Tag Archives: Moment

That awkward moment when…

    I’m sure that you’re all well aware of the disturbing and growing internet trend of escaping from uncomfortable incidents by dismissing them as “that awkward moment.” People use it do describe any situation of embarrassment, or absurdity. There aren’t really many rules governing it’s use, the most important thing is the self-effacing sense of irony in the tone.
    One thing that is vital, however, is that the awkward moment is always that awkward moment; it can never be this awkward moment. This may seem like a bit of grammatic over-thinking, but I think that is sheds some light on the motivation for the expression. You see, once the moment is that moment, it becomes the past, and therefore a different moment from the current one; if it’s a different moment, I don’t have to worry about the implications or deal with the absurdity inherent in the situation.
    The expression perfectly sums up the turbulent and worrying attitude known as post-modernity. If modernity consists in heroizing, the moment, being self-consciously self-conscious and creating oneself in the process, then post-modernity is the ironic acceptance of the ultimate futility of such a life. If modernity is about this absurd moment of self-creation, then post-modernity is about looking back at that awkward moment when I tried to encounter my own Being-in-the-World.
    Is there something disingenuous about that? Can authenticity and irony ever be reconciled? Is it really important?

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Open-eyed

Sometimes there’s a moment when
A rabbit ventures, for the first time, from the warren;
It sees the world for the first time in light,
Taking in the everything that now manifests itself
In the bright and unclouded future.
That was me.

I remember the first time I marveled at a bird
Sitting on the stump of a tree in the woods.
I remember my eye meeting hers and being
Entranced by such humble magnificence.
Little over a minute ago that eye had seen
Sights that earth-bound men could only dream.
To me that sparrow was a seraph from somewhere else,
A messenger of God making contact with me.

Dreams come to an end,
And those first feelings of magic fade away to shadows
Of another life, leaving only the misted memory
Of a sparrow on a stump.
But moments like that do not die;
They remain the living essence of that child in the woods
Open-eyed.