We Are Wired to Be Present

An excerpt from This Is the Life: Mindfulness, Finding Grace, and the Power of the Present Moment by Terry Hershey

After an event in Angel Fire, New Mexico,

I drove in early morning light from Gardnerville, Nevada, through the Carson Valley to the Reno airport. The drive is framed by the Sierra Nevada Mountains, including the snowladen peaks that cradle Lake Tahoe. There is no urgency and it is a quiet drive, miles of open, high desert pastures, a canvas of camouflage, tan-speckled with congregations of cows. They are still, as if they were asked to pose for a photo. And inclined to please, they said yes.

Absorbing this medicine for hurry, or blue moods, I smile. I typically think of transit to airports (or waiting in airports) as time to fill or tolerate, on my way to what really matters.

I remember a statement made in The Irish Times by a Connemara man after he was arrested for a car accident. “There were plenty of onlookers, but no witnesses.”

Hmmm. It’s like the tourists who religiously follow the advice of travel journals, and miss the unanticipated “sacred places.” We’ve consumed many books or sermons about the correct way to live life. Which, sadly, we assume, is a life other than the one we have today. In other words, we haven’t trusted that we are empowered to witness and savor this life.

On this morning drive, the tranquil backdrop gives my mind wandering room, which is always a good thing. A wandering mind makes space to absorb beauty and stillness with an affirmation of serenity.

I’ve needed to face the parts of my life that derail too easily. That’s not fun to admit. I give way to exhaustion and resentment (they seem to go hand in hand, and I give myself grief for it). Have you ever had that…where you wake up one day—spirit drained—and wonder where the joy went, and why? It doesn’t help that I’ve marinated in a world that is duty-bound to resolve or fix. No wonder we feel the weight of anything out of sync. I get a geyser of email, much of it uninvited. But I’m still seduced by many of the pitches, because they promise me a bigger and better life, one that makes a difference and breaks the bank every month. “What did you do of significance?” one asks, wondering if I make the kind of money I deserve to make. And I think, “Well, I don’t know about the money, but I had a great chat with some cows in the Carson Valley this morning. And that did my heart good. Does that count?”

When it comes to significance, here’s the deal: There is extravagant value in tending the soil of my soul.

In southern Michigan, I was raised in a religious tradition that used the word grace, but were too afraid to give in to it. Not unlike the faithful band of “believers” in the movie Babette’s Feast who, when offered an extraordinarily generous gift of the feast-of-a-lifetime, make the decision to “taste” the wine, but not “enjoy it.”

I was cajoled to believe in a God who was no different than an alcoholic father. This isn’t hypothetical to me. Yes, I wanted his love, but was never sure which father would show up. So, I did my best to make him smile. And when he did smile, I would feel a shudder, wondering whether it was enough, or what I would do that would make his smile go away.

I know that scarcity affects how we see God. We have been weaned on the belief that our well-being is stuck in scarcity. Requiring us to earn our way out. It is no wonder that scarcity, not sufficiency, becomes our lens and our paradigm and our narrative. Scarcity affects how we see the world. Scarcity affects how we see the present moment.

I must be missing something. This is too good to be true. Can I trust this moment? I know I don’t deserve this.

If grace is dependent on God’s mood or temperament or on my performance, the scales always tilt. And that never turns out well.

We do well to consider Rabbi Abraham Heschel’s reminder, “We teach children how to measure and how to weigh. We fail to teach them how to revere, how to sense wonder and awe.”

We savor, because this life, this day, this moment, is a gift. And we sense wonder and awe because we are grounded in sufficiency.

I remember leading a retreat with an animated group of teachers—St. Augustine’s in Vancouver, British Columbia. Their day of refueling before a new school year. Our topic, an invitation to create sanctuary, allowing us to honor habits that sustain our wellbeing.

We began the day going around a circle, each sharing memories from the summer. There were weddings and funerals and trips and reunions and adventures and celebrations in Parisian pubs after a World Cup victory.

“I have a heart condition,” one young teacher began her turn. “And every year I get an MRI for

assessment. Because I never know what the news will be, my temptation is caution and apprehension. Because of my condition, and afraid of the worst, I have always kept my physical activity to a minimum. Although I’ll admit that the excuse does come in handy, ‘I’d love to help out, but I have a heart condition.’”

We laughed.

“This year, after a clear MRI, my doctors told me that I needed more activity. Outdoors. Nothing strenuous. But still. Anyway, my summer was very different than normal. I biked and hiked and enjoyed the sky and water and the air. I loved being outdoors.”

Well, I have a confession. I have lived most of my emotional and spiritual life with a heart condition. Because I have lived cautious and afraid, holding back my heart because of what it might cost, or require of me. Or fearing (running from) my brokenness, not believing that an open and broken heart is an invitation to live my days giving, creating, embracing, connecting, savoring, and celebrating. It is no wonder that, too often, I do not see.

Hundreds of years ago, in an era much more fraught than ours, St. Francis learned to live without holding back his heart. His antidote to confusion and paralysis was a return to simplicity, one step at a time, one person at a time, one good thing at a time, the right-in-front-of-you idea of searching for the light even while living with the darkness. His genius was that he saw what was hidden in plain sight. It was so simple it is almost impossible to see; we are wired to be present.

This Is the Life Mindfulness, Finding Grace, and the Power of the Present Moment Terry Hershey