On Being Present

Inspired by NPR’s This I Believe series...

I’ve always prided myself on my openness, my honesty, and my emotional availability. Over the course of my lifetime, I’ve frequently received favorable comments regarding these qualities. This despite the fact that I’m a guy and I know lots of men (maybe most) who have absolutely no clue what the term “emotional availability” might mean. Or how to invoke it.

These particular traits are consistent with the guiding philosophy of my life, namely: I believe in being present. In expressing this belief, I’m talking about something a lot deeper than Woody Allen’s quip of “showing up is 80 percent of life.” No: I intend something decidedly more profound — of much greater difficulty level — than simply being physically located in a particular place at a particular time.

In truth, I believe that being present is the secret of life: that without the ability to be present, I’d really be missing out on what the total human experience has to offer. Being present takes energy, though, so it’s likely the reason that most people avoid it, don’t practice it, and just generally find some other way to go about their business.

The way I see it, being present is manifested both in my relationship to self and my relationship to others.

In my relationship to self, being present means that I’m aware in the moment. I’m tuned in to my emotions. I know that I’m breathing in and out. I have a keen sense of my surroundings. I sense all that’s going on around me and what kind of meaning I’m making of these events: realizing that my experience is not necessarily “reality.” Being present means that I’ve left all previous moments behind...and that I’m not wasting energy anticipating future ones. It’s living in the here and now. It’s making the most of the time I have been given. It’s a paradigm that guides me to take advantage of every single instant of this preciousness called life.

I also believe, however, that the highest level of being present takes the form of being available for someone else. Being present for another may take the form of simply silently sitting. It surely involves total focus and really listening when they speak. It means not interrupting. It’s immediacy: it means seeking deep understanding of the other person’s experience in the moment. It’s being curious about them and setting aside all judgments. It’s eye contact and empathy and softness. And maybe the occasional touch. It means being available for another person to share themselves. Totally. With complete safety. In my presence.

Being present is not “the truth,” though I believe it is “the way.” I believe that being present, for yourself or another, is the greatest gift you can give. Or receive.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Mornings in April 
Sharing our secrets 
We’d walk until the morning was gone. 
We were like children 
Laughing for hours 
The joy you gave me lives on and on. 
’Cause I know you by heart.

(“I Know You By Heart” – Eva Cassidy)

Homesickness

homesick (hōm′-sik): longing for home and family while absent from them

The little lady at the left, Grace, shown here at five months, just had her fifth birthday on January 9. She lives in Oregon, both near and impossibly distant at the same time. I’ve known Grace since she was six hours old, the only human being on the planet I’ve ever met so early in life.

Shortly after her birth, I was in the hospital room with Grace, her parents, and her grandmother. They asked, “do you want to hold her, Jim?”

“Uh. OK.” (I said nervously.)

And, then, in my arms, just like that, the bond I had felt with the mother and grandmother, was extended to this new little one as well.

I assume there was a birthday party for her fifth. I wasn’t there. And, there’s been this feeling, this knot in my stomach, this emptiness, lately. A feeling borne from being absent. A longing for familiar places and people.

Grace, her mother, and her grandmother, were all part of the group in Oregon that had referred to me as “family.” Although life and relationship with “C,” the grandmother, were fraught with difficulty, the closeness and inclusion I experienced was an extremely significant element of my life for a decade. And, I had “adopted” (in my heart), C’s three children and two grandchildren.

For the most part, that all disappeared right after I moved to California.

America is about to embark on a new journey. Barack Obama will be inaugurated tomorrow and an overwhelming sense of hope and optimism prevails, even in these times of deep economic despair.

And while the rest of the country celebrates, I am ailing with melancholy. I would love to be home for this occasion.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my musics playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

(“Homeward Bound” – Simon & Garfunkel)

Still the Monk

I’ve been thinking, in recent days, that it’s possible I might have to relinquish my well-earned, and entirely appropriate, moniker of “TechnoMonk.” As you may recall (or likely not), the name was given to me by “C” in recognition of my propensity for always acquiring the latest and greatest technology toys – and my concomitant inclination toward Spartan furnishings in the rest of my life. Probably the most notable of my minimalist tendencies has been the practice of sleeping on a futon. And not only have I slept on one for a very long time, it’s been placed on the floor in my various bedrooms – giving those spaces a perpetually-bare, “monkish” appearance.

