Tag: Present Moment

It’s 2026 and We’re Safe

(Title image: Photo by BoliviaInteligente on Unsplash)

Not going to lie, the world may seem like an unstable place. While I am happy to say that I remain cancer-free, I am facing some unexpected threats that could drastically shift my everyday life. And I know that there are readers out there with similar experiences.

Therefore, this is a great time to remind ourselves of one calming truth: at this very moment, as you are reading this post, you are safe.

You might not feel safe. There may be news you’ve received that threatens your safety. There might be thoughts in your head that make you feel unsafe. But the reality is that you are safe…right now. And…right now.

At these finite points in time, as we notice them.

Here, where you are in this moment, is safe…even when your brain says otherwise.
(Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Unsplash)

What do I mean by safe? For me personally, “I am safe” has to do with the calm reality of the present moment as contrasted with past traumas and future fears. Where you are right now, even if you don’t “feel” safe, is physically safe.

Obviously, your mileage may vary, and if you’re currently falling off a cliff then you can claim that you are not safe. But 99.999999999% of us will not be reading a blog in mid-air.

Feel into where you are in space. Notice the weight of your body and how it makes contact with the surface on which you’re resting. Objectively, where are you? Can you hear the buzzing of kitchen appliances, the chirping of birds, the people speaking outside? Reaching outward with your senses, leave the brain noise behind.

“I am safe” works as a soothing affirmation. Pair it with diaphagmatic breaths, nice deep ones into the belly (“belly breathing”) to reinforce the action of the vagus nerve in activating the parasympathetic (“rest and digest”) nervous system.

As you do this, slow everything down. I often employ the imagery of forming a “pearl” around myself and establishing a safe zone inside. Imagine that you’re blowing a bubble that surrounds you, with a slightly frosted appearance. As it forms, you can still see what taking is place outside it, but there is space between you and the rest of the world. Gone is the “in your face” feeling of rawness.

Feeling into your body is a quick way to ground yourself in what’s happening now.
(Photo by Merri J on Unsplash)

Rub your hands together and notice the sensations in your palms. Scrunch your toes and then stretch them out.

In or out, you decide. You have the option of reaching outward with your senses, or if you prefer, bringing your attention inward into your body. Or alternate between the two. Always noticing what is happening now.

The important thing here is that I’m not suggesting that nothing bad will ever happen or that what took place in the past doesn’t matter and can’t hold sway over you. Those are rose-colored views that are unrealistic and dismissive. What I *am* saying, and again, this is how I interpret this concept, is that you can check in at any given moment and notice that you are currently not in the maws of death, even if your brain is trying to convince you that you are.

Here. Grounded in this seat. You are safe.

Happy 2026!

Advent 2025: So What Did We Learn?

(Title image: Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash)

Yesterday was officially the last Sunday of Advent 2025. Today brings me closer to the end of a difficult year. Ehhh, maybe the end of a difficult eighteen months, given that my dad passed away in July of 2024 and I’ve been dodging tough stuff since then. Change is hard and there was a lot of it.

But after all that, here we are. This reminds me of those “things will turn out okay” adages. Sure, in retrospect you can look back at the maze that you picked your way through and see the clear path. But that’s not what it looks like at the start. It’s a series of twisting turns with no guarantees that you’ll get to where you hope to be by the end, and that you won’t suffer in the process.

Ahhhh, the view from the end comes with a satisfying release of stress.
(Photo by Matt Botsford on Unsplash)

No doubt, it’s much nicer being at the end point and having the luxury of saying, “yep, I survived that.” Reminds me of my last chemo infusion or radiation treatment. The hard stuff is over and now we coast to the finish line.

With the last Sunday of Advent, I finally exhale. My thrice-hourly bells (from the Plum Village app) not only remind me to take a deep breath, they make clear that in between those breaths my breathing has been shallow. The realization that I put an imaginary checkmark beside my deep breath (like, “ok, I did my duty”) but then often return to being a spaced-out mess…hmmm, that’s quite humbling.

In the context of mindfulness, we speak of “remembering” and “being awake” to this life. I spend so much time skittering around like a caffeinated squirrel on an ice rink that it seems I need to be taken by the hand and brought back to my senses. The good news is, the present is a very calming place to be because it’s uncomplicated. You only need to deal with that singular point in time that is “right now”.

So this past Advent was a reminder to myself not to get caught up in what’s coming up, not to wallow in what I should have done differently in the past but to pay attention to where I am.

