You may hear advice to “be present to your experience” but what does that actually mean? How do we find presence in an age of smartphones and social media and ceaseless notifications?
After a cloudy start, the sun finally came out for the afternoon. I seized the opportunity to sit out by the pool and enjoy the last few hours of summer. I had the space to myself, plenty of open time to work, but I was too exhausted to read or work.
I laid back on the lounge chair and closed my eyes.
The cicadas that had been buzzing earlier had retreated, leaving a void of silence.
Water slowly trickled down the stone waterfall from the spa into the main pool. Its soothing pitch was supported by the steady hum of the pool mechanicals. My breath slowly fell in line with their rhythm.
The silence was audible, and punctured in rare moments by the sounds of a late summer afternoon.
The high-pitched chirps of birds calling to each other.
The rumble of a passing car.
The faint sounds of laughter from children playing in nearby yards echoed in the distance.
A plane roared as it glided above me across the clear blue sky.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
The air was still, save for a periodic soft whoosh of an afternoon breeze that brought with it a rustle of the late summer leaves.
With my eyes closed, I tuned in and heard them all. They were the sounds of stillness.
Underneath my back, the plush pool towel provided a layer of comfort. My legs felt the woven fabric of the lounge chair firmly supporting me in my rest. My arms laid heavy at my sides, my hands meeting the chair’s steel frame.
I felt the warm air hug my toes as my feet dangled off the edge of the chair.
I felt the beating of my heart inside my body.
I noticed my skin feel increasingly warm as the last clouds moved away and the late afternoon sun poured over me, bathing me in its abundant light.
I opened my eyes. The two ends of the pool were already resting in shade. The sun rested in the embrace of the branches of the two tallest trees on the property, just beginning its journey behind their leaves. It sat in its perch, beaming down on the center of the pool.
The water danced under its magnificent light, and it called to me.
Like a dutiful daughter, I rose at its command.
I stood at the edge of the pool, my feet resting softly on the warm stone. I inhaled the sun’s reflection in the water.
I sat at the edge and dipped my feet into the clear blue oasis. The cool water met my warm skin with a soothing embrace. My blue toenails flickered against the aqua background as my feet danced on the surface. I watched a leaf dive in from a tree branch, twisting and flipping like a skilled Olympian. It called to me to join it.
And then, for the last time this summer, I gave my body over to the silky blue oasis. The water splashed around me with joy as I embraced it in return. I once again heard the joyful sounds of children — this time from within me, as the water washed over me, it’s magic power offering a cleansing.
There is something special about water. It offers a rebirth. A renewal.
I inhaled the moment.
Chasing the last drops of sunshine, I pulled myself out of the water in time to soak up the last spray of warmth from the late afternoon sun.
As I collapsed onto the chair, the plush towel met the water on my back. I allowed the sun to shower me with its gifts.
I ate the last of the watermelon, tasting the fading sweetness of the season.
I absorbed it all: the water, the sun, the stillness; the tastes and sounds and sights and feelings of this glorious season in its waning moments.
I closed my eyes and breathed them in: these last remaining drops of the season that gives me life.
In those moments there was no email. There were no pings or buzzing. There was no planning or predicting or anticipating. There was no fear or worry. There were no clients or blog posts or to-do lists.
Time stopped. There was nobody and nothing else.
And then suddenly, with a strong breeze that sent a chill through my body, Summer kissed me goodbye, like a lover who leaves silently in the pre-dawn haze.
I wrapped myself in the towel as I headed back inside. Soon, I would head back to the city. Back to life. But for those few moments, it was just the two of us there: me and Summer, clinging on to our final moments together.
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