How to remain all here. That’s the question for this go around. This specific day on this short time I have to spend life. I got to remain present. I’m struggling with that even as I write this. I start to think about all the other things I have to do. How ima do them. What the time will look like when it’s my time to spend that time aware of it. Then guess what, when the time does come around I’m not even there. I’m somewhere else in the future that doesn’t exist yet. Why is it so hard for me to grasp the idea that what is right now is all there is. At times that idea seems so real. Like it was the truth staring us all in the face. It’s in those times that seeing that way is seamless. Why can’t I see it that way all the time. Why don’t I let myself walk freely already.
I take a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. Right now, that’s all there is—the inhale, the exhale, the feeling of air moving through me. But even as I try to anchor myself in the moment, my mind races ahead. The future tugs at me, demanding my attention, pulling me away from what’s in front of me.
I wonder if I’ve trained myself to live this way—to always be a few steps ahead of where I actually stand. To always be preparing, planning, problem-solving. It’s useful, sure, but not when it comes at the cost of experiencing life as it’s happening. I don’t want to just go through the motions, letting each day slip by without really feeling it. That’s not living. That’s just existing.
So how do I stay? How do I let myself just be here? Maybe the answer is simpler than I think. Maybe it’s not about forcing myself to stay present, but about recognizing when I’ve drifted and gently bringing myself back. Back to the breath. Back to the weight of my body in the seat. Back to the sound of my own heartbeat, steady and strong.
Because the truth is, I’ve never really left. I’m always here. It’s just my mind that gets lost, wandering through time, chasing what isn’t yet real. But now—right now—I choose to return. To let the present moment hold me. To trust that if I keep coming back, eventually, I’ll learn how to stay.