Ok, What Now?

In the interest of riding the groundswell that I’ve established, I’m going to jump on a free course from Deer Park Monastery’s website called Essential Practices of Mindful Living (https://courses.deerparkmonastery.org/c/essential-practices-of-mindful-living). After pressuring myself with time-intensive certifications over the past years, this is a pleasant change. The online course is self-paced (i.e., no rush, no stress) and teaches topics with which I’m already familiar…but I’m a believer in repetition. Practice, practice, practice

So why am I talking about it now and not on New Year’s Day, as is customary? Because I’ve learned that the best time to start strengthening a habit is now. Not at some arbitrary point in the future (like a certain holiday), but right now.

Onward!

Remembering to Do Nothing

(Title image: Photo by Ken Cheung on Unsplash)

I remembered something last night about mindfulness meditation that I’d realized I had somehow forgotten.

I don’t have to do anything when I meditate.

Not strain, nor grip, nor furrow my brow.

The only thing I need to do when I meditate is to exist, and to be aware that I am existing.

I was thankful that I remembered this because I’d been struggling with the concept of sitting and being present for the past few months. I had slipped into the belief that I needed to work at it.

But last night I asked myself, “What would it feel like if I didn’t try so hard? Or at all?”

Simply exist.
(Photo by Jeppe H. Jensen on Unsplash)

If you’ve practiced mindfulness meditation, you know that the guidance is simple and straightforward.

It goes something like this:

“Sit comfortably with a tall spine, alert but relaxed. Take a few deep breaths, stretching upward on the inhale and settling down on the exhale. Soften the muscles of your body starting from your face, moving down the neck, shoulders, torso, arms to the fingers, hips and seat, down the legs to your toes. Then allow your awareness to settle onto a focal point like the breath, tingling in the hands, the hum of an appliance or sounds of traffic in the distance.”

Does that sound familiar? There are of course numerous variations of this. You select an anchor to come back to whenever you realize that you’ve drifted away from the present moment and into the thoughts in your head.

And that’s it. It’s quite basic and yet we find ways to complicate it and make it a strenuous exercise.

You don’t necessarily have to sit, you can lie down or even stand if that works for you (or you’re practicing while queuing up for something).

There are no rules for mindfulness meditation. Yes, there are principles and/or steps to take, but no real way to do it “wrong”. The only thing that would be considered “incorrect meditation” would be going to meditate, but then spending all that time doing something else.

Last night, when I remembered that my meditation didn’t have to be a certain way and all I needed to do was simply to be and to be aware of myself being, it felt like a release. The last year has been difficult and there have been tough things that I have been required to do.

This felt like a gift, that I could rest and think, “Oh, yeah…I don’t have to do anything.” And I was so grateful for that moment.

Why do I make these things so much harder than they should be?

Cancer Took the Magic Away, Mindfulness Brought It Back

(Title image: Photo by Ethan Hoover on Unsplash)

And, no, I’m not talking about casting spells.

But I remember “life before cancer” and it felt different. There was a feeling that there was so much life left to live, so many plans still to execute.

I felt bulletproof. My own primary care doctor was impressed that I’d made it through so many years without ever having a major surgery (or any surgery, for that matter). I was looking foward to my future. My workouts were still tough and vigorous and I felt like I was going to age well.

Most importantly, life had a certain magic to it. It felt multidimensional and filled with possibilities, and even with the challenges that I’d had to face, I had hope that things would always get better.

Then I got hit by the locomotive that is cancer and everything ground to a halt. My world went gray and all those plans that I had for “the rest of my life” fell away as all my energy was focused on surviving the diagnosis, surviving chemo…and I didn’t see much past that.

For quite a while after diagnosis, I’d felt like I’d been tossed out by the side of the road.
(Photo by Sven Brandsma on Unsplash)

Emotionally, my life felt like a void. I was too afraid to even let hope in because of the fear of having it dashed to pieces.

It was like being out in the wilderness and calling for help but receiving none, not even an echo. Spiritually, it was the loneliest that I’d ever been.

I was no longer on the highway of life. I was sitting in the breakdown lane.

Forgive me if this sounds melodramatic. All my ‘anxiety chickens’ had come home to roost, so to speak. And I wasn’t handling it well.

I dragged myself around treatment like this…although about two weeks before my cancer surgery, I had started mindfulness meditation, encouraged by my radiation oncologist who suggested it as a non-pharmaceutical way of dealing with anxiety.

