PRESENCE

I've spent a lot of my life somewhere else.

Not physically.

I was there.

At dinner. On vacation. Sitting with my family. Driving home. Talking to a friend.

But part of me was usually somewhere else.

Thinking about tomorrow.

Replaying yesterday.

Solving a problem.

Planning the next thing.

Wondering what could go wrong.

I've always been good at looking ahead.

It helped me build things. Lead people. Solve problems. Prepare for what was coming.

For a long time, I considered that a strength.

And it is.

Until you can't turn it off.

Because eventually you realize something uncomfortable.

You can spend so much time preparing for your life that you forget to actually live it.

I think I did that more than I realized.

There was always something next.

The next project.

The next problem.

The next goal.

The next season when things would finally calm down.

I'll enjoy things more when this is finished.

I'll relax when that gets resolved.

I'll be present when life isn't quite so busy.

But life never really does that.

Something always replaces the thing you just finished worrying about.

And somewhere along the way, I started realizing that many of the moments I would give almost anything to experience again were moments I barely noticed when they were happening.

Ordinary moments.

A house full of kids.

Someone laughing in another room.

A drive somewhere.

Dinner around a table.

A song playing in the car.

A conversation that didn't seem particularly important at the time.

Nothing I would have thought to call meaningful.

Just life.

And now some of those moments are gone.

The kids grow up.

People move.

Relationships change.

People we love leave us.

Houses get quiet.

And suddenly an ordinary Tuesday from twenty years ago doesn't seem very ordinary anymore.

That's changed the way I think about presence.

I used to think being present meant slowing down.

Meditating.

Putting your phone away.

Watching a sunset.

And sure, maybe it's some of those things.

But I think it's simpler than that.

Presence is noticing your life while you're still living it.

That's it.

It doesn't mean every moment has to become profound.

Actually, I think that's another trap.

Sometimes going to the zoo is just going to the zoo.

You don't need to learn anything.

You don't need to take the perfect picture.

You don't need to turn it into a memory while it's still happening.

You can just be there.

Laugh.

Eat something overpriced.

Watch the animals.

Go home.

That's enough.

I'm learning that not everything needs to become something.

A conversation doesn't always need an outcome.

A hobby doesn't need to become a business.

Rest doesn't have to make you more productive.

And an ordinary day doesn't need to be extraordinary to be valuable.

Sometimes the best thing you can do with a moment is leave it alone.

Just experience it.

Because this is the part I missed for a long time:

This is it.

This morning.

This drive.

This dinner.

This person sitting across from you.

This completely unremarkable Wednesday night.

This is your life.

Not the thing you're working toward.

Not the version that begins when everything finally gets figured out.

This one.

Right now.

I'm still learning how to live that way.

I still get ahead of myself.

I still replay things that are already over.

I still occasionally experience tomorrow before tomorrow has even had the chance to arrive.

But I notice it now.

And sometimes I can come back.

Back to the room.

Back to the person.

Back to the music.

Back to wherever my feet happen to be.

Maybe that's all presence really is.

Coming back.

Again and again.

Because life is going to move quickly whether we pay attention to it or not.

I'd rather be here for it.