I'd rather be here now

The allure of postponing our life until it's "better"

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A song I’ve been enjoying:

Polaroid taken from a backyard in Oakland CA, 2006.

I was at a favorite local shop in Point Reyes last weekend and bought a sticker inspired by Ram Dass that says “I’d rather be here now” because it’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about so much lately — I’d rather be here now. It’s the only place there really is and I feel more empty when I try to escape it.

Being here now sounds so lovely, right? It sounds meaningful and magical. The truth, though, is that Now isn’t always meaningful and magical. Now isn’t aways lovely. Now doesn’t always hold the life we want, or the life we think we’re supposed to have, or the life we wish was ours. Now isn’t always the dream. It makes sense why the allure of somewhere else might feel comforting at times. I don’t always want to be here now.

Now does hold reality, though, which is what I have been spending decades learning how to actually be with, hold, and tend to. It holds the next right move. It holds the opportunity to notice, to forgive, to breathe, to scream, to paint, to move, to consider, to love. It holds possibility in a way only Now can hold, because everything exists Now — not then, not when things are better, not when we get the job or lose the weight or live in the most majestic forest or have all the stuff we think will make our lives good.

How easy is it to wait until things are different before we do the thing, or take the next step, or go after what we want, or admit what we don’t want? How often do we put off saying what needs to be said until we’re in the perfect circumstances? How often do we put our sense of aliveness into a certain kind of life we don’t yet have — one we’re waiting around to finally be here, all while forgetting the only life we really have is the one we’re currently in?

I get it. The allure of “better” is appealing. The relief of thinking we’ll finally feel a certain way when a certain thing happens is real, and in some ways, true. Thinking of the future as a savior makes us feel like a load is taken off — like we can just wait it out and let the future do the saving, rather than take that responsibility into our current dry, brittle, tired hands, trusting they’ll soften — that life will soften.

The tricky part is this: all the time we spend waiting for things to get better before we let ourselves off the hook, before we let ourselves love, before we let ourselves try something new, before we commit to what’s good for us, before we do what we want to do, before we stop pretending, before we say the thing begging to be said, before we practice being more kind to ourselves, before we allow contentment to find a home in our bones… all that waiting takes us away from the life we have, from the place we’re in, from the agency only found in this moment. All that time takes our power away from the only place we really have a say, the only place we really have power, the only place we really have a choice in, the only place we really exist in, which is… now.

I say none of this to intend it’s easy to be where we are, nor do I say any of this to assume wanting something better is wrong or bad. It isn’t — it’s human, and it makes so much sense. We make so much sense. I say this, though, because letting myself just be where I am has been an extraordinary gift. It has been a life raft on choppy water. It has been an outreached hand reminding me to breathe. Letting myself just be where I am, even when where I am doesn’t feel so great, has made it a whole lot easier to also be with all the gold, the beauty, the sweetness, the love, and the awe that also exists here.

Something I’m working on right now (more like softening around — not “working”) is no longer assuming everything would be better if xyz just happened. I tend to romanticize other kinds of life — other places — other identities — other ways of living. I’ve always been this way — perhaps as a way to escape what’s real, which ends up making it hard to ever find contentment and presence right where I am. And it’s extra tender because there are places I’d love to live, and things I’d love to do, and trips I’d love to take, and versions of myself I’d love to be that just won’t ever happen. The power, though, lies in not letting what will never happen keep me from honoring and witnessing the life and Self I have and am, from doing the things I want to do right here, from being the person I want to be right now.

There are so many things I long for that may never happen, and there is rain dripping down the window, nourishing the land. There are so many places I’ll probably never get to see, and I see my daughter’s toothy grin a hundred times a day. There are many things I’ll never learn, never do, never become, never feel, and there are my hands on the keyboard, writing what’s here, being with what’s real, and feeling like it’s enough, like it’s all there is, like it’s everything. I’m not waiting for things to be different before I notice. I’m not waiting for things to be better before I sign up for the class I’m starting next week. I’m not waiting for things to be more magical, more dreamy, or more perfect before I let myself embrace what is, before I let myself accept this version of me, before I let myself fully live right here, right now, as I am, as things are.

What Being Here Now can look like in daily life:

Doing grounding practices to return to my body in the moment
Using my senses as often as possible, in everything I do
Creating ritual and ceremony in small, simple ways, each day
Scheduling things to look forward to, to tend to the romanticizing
Making my space as cozy, nourishing, and comforting as I can
Spending time connecting with people who can show up for me
Turning to nature as a reminder of presence
Honoring what’s true, what’s real, what’s here… even when it hurts
Noticing & naming when I’m pining for elsewhere, and pivoting back
Continually returning to a right-sized life and what it can look like here
Letting my feelings be okay, my wants be okay, my longing be okay
Practicing non-judgment with what is arising with me on any given day
Re-centering what truly matters to me, over and over, and adjusting what needs adjusting so there is more room for what matters in the life I currently have.

There is a difference between consciously working toward a more aligned life and always thinking our life is falling short.
There is a difference between striving for what we want and always trying to leave what we already have.
There is a difference between seeking elsewhere for the excitement, the awe, the wonder of it, and seeking elsewhere to try and escape reality.
There is a difference between seeking something else out of curiosity and seeking something else out of never feeling content where we are.
There is a difference between waiting for the right timing and waiting for the future to save our current selves, our current reality, our current life.
There is a difference between wanting a different life out of natural desire and wanting a different life as a way of leaving, of not being with reality, of not trusting ourselves to stay in what’s real.

We can want something different and practice being where we are.
We can desire something else and accept what’s here.
We can long for more and trust what’s coming.
We can wish things were better and find presence in what is.
We can tend to our wants and tend to our current bodies, our current selves.
We can recognize what we wish would happen and care for ourselves now.

These, of course, are just a few ideas and are personal — your list might be different. But there is something profound and helpful about remembering what is true — about prioritizing the practices and ways of being that support us in being here — about honoring the longing and also returning to what’s here in all the ways we can. It’s an ongoing practice and one that will never be perfect, but the practice of Being Here Now clears a little bit of space in my chest cavity, in my heart. And it reminds me of all the ways I have a say in the life I currently have, all the ways I have choice in the life I currently have, and all the ways the life I currently have is already meeting my needs.

△ It is raining in Northern California and the relief in my body is deeply felt.

△ I love Anna Fusco's writing and work

△ The effervescence of this. The wildness of this. The beauty of this.

△ This beautiful episode of Finding Our Way

△ The work of Ram Dass, someone who has taught me so much.

△ I’ve learned so much from Gabor Maté over the years. I loved this conversation.

△ The Faces That Look Back at Us When We Come Out, Again and Again

△ I just placed an order for this book at the library

△ West Marin (& this collection I’ve been reading). So lucky to live close, to have grown up here, to explore here, to feel here. More enamored with this place every day.

The road to Bolinas, captured last Sunday.

△ "Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion. Then, when you’re no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn’t just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. From this place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here’s where things grow.
 
But of course, without the top you can’t have any sides. It’s the top that defines the sides. So on we go…we have a long way…no hurry…just one step after the next.”
— Robert Pirsig, author of “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”

With care,
Lisa