“You know what your problem is, Brian?” This is a question that was asked of me about 30 years ago by someone I both liked and respected. I didn’t want to know the answer, but I replied to the contrary. “You need to be present more… in this moment.” It was like a gut punch, and I can honestly tell you that this statement has not left my brain since it was uttered so many years ago. Every once in a while, it bounces around in there and lets me know that it still exists. You may have had someone say something similar to you in the past. I can’t believe that I am alone in this. It may have been hurtful or helpful, but it resonated in such a way as to have a lasting impact.
I pondered what this meant, first of all, and then I questioned whether it was true. It was, and it still is. In my pursuit of making a change, I read a book by an 18th-century priest, Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade, titled The Sacrament of the Present Moment. It didn’t seem to have an impact, so I read it again with the same results.
You see, my entire professional life, I have been focused on the future, planning, anticipating, and modifying those plans based on changing circumstances. It is precisely what my clients were paying me for. This spilled over into my personal life as it was a persistent, ingrained habit. I am not bragging, but I find it almost impossible to live in the present moment. Don’t get me wrong, I have periods of time when I am able to be present, but these are periodic episodes and not habitual.
I am self-aware enough to know that, at times, I am a bit much. My routine is my comfort animal, and I am often rainman-like in my adherence to it. I like the repetition of my self-imposed discipline.
Fast forward to spring break 2025, where I would be sailing the British Virgin Islands for 8 days with eight other people on a 52-foot monohull sailboat. We had been planning the trip for our daughter’s senior year with another family and a couple of the girls’ friends for about a year. I was the “Little Buddy” to the “Skipper,” who was the other dad and had done this trip almost a dozen times. Skipper had our days mapped out (in his mind), and I learned to just go with the flow. Ordinarily, I would plan every aspect of our family trips. Not just because I wanted to have control over it, but more like I wanted to maximize the fun and experience for the short period we were together. Ask my kids about our trips to Disney and the moniker they assigned me as the Fun-Meister.
I was usually the first one awake in the morning on the boat, and would make a cup of coffee, grab my devotional and my book, and watch the sun rise. I finished one entire cup, uninterrupted, the whole trip. Often, we would need to set sail before 7 am in order to get to our next mooring ball. Breakfast was often a protein bar and the sea air. Once the boat is underway and we are sailing, there is no shortage of things that need attention. Many tasks fell into the little buddy job category, and I was learning quickly how to be useful.
I suppose we were around three days into our voyage when I realized that I was so far out of my element that I discovered I was truly present at each moment. I was not involved in the planning, I didn’t have access to my phone or internet, I didn’t know the weather forecast or where we were heading, and I found joy in my lack of control. I was in every moment without anticipation of the future, and because sailing requires full attention to the changing conditions, I was distracted by each of the natural elements in the Caribbean Sea.
Skipper would direct us to a coral reef or small island where we would anchor and snorkel the crystal-clear waters. I became a 14-year-old boy again and explored caves and exotic fish. I felt like I was in an aquarium and enjoyed every moment. We encountered barracuda, squid, giant turtles, and even a six-foot shark. I admit, I have never been more in the moment than when I swam over this massive sea creature. I can also tell you that we cut that moment short. In a battle with even a small shark, my money would be on the shark (presuming we were in the water. On dry land, my money would be on me).
Showers came at a premium since we were limited by the amount of fresh water we had on board. Every time we made it to shore, I took a shower. Even in a makeshift shower from a converted telephone booth at the end of a dock. Fortunately, I had become accustomed to cold showers, as that was often the only option available.
I found the idea of being present in each moment to be uniquely liberating. I know this may sound foreign to some of you who are always in the moment. But you have to understand that for someone like me, this was a revelation and quite liberating.
The teenage girls on the trip were always in the moment, and I think young people in general are very good at this. I could learn a lot from them and tried my best to mirror their wonder and awe of our beautiful surroundings.
Even though I am now firmly ensconced on terra firma, I am trying to carry the lessons I learned back to my ordinary life. My wife told me that we should send me out to sea more often if that is what it takes. That may be true, but I am hoping that I will be able to carry the spirit of that trip forward and learn to be more fully present.
In no way do I think that I am cured. I am, however, encouraged that I was able to string 8 days together when I was able to live in the present moment. This is a record for me. I am hopeful that I will be able to incorporate what I learned on this voyage to my everyday life.