The Return

A quiet invitation back to what you already know

The costs of mindlessness

“You ever wonder how much people miss out when they’re always on their phone? Do they even experience life?” my sister asked as we sat in Philadelphia’s infamous Magic Garden.

I sat back in the rounded, woven chairs as I looked out at the mosaic collection in front of me. Glass bottles protruded from concrete walls, sculptures of nude artists were scattered amidst the bottles, and paintings were laid upon the ceramic tile pathways below our feet.

Instead of waxing poetically about how our society is in the middle of an attention crisis, I simply said, “Yeah. It’s pretty sad.”

My sister went on to say how she enjoys documenting experiences for safekeeping and memory retrieval. But it becomes a nuisance when someone is so engrossed in capturing every moment that they fail to experience the moments that make up their lives.

The deep truth struck a chord with me.

It made me realize times when I’ve fallen short and failed to enjoy the present moment. Not always due to technology or wanting to capture the moment, but due to the fact that my mind wasn’t where my body was. Instead, it was ruminating about decisions that had been made, things that haven’t happened, and stories I’ve told myself for years.

I’ll be honest, the mindless habits of succumbing to impulse, desire, or allowing the mind to be unexamined have been the root cause of much of my suffering.

After all, as Mark Twain once said:

“I’ve spent much of my life worrying about things. Many of which have never happened.”

There’s a deep sadness that slices through your heart and makes the hair on your neck stand when you read those words because it encapsulates the current state of our culture.

People would rather capture the moment than experience it. And thus, they’re missing out on their lives because they’re worried they’ll miss out on their lives if they don’t capture it.

Quite the paradox.

And this has had quite an effect on our society.

What society has become

We’ve become, in a strange way, a generation watching our own lives from the next room.

I don’t say that with judgment. I do it too. I catch myself reaching for my phone before my feet hit the floor. I catch myself half-listening to someone I love while a podcast plays in the background. I catch myself documenting instead of being.

So what is there to do?

The answer (and invitation to presence)

The answer isn’t more discipline.

The answer is solitude.

Not the lonely kind. The chosen kind.

The kind where you sit down on the porch with no phone, no podcast, no agenda, and let the silence get awkward for a while. The kind where the nervous system slowly remembers that nothing is asking anything of you. The kind where, eventually, the chatter softens, and you can feel the stillness underneath.

Tara Brach calls this coming home to yourself.

In mindfulness practice, that’s all there is to do.

You don’t need a week in the mountains to begin. You don’t need an hour. You need fifteen minutes and the willingness to be a little uncomfortable while your mind finds its way back to your body.

So here’s my invitation, friend: tomorrow morning, before the day picks you up and carries you off, give yourself a small pocket of solitude. Sit by a window. Walk without your phone. Drink your coffee without a screen in front of you.

See what’s there when nothing’s pulling at you.

I think you’ll find what my sister was pointing at in the Magic Garden — that the moment is, and always has been, right here.

Waiting for you to come back.

Waiting for you to enjoy.

With care,

Jimmy

P.S.

If you’re in search of more solitude, this Saturday, from 9 am - 12:15 pm, I’m co-hosting a mini-retreat with my colleague and friend, Tara Cariano, in-person and online.

Check out the link below if you’re interested.