Just last week I spent two days in the grips of anxiety thinking about how much money I'd be making three years from now. Three years! This issue that weighed heavily on my nerves was over 1000 days away, and yet, it paralyzed me. My calm, free-spirited side tried to ease my stress by urging me to "go with the flow" and by pointing out that the immense number of events that could and would transpire between Day 1 and Day 1000 were absolutely unknown and unpredictable.

"Who's to say I won't win the lottery at some point during that time?" it asked. Or get a promotion? Or switch careers? Or encounter a number of other various and distinct possibilities? But my other side--the tense, high-strung side (the one that consistently wins the battle)--countered with, "You work in publishing. A promotion isn't exactly going to get you a membership to the Millionaire's Club. You like your job too much to switch careers. And you haven't bought a lottery ticket since you were sixteen, naive, and really wanted to buy that cruise ship you had your eye on." (Note to self: Buy lottery ticket.)

The sides duked it out for a few days, and just as my laid-back side was about to go down for the count, I finally took a minute to note the whereabouts of my horse. It was, in fact, standing a few feet behind my cart. I returned the cart to its rightful position behind my horse, momentarily filed the worry away to deal with at a later date (preferably in three years), and life got back to normal.

This brief period of insanity helped me realize that my mom, as usual, was right. No matter how hard I try to let my worries about the future remain in the future, my natural tendency to overanalyze sneaks in while I'm sleeping, gently plucks the cart from my horse's rear, and places it neatly in front of my horse's nose. Take it from someone who borders on obsessive-compulsive when it comes to planning, living this way does not make life easy.

Now, one could argue that I'm just looking at all the possibilities, that I'm bracing myself for whatever it is that might come my way so that when it does (if it does), I'll be better equipped to deal with it. I've argued that point with myself on countless occasions. But the plain truth of it (and I only just surrendered to this) is that I am not simplifying my life by preparing for the endless feasibilities. Rather, I am making it more difficult. And, quite frankly, less enjoyable. Why?

Let's look at this from a metaphorical perspective. Picture a horse. The horse symbolizes movement –forward growth, progression. Now picture a cart. The cart symbolizes the driving force behind that movement (key word: behind) --memories, lessons. The cart contains the knowledge that you've gathered on your journey through this life. Within it is every moment you've experienced--every smile, every tragedy, every bit of laughter or romance or devastation.

The cart is you. That cart goes with you wherever your horse may lead it, and at every stop along the way, another parcel is loaded on–no matter how trivial or earth shattering. The cart is the reason that the horse is going somewhere. If it weren't for the cart and all its contents, the horse would simply trot around the pasture in circles, stopping only to drink from its trough.

Now let's look at this literally. If that cart is positioned in front of the horse, the horse can't move forward, because, quite simply, there is a cart in its way. Sure, the horse can move to the side or back up, but that doesn't get the horse anywhere. It isn't learning something new or going someplace never before navigated. If the cart is in front of the horse, the horse is stagnant. The horse is paralyzed, much like I was last week. The horse isn't moving because you won't allow it to.

So why does it matter? Perhaps, you say, your horse is quite content where it is at the moment. To that I say, impossible. There is nary a single human in the world who doesn't want more, who is perfectly happy with exactly what has happened in his or her life and doesn't desire even a single additional experience. I'd venture to say that even the men and women in the world that have been blessed enough to pass the century mark still say, "I wish I would have gone skydiving"--or traveled to Africa; or kissed my high school sweetheart one last time.

Because life is experience, and without it, life would be meaningless. This is not to say that I presume to know the meaning of life simply because I can recognize what might make it hollow. I am merely trying to point out the fact that when one isn't moving forward, one isn't truly living. And when we let ourselves become immobilized by worries over which we have very little, if any, control over, when we attempt to become swamis who can see into the unpredictable future, we are no longer enjoying the present and feeling its constant vigor and rhythm. We are blind to it.

I've heard the term "live in the moment" more times than I can count. It is harder to do than it seems. The brain naturally scrutinizes potential outcomes and possibilities of nearly every situation, and sometimes against our conscious will. This kind of analysis is an inevitable part of the human experience. And it's an important part. But, there's a fine line between exploring possibilities and latching on to uncertainties.

So to "live in the moment" doesn't necessarily mean to block out every thought of the future. It instead can mean to be aware of the fact that the moment, the experience, the lesson, or even the worry, is only what we make of it. We need to recognize it and use it to guide us toward the future, but we can't let it stand in the way of what might or might not be. We cannot let the cart obstruct our view. For if we do, we might not see the other endless opportunities that lie ahead. And those opportunities might, in fact, be the "golden" ones.

Since it was so recently that I stumbled upon these conclusions, I haven't yet been entirely reformed. I am not a born again free spirit. I haven't reverted back to the days of childhood when "worry" was a word that had no meaning. But I'm trying. My experience last week taught me that life is so much more pleasant when the cart is in its proper place, the horse dragging it slowly behind him, stopping now and then to sip from a stream, then continuing on its way. I can't make any promises that my cart won't, once again, travel to the front of my horse at unexpected moments. But I can vow try to keep it where it belongs and to return it there should it escape unknowingly.

Last week I was literally motionless. I remained at home for a few nights in a row, crunching numbers and charting alternative paths. And while at the time I felt I was doing the right thing, I now realize that for those three nights, I was no longer a participant in life's journey. I'd stepped off the train and was watching it go on without me. I was more concerned with the map in my hand than with the hills rolling just outside my window. 

Rather than enjoying the journey, a mistake that so many of us make, I was focused on the destination. And the journey is what we're here for. Who knows where the journey would have taken me on those few days. That, unfortunately, I'll never know. I could have been out with friends laughing over a glass of wine. I could have been curled up next to the crackling fireplace reading leisurely. Or, I could even have been somewhere where I might have stumbled upon that perfect last name. (Note to self: Refrain from buying monogrammed towels until after the wedding.)