The Hippopotamus Song + Living in the Present | Jamey Ice

Recently I watched a movie called Train Dreams.

If you haven’t seen it, stop what you’re doing and watch it. It’s quiet & hauntingly beautiful in the best way.

There’s a moment where the narrator reflects on the main character’s life with his wife and daughter. He says, “The man didn’t know it at the time… but these were the happiest days of his life.”

The rest of the film follows him after everything changes. Living with loss. Missing what he had. Never realizing how magic it was until it was gone.

That scene won’t leave me alone.

Because I spend most of my time thinking about what’s next.

Next project. Next goal. Next trip. Next milestone.

I wake up thinking about getting the kids to school. At drop-off, I’m already thinking about work. At work, I’m thinking about getting home. At home, I’m thinking about bed.

During the week, I’m looking toward the weekend. On the weekend, I’m already planning what’s next.

It’s exhausting…

This morning was chaos.

We’re perpetually late. Like, it’s our thing. We just own it at this point.

I’m hustling the girls out the door, stressed about the time, and they randomly start belting out “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

Full volume. Full commitment. Completely untimely.

My gut reaction was to shut it down. “Girls, we gotta go. We’re already late.”

But I stopped.

And just… listened.

Their little off-key voices. The randomness of it.

It was beautiful.

And I almost missed it.

Almost prioritized being on time over being present.

Most people live in one of two places: the past or the future.

Never the present.

If you live in the past, you’re constantly replaying conversations, rethinking decisions. Sometimes it’s the good stuff you wish you could relive. More often it’s the hard stuff you can’t let go of. The regret. The shame. The “what ifs.”

You’re not here. You’re back there.

If you live in the future, you’re always onto the next thing. Not because you think it’ll make you happy. Just because that’s how you’re wired.

Micro desires. Let’s go. What’s next.

That’s me. Always building. Always moving. Always next.

But here’s the problem: you can’t experience joy in either place.

Joy doesn’t live in the past or the future.

It lives right here.

Gratitude happens in the present. Peace happens in the present.

Desire is the enemy of presence.

And I’m apparently wired for desire.

We think life is building toward a peak.

But look at someone who’s 80. That’s clearly not the peak.

So when is it? 60? 70? When the kids are grown?

No.

Your peak is probably right now.

This chaotic, messy, exhausting season you’re in.

The best moments of your life are happening in real time.

And I’m often too busy to notice.

If you could walk through a museum of your past life, which rooms would you actually stop in?

Probably not the day you hit that goal.

You’d stop at the random Tuesday.

When your kid said something that made you laugh.

The moment you almost told them to be quiet because you were running late.

We don’t treat those Tuesdays like museum pieces.

We treat them like obstacles between us and Friday.

I’m generally so focused on getting somewhere that I miss being somewhere.

But I’m trying.

Trying to notice what’s already here.

The hippopotamus song that’s untimely and perfect and fleeting.

The moment that’s happening right now.

That’s where joy actually lives.