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Living
in the Here and Now
by Jeffery Hollender, This I Believe
Six
years ago, my younger brother Peter, who was my closest friend and the only
remaining member of my immediate family, ended his life. Nothing I have ever
experienced, or have experienced since, has had such a powerful impact on what I
believe.
Until
then, life often slid by me, my mind lost in reviewing what had just happened or
anticipating what was to come. The present seemed to disappear between the past
and the future. The life most of us lead is short to begin with; the more we
miss, the shorter it gets.
I
vowed to myself that I would honor my brother's death by being present in my own
life. I found a new world opened up before me — a life of richer detail, both
wider and wilder. The autopilot I'd been running on for God knows how long
finally shut off. I began to see new possibilities for thought, vision, caring
and action: to say what too often remains unsaid, to admit that often I have no
idea what to do.
Being
present isn't easy. On a good day, I'd say I'm conscious 1 to 2 percent of the
time. The rest of the time I'm reacting. Usually those reactions are not
particularly thoughtful. They're just responses, old patterns or the repetition
of what I did yesterday.
Now
I try to ask questions, not give answers. This isn't easy for me to do. I'm
someone with a lot of answers. I have to restrain myself. Not reacting takes a
lot of work, but the more I'm able to do it, the more I feel like I'm being the
person I aspire to be.
I
see that my own mind can be my greatest limitation (and on bad days, it always
is), or the gateway to what matters most to me — the big stuff —
environmental sustainability, world peace, the end to hunger, the beginning of
true social justice for all. I used to think that these possibilities were
beyond our reach; impossible to hope for, silly to believe in. But if we don't
believe in our own ability to make them happen, they never will.
I've
found that my decision to be present — that is, filled with attention to what is
— is foundational.
I
often cry when I think about my brother. It's one of the few things I let myself
cry about. I missed opportunities with him because I wasn't present — missed
opportunities I will never have again. In some ways, he was almost always fully
present. He didn't know any other way to be. I don't want to miss anymore of my
life than I already have. By being present and conscious, aware and awake, I
believe that I can honor my brother, just a little bit, every day.