Breathe.

I’m an expert at worrying. About the future. About what might happen.

But in this moment, I’m OK. My loved ones are OK. Sure, there will be times when this isn’t the case. But not this moment.

Breathe…

All my worrying, my complaining, maybe my problem is not noticing and being grateful for this moment. This moment is a gift—that’s why it’s called the present.

Hurry, distraction, multi-tasking—these are the enemies of presence and peace.

I want more presence and peace.

Instead of constantly searching for something bright shiny new (shopping, reading yet another self-help book, etc.) to distract myself from uncomfortable feelings I’m practicing appreciating, caring for, and savoring the many gifts I already have.

Will you join me today in stopping to breathe and appreciate where you are? All the things that work in your life? Let all the worries for the future go—poof! Maybe even make a list of 10, 15, 100 things you love about your life right now. Summer is a good time for slowing down to appreciate this moment.

Horses, like all animals, live in the moment. They’re in tune with their surroundings—aware of the turkey in the next field, the start up of the truck that brings their hay, or if you’ve got a carrot in your pocket. That presence, harmony and connection is something most of us want more of.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been experimenting with what horsemanship instructor Carolyn Resnick calls the Chair Challenge, “sharing territory” with my horse, Tank. Mostly it involves simply sitting in a chair in his paddock. Some days I read, some days I write in my barn journal. Others, I just sit and listen and look. The theory is that this practice develops a stronger bond between us, by “achieving a companionship experience and connection in the moment in harmony and unity.” We so often only spend time with our horses when we want to do something with them, when we have expectations. Simply hanging out allows us both to relax and become more in tune with each other.

When I first started this practice, my mind scrabbled around like a trapped lizard. I found it almost impossible to sit and do nothing. No matter how much I profess to want a present life, I more often than not careen through my day—racing from checking emails, to working out, to writing a blog post to cleaning the bathroom to running errands.

At first, Tank was puzzled. Apparently, he’s absorbed my “we must be doing something all the time” attitude, and my journal entries record that he nudged me, nibbled on my magazine, journal, and pen. He still tries to do this sometimes, especially if he’s bored, and I have to shoo him away. At other times he’s happy to stand in his favorite spot looking out beyond the fence line, or doze in the corner of his shelter. I love it when he stands near me, gives a nice long sigh, and we savor the peace of being together with no agenda.  That’s when I realize one of the most pleasurable of the benefits of this exercise: harmony, living in the moment, the sheer pleasure of sharing space with this beautiful animal.

While I still have to fight my desire to “accomplish something” when I go to the barn, I’ve also started to crave the peaceful togetherness of sharing territory. Of hearing the tap-tapping of a pileated woodpecker, the haunting cry of a hawk. Of seeing sand, sky, puffy white clouds, scrubby woods bordering the paddocks. Of feeling Tank’s muzzle nudging me or resting for a moment on the top of my head. The quiet within the quiet. No one around, no sound of traffic or people.

Yesterday, I even found myself using this technique while waiting for a prescription to be filled. I stopped fidgeting, checking my phone for the time and mentally ticking off the next three items on my to-do list, in favor of sitting calmly, breathing slowly, and observing what was going on around me.

So what does this have to do with you, most likely a non-horse owner? The lesson is: if you want peace, harmony and connection, stop, look, listen, and be. Slow down especially when you feel called upon to rush. Quiet your thoughts, let your body relax. Let the moment draw out as long and smooth as possible.

You don’t need a green plastic chair and an American Quarter Horse. Wherever you are, slow down. Pay attention. Don’t miss the daily simple pleasures that are right there for your enjoyment.

“Make treating yourself a priority and always remember your life is happening now. Don't put off all your dreams and pleasures to another day. In any balanced personal definition of success there has to be a powerful element of living life in the present.”

“Being present to the way things are is not the same as accepting things as they are in the resigned way of the cow. It doesn’t mean you should drown out your negative feelings or pretend you like what you really can’t stand…It simply means, being present without resistance: being present to what is happening and present to your reactions, no matter how intense.”

—Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander, The Art of Possibility 

I hear:   leaves rustling as they drop from the oak trees; a muted radio and the sound of a nail gun popping from a renovation going on nearby; Scout barking; the roar of a leaf blower; a far-off train whistle; the pool filter clicking on; various birds chirping and singing.

