why is it so goddamn hard to be present?

try as I might to give the here and now my undivided attention, living in the moment is no easy feat when you’re navigating the chaos that’s your late twenties.

In April last year, my reality was flipped on its head.

The stability, security, and comfort that I was in retrospect a little too accustomed to vanished in a matter of seconds, leaving me with a ton of uncertainty.

The thing is, despite the initial shock of this dramatic shift in my life as I knew it the prospect of confronting so much change didn’t scare me: I felt completely calm.

Within a week I’d distanced myself from the destructive force that had shaken up my entire world, told my landlord I’d be leaving London at the end of August, and taken the necessary steps to move to another country.

Now, I know what you’re thinking – “it sounds like you just ran away from your problems” – and before this particular event took place, I would’ve been inclined to agree.

But a far cry from the ‘old’ version of myself that loved to make immediate and impulsive choices in an effort to distract, distract, distract, I accepted my objectively shitty situation for what it was and arranged a way out with the most clarity I’d ever had.

What I didn’t realise at the time was that this ‘clarity’ was actually presence.

As I’d later learn reading The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle, a sudden loss has the potential to land you slap-bang in the middle of the “here and now” which, as he writes, is where suffering “ceases to exist.”

While this isn’t always the case, of course, it certainly was for me. And through having all of my attention subconsciously drawn to the present moment – rather than obsessing over the past or fretting about the future – not only did I experience a radical transformation in my decision-making, but in my relationships, sense of self, and perception of my surroundings. 

I wasn’t as devastated as my friends and family assumed I would be. I didn’t isolate or wallow in despair like I readily used to when faced with even the most minor setback.

Instead, I grabbed life by the horns and it had never felt more right doing so.

To this day, I can’t explain what exactly transpired in my mind during those months. But it’s stuck with me, despite how the intense awareness I had access to then has not.

I blame navigating the chaos of my late twenties for this, because no matter how regularly I practice yoga, meditate, journal, walk in nature, or focus on my breathing, I can’t quite seem to return to that enlightened (for lack of a better word) state that had me unprecedentedly joyous and that I constantly find myself yearning for.

Obviously, struggling to be present isn’t revolutionary. In fact, it’s a universal issue and one that’ll escalate for as long as we have to contend with society’s ceaseless streamlining.

From social media – the here and now’s literal worst enemy – and a trend cycle keeping us hooked on nostalgia, to the very real threat that climate change poses to our future and the current bleakness of, well, everything, it’s no surprise we aren’t engaging with the present.

On top of this, however, I’m noticing more and more that my age, which is notoriously when you should be figuring out who you are, what you want, where you’re going, and why you’re here is playing a major role in preventing me from living in the moment.

After all, how could I possibly immerse myself in the here and now when I have a lot of past to work through and even more future to plan?

“The compulsion to live almost exclusively through memory and anticipation creates an endless preoccupation with past and future and an unwillingness to honour and acknowledge the present moment and allow it to be,’ continues Tolle.

“The compulsion arises because the past gives you an identity and the future holds the promise of salvation, of fulfilment in whatever form. Both are illusions.”

Though the idea that time is an illusion is difficult to grasp, Tolle makes an interesting and valid observation: the past has been and gone, the future hasn’t happened yet, and so there legitimately isn’t anything else but the present.

Acknowledging this is no easy feat for the un-spiritually-awakened and all but impossible during the vicenarian years of self-discovery, however.

They say your twenties are for processing trauma and your thirties are when you start living, but why wait?

I ask myself this daily. Especially because there’s so much pressure to push forward, to get a degree, get a job, build a career, buy a house, have kids, and so on.

Overwhelmed by the relentless flip-flopping between past and future, I often wonder if sinking into guilt, regret, and bitterness (caused, according to Tolle, by too much past) as well as unease, anxiety, and tension (caused by too much future) means I’m wasting this precious period of my extremely short-lived existence.

Yes, it’s vital to reflect – it’s how you grow. And yes, it’s vital to look ahead – it’s how you shape the life that you dream of. The present can also be unbearable, most significantly for those in the depths of grief, sickness, or heartbreak.

But ultimately, it’s all we have. And it’s not so much a ‘place to occupy’ 24/7 as it is a fact to be aware of as being the only reality that matters.

On this note, I refuse to abandon my quest to fully surrender to the here and now, even if it’s a perpetual challenge to do so without being capsized first.  

Because I personally don’t want to remember my twenties as being dominated by a fear of regression and a preoccupation with progression.

I want to slow down, go with the flow, and savour it the best I can.

What’s the point otherwise?

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