Living the Last Best Moment – A Stoic Practice
Greta Gerwig once said in an interview, “You don’t know when the last time something happening is. You don’t know what the last great day you’ll spend with your best friend is. You’ll just know when you’ve never had that day again.” That line caught me. It has stayed with me through quiet drives and ordinary afternoons. It reminded me of the sweetness and fragility of what we often miss in the rush of daily life.
The Stoics knew this. Marcus Aurelius writes often about the brevity of time and the urgency of using the day before us. Seneca told us that “Life is long, if you know how to use it.” They are not asking us to brood on the end, but to meet each hour with both attention and care. To live in the present moment is not an abstract idea for them. It is the very stuff of life.
I think of Jim, a friend from my college years. One Christmas break, I stopped in Lenoir on my way home from Boone. We had lunch and then spent an afternoon at his parents’ house shooting pool. The conversation was easy, the laughter natural, the warmth unmistakable. It never occurred to me that we would drift apart after college, as people sometimes do. I still remember the warmth in that room, the way the hours stretched without hurry. What makes it a “last great day” is not that anything dramatic happened. It is that the day itself was complete, whole in its ordinariness.
Another memory comes from a fall day at Moss Lake with my friend Mike. We were playing golf. The course was empty, the sky was clear, and the trees were already beginning to show color. We paused on a high green overlooking the water. I remember saying aloud that it was a beautiful day. Mike walked over, put his arm around my shoulder, and we stood together, taking it in. It was just a few minutes, but it has lived in me for decades. We have spoken from time to time, but life pulled us apart for a while. We’ve recently reconnected, but that day remains a strong reminder of great days. It reminds me that presence is not a luxury. It is how we honor the people and moments that may never come again.
The Stoic practice of attention to the present moment is easy to dismiss as simple. It is anything but. Seneca warned that we guard our money carefully but spend our time as if it were limitless. Marcus told himself to focus on what is in front of him and not be carried away by worries of tomorrow. Epictetus urged his students to make a distinction between what is within their control and what is not, and to keep their minds focused on where their efforts could be effective. These are not lofty abstractions. They are reminders to live, not later, but now.
Modern voices echo the same truth. Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, “The present moment is filled with joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it.” The line is simple, but it asks for practice. Joy is not always loud. Sometimes it is in the way fog softens the outlines of a mountain town. Sometimes it is in the sound of cards being shuffled on a Sunday afternoon with friends. If I do not pay attention, it slips past me. If I do, it becomes a treasure.
Joan Didion put it in sharper terms: “Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” She meant it. The ground shifts when you least expect it. What appears to be a quiet afternoon can suddenly become a moment when everything changes. That is not cause for fear. It is reason to wake up. To sit across from a friend at lunch and notice their face. To hear the sound of their voice without distraction. Because we do not know when that ordinary instant will become the last.
The philosopher Charles Taylor helps explain why this practice matters beyond memory or pleasure. “To know who I am is a species of knowing where I stand.” Presence is not only about savoring moments; it’s also about embracing them. It is how we live in line with what we claim to value. If I say friendship matters, my attention during that round of golf is the proof. If I say justice matters, my attention to the person in front of me is the proof. Identity is not theory. It is presence made visible in time.
Other modern teachers say the same in different keys. Eckhart Tolle tells us to “Make the Now the primary focus of your life.” Jack Kerouac throws out his ragged blessing: “Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry.” These are not calls to recklessness. They serve as reminders to stop waiting for a perfect future that will never arrive. To give ourselves fully to the imperfect present we have.
For the Stoics, attention is not simply about noticing. It is also about responsibility. To attend to the present is to meet it with virtue. Wisdom asks us to see things as they are. Courage asks us to face them without flinching. Justice asks us to treat others with fairness. Temperance asks us to hold steady, neither wasting nor hoarding the day. These virtues are not theories stored away in books. They are lived in the choices we make this hour, and then the next.
When I think of Jim and Mike, I do not only feel loss. I feel gratitude. Those days shine brighter in memory because they were lived fully at the time, whether I knew it or not. That is the gift attention offers us. It turns ordinary afternoons into “last best moments,” even if we do not realize it until later.
Gerwig’s words circle back here. We never know when the last great day with a friend has come. The only way to honor that truth is to treat each day as if it could be. That does not mean chasing spectacle or forcing meaning. It means being present enough that, should this be the last, it will have been lived. The laughter will be remembered. The view over the lake will stay. The warmth of friendship will not fade.
Thich Nhat Hanh was right. The present moment is already filled with joy. Our task is to notice. Seneca was right. Time is precious. Our task is to use it. Marcus was right. This hour is the one we have. Our task is to live it with attention. And if we do, even the smallest moments may turn out to have been the last great day. Or better still, the last best moment.
