What if We're Missing the Point?

(Crossing the bridge above the motorway on a rainy morning)

Reading All the Way to the River by Elizabeth Gilbert, made me think about how hard it seems to "retire from the hard and dangerous and exhausting work of always wanting more." Her personal story of addiction while maintaining a convincing surface image felt surprisingly transferable to the way many of us navigate our day-to-day hustle.

It seems we tend to put more energy into preparing for the next moment than we do into actually being where we are. There is this constant striving for the next high. A cycle that is demanding to sustain, as we inconveniently forget the law of diminishing returns.

The expert on addiction, Dr. Gabor Maté, says that “addiction is something that almost works.” It resonates with that tendency to strive for an elusive "better" future in hope of relief while never truly arriving because we take ourselves with us, as the saying goes.

Where are we trying to get to?

When I was living in the constant frenzy of NYC, every moment felt tinted by eying the next. This habit of brushing over our experiences at top speed meant that even when we were meeting up for a face-to-face chat, everyone's mind was somewhere in the future. On average, our attention was largely scattered away from where we were.

The Danish existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard stated that "Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be lived."

What if we are overlooking what life is offering us right now with our constant need to fix apparent dissatisfaction?

What is so hard about living with life instead of trying to hack it, as a current trend often suggests? What if this habitual striving is a reliable recipe to miss the journey of life altogether?

Where does getting more lead to as we seem to want more the more we get?

Using the moment we are in as an obstacle is like trying to organize the waves on the surface of the ocean. It's like trying to control what cannot be controlled instead of putting our energy into surfing the waves, as often mentioned in Zen culture. Thich Nhat Hanh aptly said:

"Life is available only in the present moment."

It’s a curious human habit that while the Now is the only place we can actively shape our lives, it's the one we tend to avoid.

On a phone call with my mom recently, I said I shouldn't really be having a chat because I should be working. Her blunt reply was "Why not?" It was so simple as it felt true. I was having the conversation anyway, and worrying about it only diminished its quality.

Her comment reminded me that I have a pragmatic choice: be where I am fully, or be somewhere else. Everything in between doesn't honor either.

It was a reminder that our life unfolds through our connection with the present moment, not by fixating on the next.

What if we miss available possibility by being stuck in constant planning? What if we hinder genuine connection by managing our image until we are ready?

What if we never will be ready?

What if we're not meant to be?

Our rush through life can feel like we're merely skimming the surface. While we might cover an impressive amount of ground, we end up living a vast quantity with bewilderingly little quality. And while this can look wildly impressive on a socially acceptable scale, the question remains what depth we reach by running with that strategy.

What if we miss those precious opportunities—like smelling those roses along the way—because we’re stuck behind the blinders of a "go-getter" mode?

What do we lose by using where we are as a mere stepping stone?

What Do We Gain by Being Here?

What if our undivided presence is the underestimated superpower to extract the most impactful solutions from the depth of a moment? What if that art of fully using the current moment is about cautiously leaning in?

What if the power of the moment is about letting ourselves be touched, or even changed? What if it’s about relating with ourselves and others with more depth instead of spreading our attention thin? What if it’s about letting life pierce us to the core, to propel us towards our deeper truth?

In The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down, the Buddhist teacher Haemin Sunim points out that wisdom is not something we have to strive to acquire. On the contrary, if we slow down to actually be where we are, it often reveals itself on its own.

What if we are just running too fast to catch the solution?

What if "keeping our appointment with life," as Thich Nhat Hanh put it, is about slowing down to seize the opportunity?

What if staying present expands our sensitivity, and with it our problem-solving abilities exponentially increase? What if working with where we are builds resilience to face the countless plans that tank?

And most importantly, what if relating to the moment is our best bet to feel our personal truth? What if we spend the energy we use to predict what will make us happy on figuring out what is already working, despite our habitual tendency to pull away?

Lately, I've been exploring how solutions often seem to occur naturally when I shift my focus from trying to "solve" things to feeling deeper into the question. Turns out:

Focusing on deeper awareness often brings to the surface the most suitable action.

Consider that you might be overestimating the need for concrete answers and underestimating the power of connecting deeply with where you are.

Poet and novelist Rainer Maria Rilke, who explored themes of existential questions, poetically concludes in his poem "What Moves Me":

“What matters is to live everything.

When one lives the questions,

one will maybe live gradually,

without noticing,

on a special day,

into the answer.”

A friend facing the uncertainty of a severe illness recently told me, "I am treasuring every day now, as if the day were a whole life." Her words rattled me. They made me physically uncomfortable about that inner drive for more. It felt like an urgent warning not to be careless with what we're given.

The Gifts of the Unplanned

Interestingly, we often seem to remember unexpected moments and curveballs as inspiring. While there is practical use in learning from the past and planning for the future, releasing a strict agenda has often revealed jewels I didn’t even know were there.

Have you ever taken a moment to think about some things that have profoundly impacted your life that you would never have chosen? Have you considered the bounty of surrendering to circumstances you would not have planned for?

A friend on a trip recently told me how they were receiving answers to questions they didn't even know they had, simply by opening up to strangers. I love this idea of trusting that the answers we need might not be the ones we're strategically seeking.

It's about opening up to the possibility of life. It’s about revealing what we're meant to discover, surpassing what we could ever imagine.

Similarly, the most memorable trips I've had are the ones where barely anything went according to plan. Letting the unknown take the reins brought me inspiring adventures I didn’t even know I wanted.

What if our illusion of control isn't as desirable as it initially seems?

What if we trust to go with what we’ve got? What if this is our gateway to reduce our tendency for chronic anxiety in a rushing world?

The Wisdom of The Elders

Listening to elders in hospital waiting rooms—thanks to my parents’ health issues—has urgently been reminding me that life is not a dress rehearsal.

It's been surprisingly relaxing to hear how what we prepare for usually doesn't turn out the way we anticipate. It’s taken out a remarkable amount of anxiety to contemplate that most things we worry about never happen at all.

I’ve been reminded with urgency that I might not be fit enough to do later what I am postponing.

As poet Ocean Vuong points out suitably in Night Sky with Exit Wounds: "If you must know anything, know that the hardest task is to live only once."

What if our biggest responsibility is to realize this is the only chance we have? What if the beauty lies in the fragile fleetingness of our existence?

What if our happily ever after is where we are?

What if you are not meant to reach a defined destination because the destination is you?

How Do We “Get There”?

A friend who is a yoga teacher said the other day about meditation that the idea is to concentrate while being open to an unpredictable outcome. It resonated with the notion of never being quite sure if I'm "getting anywhere" despite years of practice. Yet, what if that's the point?

What if being where we are instead of worrying about where we want to be is the point altogether?

What if by being truly present you learn to listen for what you didn't even know you needed?

What if you “get more out of life” by not insisting on it to be a certain way?

Have you asked yourself:

• Are you spending more time preparing for life than actually living it?

• How often are you truly present in the moment?

• What's the effect when you give simple tasks your full, undivided attention?