Well, all that is about to change. I bought a new mattress/box-spring set that is scheduled to be delivered next weekend. In terms of the events of my life (and if you don’t count all the job changes and moves in recent times), this act is practically revolutionary.

I say this because this is something that I’ve put off doing for years and years. Well, truth be told: decades. I am admitting here to unhealthy, counter-productive behavior, and perhaps even a totally neurotic tendency, of delaying a purchase that I’ve long suspected would be good for me.

So, what’s the back story here?

Well, I was divorced in 1978. Yes, very long ago. A much different time. Jimmy Carter was president, for crying out loud. When we were married, “M” and I had a wonderful queen-sized bed, made of teak. We used a foam mattress, which gave us a very firm, supportive sleeping surface. And it was a beautiful piece of furniture.

I left that teak bed behind when I left the marriage. I subsequently moved into an apartment with practically no furnishings. I spent the first couple weeks sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor – before finally purchasing a foam mattress (that I also kept on the floor). Even though I had no immediate plans to be in a relationship again, I thought, even back then, that purchasing a “real bed” could wait...that I could buy another one, eventually, with another partner.

In my (much to my surprise) perpetually-single state, though, the foam mattress lasted for years. Finally, a year after I moved to Indiana, in 1991, I replaced the foam with a new futon. Again, I placed this bed on the floor. Despite occasional recommendations, over the years, from chiropractors and other health-care practitioners, that I find a more suitable sleeping surface, I persisted. I was always thinking that “the one” was right around the corner...and no sooner would I buy a bed that it would be the wrong one for “us.”

Well, here I am over 31 years later. (Holy crap, how did this happen?) I’ve been sleeping on the floor for three-plus decades. Despite, at one point, being close to having all that change. In early 1998, I suggested to “C” that I was thinking about buying a new bed (to make her visits to my place more accommodating). The huge negative reaction to that idea on her part was totally shocking...and I should have known right there that this was not a relationship with long-term prospects. Ah, all the missed clues!

Yes, and even our last night together involved a spat that involved rejection of both me as well as the futon we were on. The truly bizarre admission that I have to make here in this essay, is that after that last night together, I kept the futon on the floor in the bedroom, but I spent approximately the next five years sleeping on the sofa: so much did I hate the site, the futon, of our final staking-out-of-positions...that led to the end of us as a couple. I have never admitted this to anyone. Well, until y’all, right now.

So, here I am, almost ten years past that point...finally making steps to take care of myself: to no longer punish myself by sleeping on an inappropriate surface, or banishing myself to the sofa to avoid negative memories of “the end.”

I have made great strides in improving my chronic pain issues in the last year. There is still progress to made, though. And I suspect that sleeping on a real bed will make a difference.

Though this may all put my “TechnoMonk” reputation at stake, I’m willing. And eager. To be healthier.

But still “the monk.”

Chasing Intimacy

News reports circulated yesterday regarding the latest research on the topic of “happiness.” As it turns out, empirical data now exist to support the notion that your emotional state is influenced, to a measureable degree, by those around you. Given that I’ve long hypothesized that anxiety is a contagious condition,it’s no stretch at all for me to imagine that happiness is as well. It seems that the closer you are geographically to a happy person the more likely you are to be happy. However, for the happiness to be “spread,” the connection you have with the other person needs to be mediated by face-to-face contact. Not technology.

Interesting.

I recently wrote on the topic of “Digital Intimacy” where I suggested that a social networking site (andthe “ambient awareness” of others) is a way for a person to feel less alone. The implication of feeling “less alone” is, naturally, to be “more happy.” (At least I think that’s the way it should work.)

Although I was long-involved in “social networking” before I even knew what the term meant, I had resisted signing up for Facebook (or anything similar) for quite a long time. However, my experience is that being first on Facebook, and now on Twitter, has led to me feeling more connected. And happier.

I have to admit, though, it’s face-to-face encounters that really do the most for me. And while “digital intimacy” is something we can all now settle for, it really is a shallow imitation of “real” intimacy.

