it was difficult to prevent myself from drifting. Along the way of my tunnel-visioned ascension, I had neglected my anchor - and without anchoring, I was susceptible to movement from the least of gusts from the wind.
My last blog was about my growing appreciation for my mother’s daily questions, I now realize that appreciation stems from my desire to anchor myself. For a season of my life, I neglected my connection to those I loved in order to pursue the future which I thought would give my life purpose. I lost myself in my imaginary conceptions of the future, and I have never been so wrong.
I experienced the demoralizing drift. I realized that the untethered path toward success is an empty one. Life is worth living because of the people one loves, and these people exist in the present. Their love and support is what incubates success. It gives purpose and meaning to otherwise meaningless pursuits.
One of the best pieces of advice I can give anyone is this: “lay anchors, plant roots, and ground yourself in the present.” You can never achieve the joy of the future meant for you if you neglect the joy found in the present. You will never know how to enjoy future joy if you have not practiced experiencing it in the present. The people in your life are the present. Their love is contemporary. Cling tightly to that love, let it be your anchor.
Austin Dillon is a McConnell Scholar in the Class of 2022. He is studying economics and political science at the university of Louisville.