I have traveled to beautiful places and caught myself thinking about where I wanted to go next.
I have sat at dinner with people I love while part of my attention was somewhere inside my phone. I have finished one project and almost immediately begun planning another without taking much time to enjoy what had just been accomplished. There have even been mornings when I woke up already thinking about the evening, and evenings when my mind was preparing for tomorrow.
None of this felt unusual at the time.
It felt like life.
There was always something ahead to prepare for, something behind me to think about, and something happening somewhere else that seemed worthy of my attention.
Then, at some point, an uncomfortable thought occurred to me.
What if I spent so much time thinking about my life that I forgot to actually live it?
The Place We Rarely Stay
The mind seems to have difficulty remaining where the body is.
The body sits at breakfast while the mind is already at work.
The body lies in bed while the mind returns to a conversation from yesterday.
The body walks through a beautiful afternoon while the mind rehearses something that may happen next week.
We call this thinking, planning, remembering, worrying, imagining. All of these abilities are useful. Memory allows us to learn. Planning allows us to prepare. Imagination allows us to create.
The problem begins when yesterday and tomorrow occupy so much of our attention that there is almost nothing left for today.
I’ve begun to wonder how much of our suffering comes from living in times that do not currently exist.
The past existed.
The future may exist.
But neither is where we are breathing.
Waiting for Life to Begin
There was another habit I had to notice in myself.
I kept postponing life.
I’ll relax when this project is finished.
I’ll spend more time with people I love when things become less busy.
I’ll take better care of myself when my schedule settles down.
I’ll feel peaceful when this problem is resolved.
There was always a condition.
Then the condition would be met, and another one would quietly take its place.
Life was forever about to begin.
I think many of us live this way without realizing it. We treat the present like a waiting room for the future we actually want.
But years are made from ordinary Tuesdays.
A lifetime is made from breakfasts, commutes, conversations, showers, errands, walks, arguments, laughter, and thousands of moments that seemed too ordinary to notice while they were happening.
This is the life.
There isn’t another one waiting behind it.
Presence Is Not Constant Happiness
Being present doesn’t mean enjoying every moment.
Some moments hurt.
Some are boring.
Some are confusing.
There are hospital rooms, difficult conversations, lonely evenings, delayed trains, deadlines, and days when we would rather be almost anywhere else.
Presence asks for something more honest than happiness.
It asks us to be here.
If sadness is here, can I acknowledge sadness?
If joy is here, can I receive joy without immediately wondering how long it will last?
If nothing remarkable is happening, can I allow an ordinary moment to be enough?
The present moment doesn’t promise to be pleasant.
It simply promises to be real.
Where Healing Happens
This has changed the way I think about healing.
We often imagine healing somewhere in the future.
One day I’ll be healed.
One day I’ll understand.
One day I’ll finally let go.
But every act of healing happens now.
The apology is spoken now.
The boundary is set now.
The breath is taken now.
The tears are felt now.
The decision to rest happens now.
Even when we heal something from the past, the healing itself takes place in the present.
There is nowhere else it could happen.
The Heart Sutra Brings Us Back
The Heart Sutra keeps loosening the things we cling to: fixed identity, certainty, permanence, attainment. Eventually, there is less for the mind to hold.
And perhaps that is when we begin noticing what has been underneath all that grasping.
This moment.
Not an extraordinary spiritual state.
Just this.
The sound in the room.
The sensation of breathing.
The person sitting across from us.
The ordinary miracle of being alive and knowing that we are alive.
We spend so much time searching for profound experiences that we can overlook the profundity of having an experience at all.
This Week’s Practice
Choose one ordinary thing you do every day.
Drink your morning coffee.
Take a shower.
Walk to the subway.
Eat dinner.
For just a few minutes, do only that.
Don’t try to make the moment spiritual.
Don’t try to become peaceful.
Simply be where your body already is.
Notice what you see.
Notice what you hear.
Notice what you feel.
Then remind yourself:
I am here.
Someday, many of the ordinary moments we barely notice today will become memories.
Perhaps becoming your own healer includes learning to inhabit them before they do.