I see: sunlight and shadows making patterns on the ground and the surface of the pool; orchid buds opening, Spanish moss lazily blowing; ripples on the pool from the cycling filter; foliage trembling in the breeze.

I feel: mild, damp air; achy back (I’ve been sitting too long); cool metal of the chair arm.

I smell: Cold coffee in my mug; dirt; green and growing things.

I taste: Coffee and biscotti.

The weather has been perfect for sitting outside this week, and I spent some time reading and writing on the lanai this morning. I’m amazed by all the sensory input even when I’m sitting quietly in my back yard!

What did you hear, see, smell, feel and taste today?

The Christmas tree was just the beginning. Let me share a few more of Prudy’s recent exploits. There are only a few surfaces left that are safe from her depridations—and that will probably change as she gets older: the top of refrigerator (where we have to keep Scout’s food when she’s not actually eating it), the top of the armoire in my office (where I put fresh flowers if I have them) and so far, our dresser in the bedroom. (I’m pretty sure she could jump up on it—she just hasn’t seen any need to do so yet.)  Everywhere she goes, havoc! She loves to lie on my desk while I’m working, and her favorite way to get there is to run into the office, jump onto my rocking chair and spring onto the desk. With the following results:

She also decides it’s time to play around 11 p.m. and frequently has to be locked into the office for the night. She doesn’t seem to mind this—I hear her rolling her ball around in there, and she doesn’t start crying to get out until morning. However, she takes that time to explore the shelves and knock things over. I’ve found many of the little odds and ends I keep on my desk on the floor in front of it when I let her out in the morning. I use a docking station with my laptop so I have a better keyboard and monitor, and Prudy likes to jump on the shelf below my desk that holds my laptop, shutting the lid and turning it off, usually when I’m right in the middle of typing a sentence.

So far she’s not an especially naughty girl (knock on wood) and I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s a full-grown cat whose main activity is sleeping. I’m enjoying her loving nature, playfulness and curiosity while trying to stay one step ahead of her possible destructiveness (the silk flower arrangement from the dining room table now lives on top of the china cabinet, for example). For once, I’m not wishing away this stage, but appreciating it, pausing many times a day to play with her or pet her. (And I save my documents frequently!)

Often we (I) look forward too much, neglecting the present for the future, believing that it will somehow be better than right now. I look back at my life and see how fast it’s going, and how much time I wasted wishing I would grow up, wishing I had a husband and family, wishing my child would grow up…you see the pattern. I’m learning that appreciating the right now not only improves my experience of the present, but builds a store of warm memories, and hopefully, a happy future.

How do you appreciate the present?

Have you ever driven somewhere and found once you arrived you couldn’t remember how you got there? Lately, it seems like I feel that way at the end of the day, too. I’ve arrived at evening, but I couldn’t tell you how I got there. I know I’ve been busy all day, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what it was I’d done. This is no way to live a life of simple pleasures and everyday adventure.

Why am I so oblivious to my own life? Several reasons, actually. Despite repeated efforts to stop already, I still equate being busy with being productive so I rush around trying to pack more into every day. I also tend to live in my head, mulling things over, projecting and obsessing, even while rushing around. And there’s this: I resist being present because I find too much stimulation overwhelming and if I paid attention to every thought and feeling, I’d have a nervous breakdown.

So what am I doing instead of really being there? I’m:

Useful, right? I know I’m not the only one facing these challenges. The good thing is that improving my level of attention to my own life doesn’t require anything expensive or difficult. Just a few behavioral tweaks to bring myself back to mindfulness, starting with scheduling fewer to-dos (but making them of more importance to me), creating buffer zones of time around each activity, and pausing several times a day, just for a moment to take a deep breath and check in with my body and my mind. (Happify has an exercise called the Body Scan Meditation that I’ve been actively avoiding—maybe it’s time?) I’ve even started writing haiku several afternoons each week, focusing each one to reflect the moment I’m in. (They’re pretty terrible, but reading back through them I get  a clear image of where I was and what I was feeling when I wrote them.)  None of these strategies is new (except maybe writing haiku)—I just have to do them instead of just talk about them.

I don’t know if it’s possible to stay 100 percent “in the moment”—or even if I want to. (Daydreaming is fun and I enjoy it!) But I do know I want to spend more time paying attention, not missing my life.

How do you pay attention to your life?