You know this already. Countless of articles and videos and people have probably raced me into telling you this, and you’re probably sick of having to be reminded over and over again, and it’s probably tempting to close this tab when you traverse your way to the second paragraph, but in case you forget…
Be present.
I get it, I get it. We have deadlines to meet, and obstacles to overcome; papers to write, and dreams to realize; instagrams to upload, and tweets to post, lovers to love, and people to know.
But really, be present.
Hell, be in the present.
Don’t subject yourself to the possibility of one day waking up and realizing that all your memories are gleaned from hastily-taken photos. Do yourself a favour and be there. And if that means having to leave your phone at home once in a while, then go do it; because one of these days someone is going to ask you to describe a place, or an event, or the face of the person you love, and you can’t say that that place, or that event, or that person made you feel anything if you can’t even recall it from memory.
When people ask, they should witness your eyes light up when you talk about these things. When they see the corners of your eyes crinkle with mirth, or cringe with embarrassment, or your mouth turn up or down as you recall memories, then they’ll know that you were there. Don’t let them witness your eyes light up for reasons other than that, because nothing says “I wasn’t present” more than lit eyes scouring through a phone, or tablet, or laptop, mentally filtering through indiscriminately taken photos.
You probably already know this, though. (And think I’m a waste of cyberspace — when did I become such an imposing blogger?)
So here’s my added thought:
Being present means listening. It means not having a processed answer when people talk to you. You know how sometimes it feels as though people who reply to you were forming their answers even while you were talking? It sucks. It makes you feel undeserving of their time; and sometimes, there’s a part of you that wants to wave your hand in front of their faces and say, “Hey! I’m here! I exist! I don’t need a generic response! I need you to listen. To reply when you want. To not consider this a chore. To not feel obligated to come up with an answer. Mostly because I wasn’t asking a question, but also because you don’t have to. Not really. Not if you don’t want to.”
I can’t blame people, though. I mean, I think that on a deeply personal level, people are always too pressured to say something. It’s like we’re programmed to perpetually have a reply.
Unfortunately, oftentimes we forget it’s the silences, the lulls, and the in-betweens that speak volumes. Much, much more than we give them credit for.
More than that, it’s the gap between when I talk and when you reply that tells me you heard me.
And that you listened.
And when all is said and done, that’s when I’m sure you were present. In the spaces.
Of perpetual finds 