My phone has a “Weekly Summary” feature that tells me how many hours a day I average. It ain’t pretty. Years ago, when I was taking you, by myself, to the playground and I would see parents letting their kids play and the parents’ faces were buried in their phones, not present to the wonder of their child playing. I thought, “How much art, music, comedy is being missed by just not being present to what is going on around us. Smells, sounds, sights, lights, breezes, all of “right now”. How much of their child are they missing? They miss their glee, their satisfaction, their sadness, their disappointment, their hope? By their inattention, they are saying, “This is unimportant to me.” You wanted to strive to cross those monkey bars, but you also wanted me to see you cross those bars. My attention was important to you. You wanted me to be proud of your accomplishments.
When we were in Yosemite, you were only 5.5 years old. You were loving it. Prior to our going there, I remembered how vivid the memories of Cape Cod vacations as a kid were to me, even as an adult. The smells, the sight of the tide out and the buried clams spitting water spouts up from the sand, horseshoe crab shells, and the sound of seagulls. The bright, early evening sun, reflecting off the flat, wet sand of the bay. So as we were crouching in this cold, crystal clear water of this Yosemite stream, with the setting sun gleaming off the mountains above us, this light breeze barely whistling through the trees, I just stopped and said to you, “OK. Look at all of this around us. Listen. Smell. Drink it in. Remember this.”
So I walked a half mile to the post office yesterday. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I just enjoyed what was there in front of me, not looking at my phone, not wanting to be somewhere else. I saw the cutest little wood duck in a pond, swimming in such a funny manner. I was trying to catch a picture of his little, brown, tufted head. But he kept swimming back and forth, behind the spray of the fountain in the pond, as if he didn’t want me to get a picture of him. It was so funny. I need to keep doing that. Just walk and observe. Listen, smell. Ask myself questions that get me present. “What’s beautiful about this? What’s funny about this? What do I want to remember about this? Resist the temptation to go to the phone. Be present. Be here.
Our Life 