Being Present

As a single gal, most of my time is spent by myself. Being an introvert, this suits me pretty well, though like most people my happiest moments come during quality time with quality friends.  Most people are happy to fit you in as an interlude between other commitments, but wringing quality out of an interlude can be tricky. The trick being, of course, staying present.

One of my big peeves is when someone keeps checking their phone (usually while I'm regaling their inattentive self with a highly interesting anecdote). The impression—and almost certainly the actuality—is that they're scanning for a chat notification from somebody more fascinating. They're trying to maintain separate conversations with a variety of people, dividing their attention into tweet-lengthed blurbs rather than focusing more deeply on the present human.

Some people consider this perfectly fine; some people find it important to be accessible to everybody at all times. To me, it feels like a kick in the stomach. If somebody has put aside their time to spend with you, they deserve no less in return. Sure there are exceptions, emergencies; but it's a precious gift that should be mutually appreciated.

You never know just how important your time together might mean to the other person. Maybe you're the highlight of their day, or week. A little enthusiasm goes a long, long way; savouring the present will build the fondest memories—and isn't memory the most lasting, worthwhile possession?

I believe that nothing impacts people quite like the vibe you put out. As someone who feeds off of other people's energy and moods—both good and bad—little interactions can make or break my own mood. On the one hand, that's my problem; but on the other, positivity creates a delightful cycle that improves everybody's mood. It doesn't matter whether you generate or receive positivity, because each one will encourage the other.

The flip side, of course, is that not really being present can cause enormous disappointment. Let's say you're distracted by something external that's worrying you. Not only are you cheating yourself out of the mood-lifting that comes with appreciating the moment, but the other person might quite reasonably assume that they've caused your apparent upset. This in turn stresses them out, and pretty soon you're both unhappy.

I've always been pretty awful at staying present. In fact, the self-saboteur in me tends to manufacture reasons not to enjoy the present moment. But the great thing about slipping out from under depression's thumb is that you can finally observe your feelings from the outside. Even if you still see the same old behaviour, you can also see a more positive route.

A Little Context

“Don't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces beautiful.”

― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

Let me set the stage, so that you have some insight into the mind behind my ramblings.

The hardest lesson in life is that the deepest, purest feelings are sometimes un-reciprocated. Sometimes the thing that seems most meant to be—the thing that is most meant to be—just... isn't. Or maybe you held it in your hands for a moment, like a stray sunbeam, before it slipped away despite your best efforts to gently hold it close. It's one of life's illogically unfair situations, like a night of insomnia when all you want is sleep, but it doesn't want you.

Worst of all, it's not the sort of lesson that you can learn from, because it didn't arise from a mistake. It is never incorrect to follow your heart. You just can't help your feelings, you can't think your way out of them. You can hide or stifle them, but they're still there. They'll always inform your behaviour, your outlook,  your attitude, your contentment.

The hard lesson is learning that this is the case, and living a fulfilling life nonetheless. Keeping the golden memories of that handful of sunshine, knowing that you are richer for it, and trusting that more sunshine is in the forecast.

It's a hell of a way to run a railroad.

I lived with my soulmate for over 5 years when my sunbeam slipped away. The possibility of this lesson had never hit me before, and I didn't know what to make of it. It's been almost four years since then, and I'm only just starting to understand it. In the earliest days of my darkness, a very good friend gave me this advice: "Sometimes things happen that look so dreadful and isolating when you're living through them, but later in life you realize that much joy came only because they happened." It was meager consolation at the time, but stuck with me.

So, now I consider myself immensely rich. Rich because of those years when I was swept up in following my heart. Richer still because that soulmate (yes, I maintain that we are still soulmates) is now my unconditional best friend, and our friendship would never have grown so deep in that previous time. And richest of all, because even if I can't help still feeling the way I felt ten years ago, life is still beautiful—more beautiful than ever. And that's an ultimate triumph.