On Presence

Walking around aimlessly, doing things without great care and attention. If suddenly asked, I’m not sure what I need today. Maybe quiet. There are plenty of small tasks I could be doing, but my mind keeps getting a bit fuzzy and drifts off. No spark to be had, no sudden surge of inspiration, which is my preference. I go through the motions, and then, something momentarily stirs in me, and I remember to look for wonder: the true leaves emerging from my seedlings, dew drops that when reflected by the golden sun, give the impression of a grassy sea of twinkle lights. What is more abundant and beautiful than light? I ponder this, and I feel a tender warmth in my heart, before I move on to the next undertaking of the day.

Before I really understood what presence meant, I spent most of my time rushing and wishing my way through life, just trying to get to the next place, the next big thing, the next phase. Never ‘here’, always ‘there’ in my mind, imagining and fantasizing about what might come next. Always wondering what I might be missing out on and trying to figure out how to make it to that mystical daydream place called ‘arrival’.

For years as a teenager and young adult, it would go like this: after Christmas, I would look depressingly toward the winter months ahead and at the impossibly long trudge through March. Spring was full of anticipation, yet never warm enough to fully enjoy. I had my sights set on summer, where magic would surely fill the air, and all of the dreams dreamt on cold nights would finally come true. With such high expectations placed on external circumstances, I always came up short. Always disappointed. The dreams never fully realized as I spent all my mental energy trying to force what wasn’t and was not meant to be. Soon enough the days would grow darker, the air chillier, and the sadness swept in again on a cold mid-autumn breeze, where I’d begin the cycle all over again.

I’d like to say I realized the error of my ways by the time I reached motherhood, but it took me many, many years to learn that being present was not equivalent to experiencing a feel good, cure-all. Becoming a mother made it very accessible to get stuck in the past like quicksand, where the nostalgia of last month would take me under and make me feel like nothing would ever be the same or that good again. One of those feelings, the truth that nothing will ever be the same as it was, had always been a bitter pill for me to swallow. I had practiced meditation and mindfulness for years, but on my own terms. I still resisted this truth of what is. I still attempted the mental gymnastics of denying the hard truths about myself, about others, and about certain dynamics and situations. I preferred presence and truth when it was draped in bliss, like in the yoga studio or out in some picturesque, Walden-like natural setting.

I wasn’t yet well versed in how to practice leaning into what is with acceptance in the moment. When I attempted to be present in the daily grind of life, I became irritated with myself for not appreciating it all. That is not how to do presence. That is an attempt at unnaturally forced gratitude. The type of acceptance and surrender I advocate for now is not necessarily of the pessimistic flavor either. It’s not a giving up. It’s simply being, with the absence of the mental struggle to try and change or deny what is, in this moment. I think of it as a cessation of additional self-imposed anguish. It’s not bypassing pain or gaslighting yourself, rather quite the opposite. It’s sitting in the truth of your pain. With this truth and acceptance, I can more easily put myself in the position to make authentic choices in my life and take action with integrity.

To be present was never meant to imply forced enjoyment and gratitude. It simply encourages us to be open and honest with great care. This is done by bestowing the gift of compassion to ourselves. Self-compassion eases pressure and lifts pain. Self-compassion is recognition of worth. It offers love and understanding in the moment. It offers acceptance. It cultivates a trustworthy relationship with self. I can choose to berate myself and situations all day, or I can offer myself and my circumstances the same quality of unconditional love I offer my babies while I’m really going through the shit. Presence is truth, but it doesn’t have to be unkind.

These days, when something in me feels blocked and stagnant, when a situation is turning out a way I hadn’t anticipated and don’t like, when the gloom of the outdoors mirrors the blue feeling within me, I try to remind myself to let go a little. To stop trying to fight against the harsh reality of life’s winters and to stop attempting to keep swimming against the current of the day. Giving up just a little of that tension makes some space for awareness to slip in. Presence is acknowledging my truth in the moment and then being honest about what I do and do not need. Not on the grand scale, but in the right now, which might be as simple as taking an intentional, deep breath and long sigh. It’s amazing how long we can go about our day taking the most shallow of breaths, not realizing how we’re continuously putting ourselves on the edge.

