There’s a quiet power in what you’re pointing to—that when we’re actually in our lives, the ordinary stops being ordinary. It becomes real. And that realness isn’t always peaceful or pretty. Sometimes it’s painful, sometimes absurd, but it’s honest. That honesty is the thread that connects beauty and sorrow, joy and discomfort, all in the same breath.
I’ve noticed that what prevents people from showing up fully isn’t a lack of capacity—it’s the habit of protecting themselves from the rawness of being alive. We think presence should feel good. But real presence doesn’t promise ease. It promises contact. And once we’re in contact, even the most basic moment—laundry, subways, grief—has the potential to shift everything.
Thanks for this. It’s a reminder not just to look closer, but to actually arrive in what we’re already living.
My wife presented me with a shishkabob of pineapple and cherries on a fork this morning. A few pieces of fruit never tasted so good. I savored every morsel along with the love with which it was offered.
I once spent an afternoon in bed watching the shifting shadows of the sun on a rhododendron. I couldn't get out of bed and was overwhelmed but when I stopped fighting the experience I found remarkable beauty right in front of me.
There are days when I can just tell I'm not full engaged with what I'm actually doing. I'm in some sort of empty headed flurry of activity, that appears to have something else, something hugely important to do, if only I could get all these ordinary mundane tasks out of the way. There is, however, never some important thing waiting to be done.
I ran a shop once. and there were days when I felt like I had just too much to do, and got regularly overwhelmed by the immensity of my task list. Until I broke it all down ,prioritised it, and just did whatever came first on the list. But I was no longer constant thinking about anything else. I just did that one task. It was a hugely more enjoyable, satisfying and actually a more effective way of working. Essentially I was just learning how to stay more present when I was confronted with a seemingly thousand foot high cliff.
There’s a quiet power in what you’re pointing to—that when we’re actually in our lives, the ordinary stops being ordinary. It becomes real. And that realness isn’t always peaceful or pretty. Sometimes it’s painful, sometimes absurd, but it’s honest. That honesty is the thread that connects beauty and sorrow, joy and discomfort, all in the same breath.
I’ve noticed that what prevents people from showing up fully isn’t a lack of capacity—it’s the habit of protecting themselves from the rawness of being alive. We think presence should feel good. But real presence doesn’t promise ease. It promises contact. And once we’re in contact, even the most basic moment—laundry, subways, grief—has the potential to shift everything.
Thanks for this. It’s a reminder not just to look closer, but to actually arrive in what we’re already living.
My wife presented me with a shishkabob of pineapple and cherries on a fork this morning. A few pieces of fruit never tasted so good. I savored every morsel along with the love with which it was offered.
I once spent an afternoon in bed watching the shifting shadows of the sun on a rhododendron. I couldn't get out of bed and was overwhelmed but when I stopped fighting the experience I found remarkable beauty right in front of me.
There are days when I can just tell I'm not full engaged with what I'm actually doing. I'm in some sort of empty headed flurry of activity, that appears to have something else, something hugely important to do, if only I could get all these ordinary mundane tasks out of the way. There is, however, never some important thing waiting to be done.
I ran a shop once. and there were days when I felt like I had just too much to do, and got regularly overwhelmed by the immensity of my task list. Until I broke it all down ,prioritised it, and just did whatever came first on the list. But I was no longer constant thinking about anything else. I just did that one task. It was a hugely more enjoyable, satisfying and actually a more effective way of working. Essentially I was just learning how to stay more present when I was confronted with a seemingly thousand foot high cliff.