It was that little ‘peep’ of mindfulness that had I clung to, terrified, in the beginning, not really sure whether or not it was helping. But at least it was something warm at a point when I felt cold and abandoned.

I can honestly say that mindfulness and meditation were what gave me back the strength to persevere through tough times.
(Photo by Robin van Holst on Unsplash)

As time went on and I stubbornly refused to miss a day of meditation, that little break in the clouds became bigger. In this case, my obstinance was a blessing. Somewhere in the last almost-eight years, not even sure exactly when, something changed.

The fear and loneliness and bitterness crumbled away. Noticing how things were right now, how beautiful the world was when I chose to appreciate it, helped pull me out of the funk.

In our darkest moment we find our greatest strengths. I wish it weren’t like that, I wish there wasn’t a need to hit lowest lows in order to get the biggest spring back up. But I can say that if my life even before cancer had been easier, I would not have experienced the richness of existence as I do now.

Not everything is okay. In many ways, things are even harder and more frightening. But I can accept that and not feel bitter. My expectations have softened and I pause more often to ground myself, to notice that at this moment, I am safe.

And for this moment, I am at peace.

Rappeling Down through the Strata: A Grounding Exercise

(Title image: Photo by Outward Bound Costa Rica on Unsplash)

It’s been a very weird few weeks for me. My stress levels have been climbing, and while I can kind of, sort of point to certain anxiety-provoking events that might be responsible…there’s nothing truly significant that would elicit this type of response.

Regardless, I’ve been spending more time in the “higher strata” of myself, and I don’t mean this in a good sense. Another way of putting it is that I’m all up in my own head, bouncing around and being pummeled by all sorts of thoughts, expectations, fears, unreasonable beliefs and the like.

Oooo, there I am, stuck in my own head.
(Photo by Taylor Brandon on Unsplash)

Usually I know when this is happening, but this time I was too preoccupied with the worries of those around me that I didn’t notice myself drift up and stake a camp in the swamp of my mind.

Even my meditations tended to get stuck up there. Time to rappel down.

I get myself down this way: first by acknowledging the mess that I’m dealing with in my head, the rainstorm whipping up swirling thoughts. Not all my concerns are unreasonable, but they are pointless to get hung up on in this moment.

Next, I focus on the noise on the street outside (there is always noise on our street, but the longer I listen, the greater chance that I’ll hear a bird or other wildlife sounds). I bring my attention out to the expanse around me—getting out of the cramped space between my ears.

That’s a nice break. But I can’t ignore myself forever. So I feel into the sensations on my face: the feeling of the air (hot or cool), noticing the weight of my glasses on my nose, perhaps an itch on the scalp or cheek.

And here I go, rappeling down to a place where I can ground myself and return to the present moment.
(Photo by Ben Kitching on Unsplash)

Then I drop down to my neck and shoulders, giving them a roll as I go, and then towards my chest. Here I pause and bring focus to my breathing. Usually that results in an automatic slowing of the breath, as I notice my ribs expand and contract.

But after a brief stay I rappel down and out more quickly, into my hands and feet. Noticing how my hands feel on whatever surface they lie. And how my feet feel against the earth.

I imagine that my feet are part of the bedrock, joining the rest of the Earth’s crust. Connected and solid, forming a stable base.

And from down here, I look back up to where those clouds around my head were bringing furious rain, and they seem so far away. I’m peaceful and unruffled here on the ground. Down here is what’s really happening in the present, without being affected by the past and future. And what’s happening is just what’s happening, neither good nor bad.

Taking a deep breath, maybe a yawn, I stretch my body out the way I do when waking from a long sleep, enjoying the slight shiver of the muscles.

And then, on to the rest of my day a little bit calmer.

Staying Present in Discomfort: Being Here When You’d Rather Not

Title image: Photo by Tolga Ulkan on Unsplash

~~~~~~
Thank you everyone for your patience during this time of my father’s passing from cancer and dementia. I have appreciated the quiet visit to my childhood home, supporting my mother and being comforted by close friends and relatives.
~~~~~~

There are times that the present moment is an uncomfortable place to be in.

That’s when things are not going well and you want the current situation to be over so that you can move past it and onto healing. But one could argue that this is exactly the time you need to sink even deeper into the present moment.

