My father had presence. Not all the time, but when he was there, HE WAS THERE. I didn't realize how rare that was until he "changed" and I tried to explain to people what I missed most after his decades of gambling addiction. It wasn't specific memories or advice, but more the feeling of being in the room with someone who wasn't halfway out the door in their own head. Reading this, I wonder why his absence felt so physical, even years after he stopped gambling. You can't miss what someone was 'doing.' You can miss how they were being. Does that make sense?
It strikes me that when we talk about valuing presence, we're also talking about what we don't value - the feeling of being scattered, the violence of our inner monologue (or dialogue). The way we can feel disconnected from sensations arising in experience that are pleasurable. These and many more.
I wonder if wishing to be more present is just as much about how we show up for ourselves. How we attend to the immediacy of our own experience. The way we can feel like we're fully in our lives, instead of pulled in a million different directions that don't all feel coherent with who we truly are.
That being the case, it's helpful to remember how human it is to not be present. To have the million thoughts, the distractions, the experience of incoherence. As soon as we collapse into a binary (presence good, absence bad), I think we miss the mark.
If we onboard that, then maybe the first step in presence is learning to be with all of that inner chaos without it needing to be different. And then we can maybe take the next step of being with the chaos of others, even chaos we interpret as character flaw, without them needing to be different either.
It seems to me that this then allows the revelation of greater compassion towards ourselves and others, which surely improves existing relationships and allows us to step into other relationships of great complexity without collapsing into judgement.
Anyways, mostly coherent thoughts in response to this excellent piece. Most men I know have a chip on their shoulder about the people they wish were more present in their lives. I think it's skillful to start learning to be present with oneself first to let that chip fall off.
As always, you bring a balanced take to the conversation, JJ. No shock here.
What's more likely to be the case for most of us most of the time is a state of less presence. We're sorta present, but we know it's not the same as the states of presence we sometimes experience.
It's also no wonder we crave those states of deeper presence. Those are the moments we replay most. They seem to matter more, but to your point, they don't.
As I see it, none of this detracts from the worthiness of cultivating a deeper relationship with presence, especially for men. Even if we're going to mostly fail at creating anything durable, the effort is worth it for what we gain and how we show up for others.
You find a way to see value in imperfect people, and the warmth of having certain people at certain times. We don't always need a hero or role model, we need imperfect presence!
I wonder what Uncle Jack would say if he read this... I had an Uncle Jock, not a Jack myself. I only found out recently that Jock was never his name, just a nickname people gave him because his Polish firstname was "too hard" for us!
Thank you for this... a perfect Christmas present.
As usual, your words and way of defining something complex and abstract is the gift that keeps on giving.
I don't think I am neurodivergent, though I often feel that my fleeting attention (due to that expensive piece of equipment in my pocket) might indicate I have some tendencies. Meditation and solitude has helped me greatly in learning how to practice to be present.
Merry Christmas my very dear friend -- I think I can call you that by now.
I love you like I love my brothers, because you are so damn lovable.
Wishing you and yours the warmest holiday days and moments, and the ability to be present to them all.
Right. Digital slot machines in our pockets have made some of us wonder if we’re not “all a little ADHD.” We’re not, though. I’m fortunate in my case; I’ve really grown into the disorder.
I think of ADHD like how marathoners think about folks who run at altitude in terrible conditions. We can function as a kind of extreme lab for what’s possible.
My father had presence. Not all the time, but when he was there, HE WAS THERE. I didn't realize how rare that was until he "changed" and I tried to explain to people what I missed most after his decades of gambling addiction. It wasn't specific memories or advice, but more the feeling of being in the room with someone who wasn't halfway out the door in their own head. Reading this, I wonder why his absence felt so physical, even years after he stopped gambling. You can't miss what someone was 'doing.' You can miss how they were being. Does that make sense?
Thank you for this, Damon.
Happy Thursday evening.
It’s totally makes sense to me. What a heartbreak, Neela. To know what we valued only once it’s gone is so unfair.
For men, it seems we not only forget ourselves accidentally, but on purpose sometimes.
Thank you for showing up, friend. Merry Festivus to you.
For my dad, it’s on purpose.
Punishment and guilt, even though we forgave him a long, long time ago, but I don’t think he forgave himself.
Thank you, and Happy Holidays to you as well.
🫂
It strikes me that when we talk about valuing presence, we're also talking about what we don't value - the feeling of being scattered, the violence of our inner monologue (or dialogue). The way we can feel disconnected from sensations arising in experience that are pleasurable. These and many more.
I wonder if wishing to be more present is just as much about how we show up for ourselves. How we attend to the immediacy of our own experience. The way we can feel like we're fully in our lives, instead of pulled in a million different directions that don't all feel coherent with who we truly are.
That being the case, it's helpful to remember how human it is to not be present. To have the million thoughts, the distractions, the experience of incoherence. As soon as we collapse into a binary (presence good, absence bad), I think we miss the mark.
If we onboard that, then maybe the first step in presence is learning to be with all of that inner chaos without it needing to be different. And then we can maybe take the next step of being with the chaos of others, even chaos we interpret as character flaw, without them needing to be different either.
It seems to me that this then allows the revelation of greater compassion towards ourselves and others, which surely improves existing relationships and allows us to step into other relationships of great complexity without collapsing into judgement.
Anyways, mostly coherent thoughts in response to this excellent piece. Most men I know have a chip on their shoulder about the people they wish were more present in their lives. I think it's skillful to start learning to be present with oneself first to let that chip fall off.
As always, you bring a balanced take to the conversation, JJ. No shock here.
What's more likely to be the case for most of us most of the time is a state of less presence. We're sorta present, but we know it's not the same as the states of presence we sometimes experience.
It's also no wonder we crave those states of deeper presence. Those are the moments we replay most. They seem to matter more, but to your point, they don't.
As I see it, none of this detracts from the worthiness of cultivating a deeper relationship with presence, especially for men. Even if we're going to mostly fail at creating anything durable, the effort is worth it for what we gain and how we show up for others.
Nicely put, brother. Thank you for being here.
You find a way to see value in imperfect people, and the warmth of having certain people at certain times. We don't always need a hero or role model, we need imperfect presence!
I wonder what Uncle Jack would say if he read this... I had an Uncle Jock, not a Jack myself. I only found out recently that Jock was never his name, just a nickname people gave him because his Polish firstname was "too hard" for us!
Thank you for noticing, Nadine.
Part of learning to love the difficult parts of other people is also me trying to love the difficult parts of myself. It’s self-serving in that way.
None of us is only one thing.
But the one thing we can each be is someone who is in a state of presence with others at critical times.
It was generous and self-serving then generous to tell me it was self-serving because if made me realise the same 😉
Always enjoy reading you!
Thank you for this... a perfect Christmas present.
As usual, your words and way of defining something complex and abstract is the gift that keeps on giving.
I don't think I am neurodivergent, though I often feel that my fleeting attention (due to that expensive piece of equipment in my pocket) might indicate I have some tendencies. Meditation and solitude has helped me greatly in learning how to practice to be present.
Merry Christmas my very dear friend -- I think I can call you that by now.
I love you like I love my brothers, because you are so damn lovable.
Wishing you and yours the warmest holiday days and moments, and the ability to be present to them all.
Right. Digital slot machines in our pockets have made some of us wonder if we’re not “all a little ADHD.” We’re not, though. I’m fortunate in my case; I’ve really grown into the disorder.
I think of ADHD like how marathoners think about folks who run at altitude in terrible conditions. We can function as a kind of extreme lab for what’s possible.