The Measure of a Moment

I have been thinking a lot about “moments” lately… those fragments of time that stitch together the fabric of our lives. Minutes, hours, days… all strung up like beads on a necklace. We live them, laugh them, take pictures of them, and then rush headlong into the next. Blink, and you realise entire chapters have slipped through your fingers.

Life has a way of keeping us in constant motion. Especially when you’re raising children… there are never enough hours in a day, no pause button, no “time out” corner for the parent. Multi-tasking isn’t optional, it’s survival. And yet, every so often, there are those moments… maybe lying on a bed tangled in cuddles, giggles, and half-spoken stories. It’s in those pauses that you suddenly see the real beauty and depth… the reason why even the chaotic, not so great moments matter too.

Not all moments are easy. Some punch you in the gut. A little while ago I was quite upset by something my son did, a poor choice he made. But he owned up to it. Before I even confronted him, he came forward. That little act of accountability… that courage to admit fault, meant more than the mistake itself. And it reminded me how crucial it is, as parents, to nurture those sparks of conscience. The world is harsh, brutal even. Too many kids fall through the cracks, even in homes where money flows freely. Stability isn’t built on bank balances, it’s built on connection.

That truth came into focus again when I stumbled across an old photo I took of a girl I once saw performing at a restaurant in Cape Town. She couldn’t have been more than a mature teenager… shy, awkward, the kind of kid you would never expect to find performing in front of an audience. And yet there she was, guitar in hand, voice trembling but filled with such raw emotion that the whole space silenced. After her set, she quietly mentioned she had an album for sale. I bought one. Not only because I loved her sound, but because I sensed she needed to know she mattered.

I think it was just a few weeks after that Sunday afternoon, I heard on the news that she had taken her own life. She drowned herself in a water tank at her parents’ home. The weight of that story still sits with me. I couldn’t stop asking myself… how many unbearable moments had she endured before she ran out of hope completely? How much pain does a soul have to carry before choosing to opt out entirely?

It rattled me. Still does. And it made me fiercely protective of the responsibility I hold as a parent. My son never asked to be here… but he is here. And it’s on me to ensure that his journey adds to him rather than strips him bare. That doesn’t mean protecting him from every mistake, but guiding him through them.

I sometimes look back at my own younger years with equal parts disbelief and gratitude. I had my fair share of “moments”, and let’s just say, my son’s halo shines brighter than mine ever did. Perhaps your own missteps through live prepare you to carry someone else through theirs. The design is maddening and marvellous all at once, sculpting us through struggle into something sturdier, something ready for the next test.

The longer I live, the more I see life as a collection of moments… fleeting, fragile, often disguised as ordinary. Some feel like train wrecks, others like heaven in a teacup, but each one matters. A kindergarten teacher once told me, “Pick your battles, or you’ll spend your whole life fighting.” She wasn’t right about everything, but that line stuck. Not every hill is worth dying on. But every moment, whether hard, hilarious, painful or pure joy, is worth noticing.

When you look back one day, that’s all you will find. Not the big events, not the flawless Instagram feeds, not the things you bought or the titles you earned. Just moments. Thousands of them. Millions, if you’re lucky.

“Gold when first struck is crowded with ‘dirt’, uncertain, might not be flashy enough to be noticed. However, if you are alert in your senses, you’d see that little glitter; if you’re persistent enough, it’ll be polished to be one of the finest ‘possessions’ you could ever acquire. The beauty about gold, though, is that in all states from uncertainty to conviction, it never for once gives up its lustre. We’re sometimes too hasty and ‘fly searching’ that we miss the little uncertain glitters that sparkle in the corners of our eyes. In such rare moments, stop for a while, and hold on to it with the best grip you could muster.” - Ufuoma Apoki