There was a moment this past weekend where I reverted back to some old ways. Something someone said caught me in a way that triggered a particular feeling. Rather than address the situation, I let myself get caught up in it and decided not to let it go any further. We headed back to the campsite as our retreat.
As I drove back, there was a thought festering in my head that I couldn’t shake. I was no longer present. I was stuck in the recent past, dwelling on one tiny piece of information instead of looking at the whole story.
Once we got back to the campsite, I was sitting next to the fire, still brewing about the afternoon’s debacle, when my girlfriend reached across and put her open palm on my chest.
“Take a breath.”
She had me breathe in and out a few times, then asked, “What is it that you’re stuck on?”
If you’re an Avengers fan, this was like Black Widow being able to calm the Hulk. With a simple touch and a few words, she was able to bring me away from the confusion and anger and back to reality. Within moments, I was able to articulate what I was feeling and talk through the situation without all of the anger and confusion that had been swirling around in my head. I could still recognize that some of those emotions are tied to things I’m continuing to work through, but I wasn’t letting them control the moment.
I was there. Not in the conversation from earlier that afternoon. Not thinking about what had been said or what might happen next. I was sitting next to a campfire with someone I care about.
I was there, then, and only there, and only then.
Photography has taught me something about this, too. A good photographer has to know how to be present while taking the shot. You can be technically prepared, have the right equipment, know your settings, and still miss the moment because you’re not paying attention. I’ve had several of those moments in my life, but one of my favorites is a photograph of my father, Gary.
We were on a trip to Sparks, Nevada. I had just gotten home from staying out all night watching some high roller bet and win more than $50,000 playing Blackjack. I was exhausted, and my dad could see it. He started acting like a complete goofball because he was trying to make me laugh. He was a pain in my ass, but I still miss him dearly. He passed in 2010.
I’m glad I was paying attention. I’m even more glad I had a camera in my hand. That photograph is sitting somewhere in my mental cloud now. I don’t have to remember exactly what was happening around us that day. I have that moment.
I was there.
My life has often felt like having 47 browser tabs open at the same time.
- “Did I remember to do that thing?”
- “I should probably be doing this.”
- “What happens if…?”
- “Maybe I should…”
Switching to nerd voice here, which is not derogatory because I am, in fact, a nerd/jock hybrid: that is basically 100 percent of my brain divided between 47 different things. Never fully present in any of them.
And then, every once in a while, they all close.
That’s what happened sitting next to that fire. For a few minutes, there was nothing to solve. Nothing to anticipate. Nothing I needed to fix. There was a fire, a conversation, and someone sitting next to me who cared enough to notice that I wasn’t really there.
I’m starting to think that’s something worth practicing.
Not because I need to become some enlightened person who spends every waking moment appreciating the present. I’m still me, and I’m pretty sure those 47 tabs are going to keep reopening.
But maybe I don’t have to click on all of them. Maybe sometimes I can leave them alone and pay attention to what’s actually happening.
The person sitting across from me.
The drive.
The fire.
The photograph.
The stupid joke. (mine of course!)
The sunset.
Whatever happens to be in front of me at that moment. Because eventually, those moments become the memories we keep. And I would rather be there when they happen.
I was there, then, and only there, and only then.