And for transparency, I really loathe these uncomfortable and emotionally labile days. I can have a fit over them with the best of ‘em. I’m also experienced enough to know that they don’t last. As much as it still pains me at times, I’ve accepted that nothing does stay the same. It’s just not the nature of our existence. But there’s joy to be found. I know that familiar spark is waiting for me, that I will wake up happy or inspired again, that circumstances will evolve. I don’t like to feel sad or lost. I don’t enjoy my grief-filled days, but I know that they serve a purpose and that they pass (and if they don’t, well that’s another story and it requires bigger action). I have the option of spending my time wishing frustration and pain away and denying it altogether, staying in an exhausting mental loop, or I can practice presence, knowing that nothing is permanent, and “the only constant is change”. I will almost certainly look back on this moment with the nostalgic feeling I hold for earlier times. I get to choose not to push aside the emotions the past brings up. I get to acknowledge them, give them a gentle squeeze and let them recede again like the tide.

We collectively tend to avoid presence by picking up our devices more times than we care to admit. We rationalize that it’s keeping us connected, but I would argue it takes us further away from our own reality, too busy getting lost in everyone else’s. People are driven to be present with what’s happening out there and less so about what’s happening in here. It sometimes feels easier to project our pain and disappointment onto the people and places outside of us, instead of being honest with what’s happening in our own corner and making changes in our personal lives.

I actually bought an app that limits my social media consumption. Giving it up completely wasn’t working, and trusting myself to keep from mindlessly scrolling during an afternoon lull wasn’t working either. This app actually creates obstacles to logging in by instructing me to pause to breathe iiiinnnn and breathe ouuuut. Then a quote about presence or distraction appears one….word….at….a….time. And finally, I am asked if I’d still like to use the social media app, at which point I am only given a few options for the length of time I’d like to be on it. After a one minute warning, it kicks me off the app. And if I’m really hell-bent on getting back on, I have to go through the process all over again. Needless to say, it creates many opportunities to pull my focus inward, and it also manufactures a pain in the ass scenario that I’d rather avoid, so it’s been highly effective in limiting my screentime there. I’m not above playing tricks on myself to get more present in my life.

So, where was I? Ah, yes. These past few years, I’ve learned to open my heart to winter. I graciously catch the strengthening sunbeams of April on my face, and I know some of the most magical summer memories are created without a list of expectations in mind. I’m always remembering to breathe and loosen up, to notice what brings me into a sense of wonder and momentary peace, and to dissuade my ego from taking inconveniences so personally. When I look at what’s in front of me with the eyes of seeing something for the last time, the gratitude does naturally come rushing into every cell. Another trick maybe, but not forced. Try taking a walk in the woods with the notion of never seeing these particular trees and paths again. Imagine that you’ll be saying goodbye to them forever. There’s a reverence for what you take in with this practice that’s not always accessible when we’re just mindlessly going about our business. These practices have a potential for bringing up repressed sadness or grief. You’re welcome. But sincerely, when we allow these feelings to come up and out, we allow ourselves the gift of letting old wounds heal in the light of day, and we thank whoever/whatever it is we thank for this chance to be alive.

I will leave you with a couple of quotes this new Clearspace app has given me:

 -I tried to live, but I got distracted.

 -A wealth of information creates a poverty of attention.

-There are books to be read; landscapes to be walked; friends to be with; life to be fully lived.

And a personal favorite:

 -That’s life: starting over, one breath at a time – Sharon Salzberg

Sharon is a wonderful Buddhist meditation teacher and author, and I recommend any and all of her books and podcast interviews.

So, I’d like to know; what is your relationship with presence like? How would you define “presence” and how has it evolved over the years?