It’s self-fulfilling when we realize one of life’s many lessons. At least for me you start to walk on air for a day or two and then continue to apply this new found knowledge around new corners.

That’s where I’m at right now and two separate avenues helped feed that lesson.

The first comes from Dan Millman’s book Way of the Peaceful Warrior which I finished on a plane from Cedar Rapids to Philadelphia. Millman’s quasi-fictional character is taught many things by a man he meets at a gas station. One that stood out to me is referenced in this question and answer exchange that the gas station attendant, named Socrates, eventually teaches Millman. The lesson: There are no ordinary moments.

  • Where are you? …. Here.
  • What time is it? … Now.
  • What are you? … This moment.

One of the first times I was able to able this new realization was during Richard Goode’s piano recital in the Perelman Theater at the Kimmel Center shortly after I arrived in Philadelphia.

Leonard Bogart of the Philadelphia Examiner described Goode’s proposed playlist leading up to the recital like this: “The program is inspired.  Bach represents the summation of all that had come before, Haydn the path toward what was to come next, and Schumann all that had yet to be imagined.”

As you can see from the photo on the right, I witnessed the recital from a very different perspective than most – behind and above the stage. I was so close I could hear Goode, who is described eloquently by Mark Swed of the Los Angeles Times as the singing pianist, hum as he played. I could feel what he was experiencing while playing because I was often able to watch his eyes. A fantastic performance. A fantastic moment, for sure.

Taking Bogart’s description and applying the location of my seat in the theatre, I also had the fortune to live in my moment as Goode played and also add to that the experiences of others for a greater appreciation of what was my ‘here and now’ for two hours.

There was the woman in the front row who was constantly sketching during the performance. An elderly couple who would hold hands during key moments of Bach pieces where you could feel they’ve had a rich life together. There was the professional pianist who sat next to me whose body movements mirrored the emotion of the piano. And there was the 20-something granddaughter who brought her grandfather and the smile on her face that erupted after they saw Goode’s hands play for the first time.

A year ago, I would have watched and listened as Goode played but I likely wouldn’t have heard what he was saying and for a whole host of reasons. Instead, with my new found self-knowledge, it was indeed no ordinary moment.