In this moment, I’m in a good space.

I feel peaceful, relaxed, and content.

I listen to my body. I notice I’m thirsty, so I drink a glass of water. The water replaces my habitual one o’clock coffee.

I drink without bashing myself for being a caffeine addict.

In truth, there are thoughts that I’m lazy, stupid, and hopelessly addicted to coffee. But they’re more in the background without causing me angst.

Instead, I feel calm.

I wonder: how do I maintain body awareness when I’m not feeling “good” feelings and am buying into negative self-talk?

How do I notice I’m thirsty for water rather than mindlessly grind more coffee beans?

With practice.

By slowing down. Pausing. Breathing.

It might take a minute or two to become present. Or thirty minutes.

I commit to being present.

I’ve a growing understanding of its value:

       Being present is the antidote to madness.

What is madness? Steadfast belief in our mind-made stories.

Stories of brokenness and separation.

Presence, on the other hand, is a meeting with who we are; as being whole.

I wrote a vision (or mission) statement on my website last night:

       To be present so that we evolve.

I thought I had distilled my vision down to a simple sentence that could direct my decision-making moving forward.

Today my therapist said this about my vision statement:

       The paradox is that we need to devolve to evolve.

I think about his comment – and find welcome relief.

I rest in the realisation that my quest for personal transformation, healing, and evolution produces considerable stress in me.

This stress leads me to perpetually grasp for wisdom, guidance, and nourishment from outside myself.

I’ve justified this harried search for years: I’ve been mad – really bad mad – and so I must heal.

I experience peace of mind as I drop my need to heal and understand I’m whole, now.

I changed my vision statement to the following:

       Being present.

The stress is gone. It’s easier, and calming, to focus on being present than worry about evolving.

So, I commit to being present. I’m present now.

And then I won’t be.

We can all practice being present.

My therapist says that in time, with practice, we can be proficient enough in being present that we’re of value to others.

My therapist is consistently present with me, as is Lachlan; their presence is of value.

They’ve been present with me when I’ve been mad.

They’re present with me when I forget to come home to myself.

Their presence makes all the difference.

Presence is a gift I give to myself, in this moment.

Can you commit to being present in this moment?

Photography by Jasmine Powell