One of the things that most amuses me is people’s desire to escape the moment they find themselves in. Earlier today, I was in the car with my parents. We had no real plans, only an hour’s journey home, then an afternoon spent relaxing.

Following a closure on the M25, the traffic crawled through a series of sleepy villages. My mum was driving – mostly calm, aside from brief spikes of frustration at the snail’s pace of the roads.

The sun was shining, and the three of us were safe and well. I couldn’t help but laugh and ask, admittedly annoyingly, “But where else is there to be?”

Like it or not, the traffic was slow, and we were stuck in it. The moment was passing, whether we were truly there for it or not.

Rather than dwelling on the past – “I knew we should have checked Maps before we left” – or bemoaning the future – “we’re going to be back an hour and a half later than we thought we would” – I believe wisdom lies in not wishing a moment away.

There have been times when life has been challenging, and sometimes consistently unpleasant. At such points, I can recall the vehemence with which I wished away the present moment. That impulse—to escape—is as present in a simple delay as it is in deep emotional turmoil.

But lately, life has been good, and I’ve noticed an equally powerful urge—not to push the present away, but to cling to it with everything I have.

When something feels good, we want to hold on so tightly that it could never slip away. This clinging – and its inverse, the fleeing from the unpleasant – might just be our most basic human impulse.

Often after work over the past six weeks, my dear friend Brendan has dropped me off at the bus stop. But during each 400 metre trip, we were laughing so much, so lost in the joy of it, that I felt a strong resistance against letting it end.

Time, moments, life, and people are all slipping by. I want so desperately to hold onto them, to bottle them up, to freeze them in a perfectly framed still. But that’s not how this works. Experience slips through our fingers—lost, like tears in rain.

In meditation, there is often pressure placed on people to reside in the present moment.

 The logic goes that if you’re thinking about the past, you’re lost in trying to engage with something that cannot be changed. If you’re thinking about the future, you’re lost as you’re imagining circumstances that will almost invariably never pan out as you imagine they will.

There are, however, problems with this glorification of the now.

First, in fixating on our presence in the present, we ironically are adding thought to what is. We add more layers of conditioning on the pristine nature of reality, thus clouding our vision instead of clarifying it.

Second, it is difficult – perhaps even impossible – to pinpoint where the present is. As soon as it arises, it has passed, meaning we only are experiencing what has already happened. In other words, where is now?

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, in clinging to the present is just another attempt to control what cannot be controlled. It is always slipping away. Seeking to clasp it is like Sisyphus trying to push his boulder to the mountain’s top. We will invariably end up disappointed.

Instead, we must relax, and allow ourselves to sink into the moment. If reality were a sofa, we should sink deeper into it, rather than attempt to hold the entire thing in our arms.

Many meditation teachers have spoken beautifully on this.

Jack Kornfield talks about how we must loosen our grip on the present in the same we must release the past and future. Sam Harris’ version advocates merely being cognisant of what is arisingin our open fields of consciousness.

Slightly differently, Henry Shukman uses the language “this” in place of “the present”. Whatever this is, just reside within it. I like this.

If I could live forever, or at least a very long time, I would. There are an infinite number of good books to read, people to love, and facets of beauty to reside in. But mortality dictates otherwise.

There are only a finite number of moments you will experience. And only you can dictate how many of them you’ll be there for.

Try not to get lost in the past, the future, or, indeed, the present. Instead reside in this.

When the traffic is slow, or the laughter is great, try not to cling.

Simply experience it for what it is. This is all there will ever be.