And even more important to get more granular and still. To observe what is going on even more closely. To understand the important of this very point in time, how it will never come again in the same way. And even in this discomfort there is something to learn, something to lean into, something to accept.

I felt this strain while my father was still in in-home hospice, declining at a pace that was both quick and slow depending on what you’re focusing on. It evoked an axiety in me: wanting to hold on to him and save him–but knowing that this was an impossibility. The tug of time is unrelenting, taking everything with it like a glacier or a tsunami that continues onward no matter what is in its way.

But this is also an opportunity to remember that the impermanence of life does not take away from the joy and beauty of it. Dropping down into what is happening right now, taking a front seat on top of that glacier/tsunami, and allowing everything to be here is the way to appreciate all of this.

So while I would rather that the things that were happening not be happening, I couldn’t stop them. I sat here trying to understand my feelings and allowing gratitude for my father’s long life to remain in the forefront. There was peace in knowing that he was living his last days at home, in familiar surroundings with my mother there.

I could have made all sorts of stories up about what he was feeling or thinking, but the reality is that I didn’t know. So I didn’t pretend and instead noticed the sounds around me, the feeling of the air on my skin and the knowledge that my father’s imminent passing unscored all the many things about him and my own life that I have to be thankful for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s easier to ignore reality and think about other things, but that doesn’t help us deal with them.

A Rock in a Bubbling Stream [Visualization]

(Photo by Hendrik Cornelissen on Unsplash)

There’s a lot going on in my family at this time, most importantly the transition of my father to in-home hospice care, signaling that a life chapter will be coming to a close. That’s one of those things that you know is going to happen but usually don’t want to think about.

It’s these kinds of changes that unsettle us the most because they’re significant shake-ups of life as we know it. In the case of my family, this change was not unexpected and yet it is still not easy.

The uncertainties associated with end-of-life issues can be unsettling.
(Photo by Pylyp Sukhenko on Unsplash)

But I can draw on my meditation practice and ability to stay present to accept things are they are now.

It helps to use a visualization in the midst of emotional upheaval. So I think of myself as being a rock in a rushing stream. You know, one of those rocks that sticks out about the water’s surface and might serve as a comfortable sunning place for a river turtle.

The rock sits still even thought there is a rushing tumult all about. The water parts around it and then rejoins on the opposite side, but the rock remains there, unmoving and unbothered.

The rock doesn’t hinder the flow but neither does it get carried away by it. And as it sits, so do I, observing and understanding and accepting everything that is going on around me. Not getting caught up in my head and taken away by thoughts.

Mindfulness meditation provides me with a stable rock from which I observe the tumult of life as it rushes by.
(Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash)

There will come a time to grieve but now I focus on what is happening in the moment and how I can support my parents. There is gentle planning as I get more information about the situation. And always, taking deep breaths, feeling into my hands and feet, staying grounded. From this vantage point, I can clearly see what needs to be done today.

“This is what’s happening now. Tomorrow may be different, but at this point in time, I am here.”

So the coming weeks may bring shorter posts, perhaps a skipped one here or there. There will be much to do and it will all get done in time. Decisions will be made as they come up. Focus remains on each task at hand. Even if responsibilities come fast, I find a stable base in my practice that helps support a strong relationship with my family.

The river rushes relentlessly. But I know it’s there and expect the constant movement. Changes become familiar, fear drops away and I am comfortable where I sit, calm as I watch the waters flow past me and then continue onward.

Exactly Where You’re Supposed to Be

(Title image: Photo by David Paschke on Unsplash)

Some time ago, I was thinking how I got to where I am and was seized by a sense of regret and shame. This was not where I thought I’d be by this age.

So many things that I’d worked for education-wise, health-wise, career-wise seemed to have been derailed by decisions I’d made based on life circumstances that I didn’t feel I could control…or by just plain bad luck (cancer, I’m looking at you).

As I pondered this, I became enveloped in it, slipping down a dark hole, trying to squash those negative feelings—the ones that get buried for a while only to pop back up at 3am some night.

But then I thought, “Ok, so how about another way of looking at this?”

What if how I am now was the end goal all along?

What if where you are right now is where you need to be for the rest of your life to work out according to plan?
(Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash)

And that shift in perspective allowed me to look at the things that I felt I hadn’t fully achieved as being “the plan” for creating me as I am now.

And what I am now is made up of the valuable experiences that I was labeling as half-done or poorly-executed or forced upon me—but no, perhaps they were all so necessary for setting up myself in this place with this knowledge. And from here, preparing me to move forward.

