Present

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Present

Be present

For a long time I couldn’t figure out what being present in the moment was. Then I read a few detailed descriptions of what it was like to be present, and I realized I had been present for most of my life.

Yes, I think about the future. Yes, I play out scenarios in my head to get myself ready for the thing I dread, the thing I fear, the thing I want to have more control over. Yes, I dream about what could be from time to time.

Yes, I wonder if I could have said that thing a little differently. Yes, I wish I could change what happened in the past by being more prepared or by taking my time. Yes, I regret from time to time.

But most days I’m living right now, typing this tiny essay, thinking about being in the moment, feeling my fingertips on the keys and enjoying the sound of the quiet clicking, the bang, bang, bang of backspacing, the quiet pausing as I listen to the birds singing, identifying them … helmet sparrow … tufted titmouse … cardinal … bombastic blue jay … and the one I’ve been trying to capture on bird.net because I hear it but I don’t see it and I haven’t heard it before.

Thinking …

A writer is being present most of the time, but it’s complicated because it involves listening, jotting, doodling, creating scenarios and copying them down, listening to characters get away from them, copying down snippets of conversations for later, listening to restroom gossip from behind the stall door, wondering if that certain phrase once published will ruffle feathers and cause parents to stop talking to them.

All this while being present.

It’s a great present to be present.

 

_RHTM_