And what is “real”? For me, intimacy it is a sense of closeness and connectedness involving trust and vulnerability – in essence, the ability of two people to share themselves completely (or nearly so) with each other. While many individuals tend to think of intimacy in terms of the physical dimension, I tend to view intimacy more in emotional terms. And for two people to be truly emotionally connected, I suggest is has to be in person.

Emailing and/or tweeting is all well and good. But in those mediums, I can’t listen to your tone of voice, look you in the eye, gently touch your knee while making a point, or hug you when we part. These are the elements of human interaction that lead me to feeling truly, intimately connected. And happy.

Magic Happens

One Friday evening, during the summer of 1998 in Corvallis, Oregon, I was just starting a personal-growth weekend. I had not been feeling well all day, especially as the afternoon and early evening progressed, but I decided I would participate in the workshop anyway. About an hour into the evening, I left the group and went to the restroom...and experienced a very big surprise when I began to pee pure blood. (Hang with me here, the story will get better. I promise.)

I’ll skip the really gory details, but I did end up spending the entire night in the emergency room of Good Samaritan Hospital. I was probed, tested, monitored and examined by not only the ER doc (who looked like he was in junior high school) but by the on-call urologist. Even before the consultation with the urologist, however, Doogie Howser had a diagnosis for me: bladder cancer. He informed me of his diagnosis while standing on the other side of the room, slipping the word “carcinoma” into the conversation as if I wouldn’t notice, while he was visibly backing away from me toward the door. What a piece of work this guy was!

When I clarified that he was actually telling me I had CANCER, I informed him... “well, it’s at times like these that I tend to experience high anxiety. A good, strong sedative would really be appropriate right now.” He obliged. And, a little while after it kicked in, I was a lot more relaxed...even good humored and tending toward the philosophical. I remarked to “C” – who was with me at the workshop and had taken me to the hospital – “well, see, this is why I get up every morning...you just never know what’s going to happen on any given day.”

Now, at this point, I had just been diagnosed with cancer. A little while later, the urologist would agree with Doogie’s diagnosis. Here I was, my life about to take a dramatic downward turn, and I was joking. Actually, the drug was simply allowing me to be relaxed enough to act as a truth serum. I really was espousing my philosophy of life: you never know what the coming day will bring. You might as well embrace it when it comes.

Shit really does happen, though...and sometimes it is just terribly difficult to be all that happy about it. Thankfully, for me, that night the doctors were wrong. I did not have bladder cancer, as a procedure in an urologist’s office two days later would confirm. (Apparently, I had merely passed a kidney stone.)

Sometimes, of course, totally delightful things happen when you least expect them to. I had an example of that yesterday when I went to a local Starbucks to do some writing. My “usual spot” in the store was taken, so I put my computer bag down at the next table. I went to the counter to order my tea, then returned to my seat and set up my machine. As I was settling in, the woman sitting at “my” table remarked on the Apple logo I had placed on my Dell PC, and started asking me some questions about the relative merits of PC laptops vs. Macs. (She is going to buy a new computer soon.)

Well, one thing led to another. I learned she was a blogger, so I asked for her web address and I looked it up while we talked (across tables). We continued talking like that for a bit, but then, as the conversation went on, I invited her to sit at my table. We eventually shared much of our personal biographies, including a number of stories of family and relationship issues -- topics that tend to really expose a lot about a person. She was (is) an exceptional listener, and didn’t back away from eye contact. She was non-judgmental in her approach...as I was feeling really listened to and totally accepted. We covered many other topics as well, such as inclusion and human touch and letting go. Our conversation rambled all over the place: for a total of three hours, during which time I didn’t look at my watch even once.

She eventually had to leave. She was meeting her father for dinner. And, then she had plans to drive back home to Los Angeles this morning. Which is what I’m assuming she’s doing right now as I write this.

You just never know, though...what any day is going to bring. Yesterday brought a little bit of magic into this otherwise drab life of mine.

Soundtrack Suggestion

If you believe in magic, come along with me
Well dance until morning ’til there’s just you and me
And maybe, if the music is right
I’ll meet you tomorrow, sort of late at night
And we’ll go dancing, baby, then you’ll see
How the magic’s in the music and the music’s in me

 (“Do You Believe in Magic” – The Lovin’ Spoonful)