A master’s degree I haven’t used for a couple of decades, a job situation that falls below my career aspirations, a body that is limping back from injuries and cancer, a mind that can be my worst enemy. The experience of all of these brings with it wisdom and insight. And strength.

Where I am now is exactly where I need to be for the next chapter of my life. The foundation for future-me has been established.

So, how about you?

What if you spin the timeline around, understanding and appreciating who you are now, however “imperfect” it might seem to you, social media, whomever else serves as the judge of your life. This is now your starting point.

What’s your next step?

How can you take everything that’s come before you and allow it to support the incredible you that you will become?

“Just Listen”: A Simple Meditation

(Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash)

Wow, 2024 is going by fast! We are now a quarter of the way done with the year and it feels like we just started.

In the midst of the whoosh of weeks flying by, here’s a way to slow things down and get intimate with the present moment. This is a simple little meditation but one that I find to be gloriously soothing.

I often do this in the morning when I awake, still stretched out comfortably in bed. Bringing attention to the weight of my body as it rests on the surface of the mattress. Sinking in.

We usually consider street traffic an annoyance, but it can translate into perfect sounds for a meditation.
(Photo by Derek Lee on Unsplash)

And for this meditation, instead of using the breath as a point of focus, I bring attention to the sounds around me. In my room, outside on the street.

There is a lot happening in this soundscape. We have a sound machine going, an air purifier whirring, cars are driving up and down the street below. The sound envelops me and I absorb myself in it. It feels comforting.

Initially, my attention is open, getting settled and taking everything in. Then I shift my focus from the various indoor sounds to the outdoor sounds, traveling around them one at a time, noticing each different one.

Gradually, I select one sound that I can distinguish and move my attention towards it. I get in close. And the closer I get to it, the more my focus turns to a certain aspect of that sound, a certain pitch or rhythm. And then I zoom in even more and try to stay there.

Inevitably, I’ll notice that my attention has been pulled away by thoughts or other sensations, and when I become aware of this, I gently return to that one aspect of that one sound. Exploration continues in this way until I decide to shift my focus to another sound and do the same thing.

There is beauty and peace in a simple meditation.
(Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash)

It’s a little dance between my thoughts and any given sound. Always returning to the sound.

There are no hard and fast rules to this. The option always exists to pull back from that one sound and open my awareness to everything audible around me. And perhaps instead of finding a specific sound to pour my attention into, I allow the soundscape as a whole to come to me and listen to it as if it were one unit, like a symphony.

This is meant to be uncomplicated and unforced. The idea is to stay present with the sounds around me and notice new textures and dimensions of noises.

I hope you give this a try the next time you find yourself in a perfect spot for it (whether in bed or outside under a tree in the park), and if you do, please let me know how it went!

Fighting My Way Out of a Paper Bag: An Analogy

I wanted to share a little technique that I’ve been using to give myself perspective. It’s quite simple: I have a small brown paper bag pinned to the wall above my desk.

The bag is there to remind me that most of the things that are upsetting me or stressing me or just taking up headspace in the moment are transient issues that fit into that paper bag. The REST of my world remains outside that bag and unbothered by whatever is going on in there.

The trick for me is to not get sucked into that brown bag. When that happens, and it does, I’m suddenly whirling around with all the daily stressors and emergencies-of-now, and that’s all I see. My entire experience becomes those anxiety-provoking elements and my stress levels skyrocket.

When stress levels are high, it’s easy to get sucked into a space of high anxiety where you see only those stressors, forgetting that the rest of the world is outside.

It takes a lot more effort to fight my way back out of there than to stay outside in the first place.

At the same time, it’s so easy to follow all those stressors right into that bag. For me, that’s the path of least resistance, even a habit.

But when I lean back and take in the entire picture–the time-limited nature of what’s bothering me and the fact that in a couple of weeks it’ll be gone–my view broadens and I am reminded of what else is going around me right now, in this moment.

Right here, where I feel my feet planted on the ground. I smell the scent of lemon wafting up from my diffuser. I’m aware of sounds from the street below and sunshine coming in through my window.

Perspective. All of these things tumbling around inside the bag will pass. And, yes, perhaps more importantly, new ones will bubble up and take their place. I can’t stop that and I have to accept it. But I can take a deep breath and stay in the bright light of the day instead of darkness of that little bag.