Today I Choose to be Present oriented – How to be Present oriented

Last week, I stood in my kitchen at 6 AM, coffee in my dragonfly mug (yes, the one Curtis brings me every morning without fail), and watched my chickens fight over a worm. Lelu had found it, Stevie Chicks wanted it, and Morticia was playing referee while secretly plotting her own worm heist. It was ridiculous, dramatic, and completely absorbing.

And that’s when it hit me.

I’d just spent 10 years working through vacations. Not occasionally. Not “just checking email.” Consistently, thoroughly working through every single vacation for a decade. While my family fished in the Florida Keys, I sat in the rental condo on my laptop. While they made memories on the boat, I made spreadsheets in the air conditioning. While they watched sunsets from the deck, I watched numbers on screens.

You’d think this realization would have come during some profound meditation or therapy breakthrough. Maybe while journaling or having a heart-to-heart with a friend. Nope. It hit me while watching chickens commit assault and battery over a worm.

The Chicken Wisdom

Here’s what struck me about those chickens: They were completely present. Lelu wasn’t thinking about yesterday’s worm or tomorrow’s potential worms. She was 100% focused on THIS worm, RIGHT NOW. No existential crisis about worm meaning. No strategic worm planning. Just pure, present-moment worm engagement.

Meanwhile, I’d spent a decade living everywhere except where I was. On vacation but working. With family but thinking about deadlines. In paradise but stressing about problems 1,500 miles away. My body was present. My mind was in a conference room in Denver.

The chickens, in their ridiculous worm battle, were more present-oriented than I’d been in years.

The Vacation Audit

Standing there with my cooling coffee, I did a mental audit of the last decade of “vacations”:

• Steamboat 2014: Worked every morning from 5-9 AM, most afternoons
• Colorado 2015: Turned a family trip into three client meetings
• Keys 2016-2019: Four years of sitting inside working while Curtis fished
• Beach House 2020: Zoom calls from the bathroom so family couldn’t hear
• Mountain Cabin 2021: “Just one important call” turned into full workdays
• Last Month’s “Long Weekend”: Brought two laptops “just in case”

I hadn’t taken a real vacation in a decade. I’d taken my office to nice locations.

The Cost of Future-Living

Being present-oriented isn’t just about not working on vacation (though that’s a start). It’s about recognizing how much life you miss while planning for life. I was so focused on future security, future success, future everything that I missed the present everything.

While I was building someone else’s empire from that Florida Keys condo, Curtis was building memories. While I was solving tomorrow’s problems, my family was living today’s joys. While I was being responsible and productive, life was happening without me.

And for what? The company I killed myself for? They could replace me in 2 weeks if I left. The critical deadlines? No one remembers them now. The urgent problems? They solved themselves or became irrelevant.

But those sunsets I missed? Those fishing stories I wasn’t part of? Those spontaneous beach walks I skipped for conference calls? Those are gone forever.

The Present-Moment Rebellion

After the chicken epiphany, I made a decision. Not a plan, not a goal, not a future intention. A present decision. I closed my laptop in the middle of a “critical” report and went outside.

Curtis was in the garden, probably wondering why I wasn’t working. “Want to go to lunch?” I asked. On a Tuesday. At 11:30 AM. With work waiting.

The look on his face was worth a thousand missed spreadsheets.

We went to that little Thai place we always say we’ll try but never do because I’m always working. We sat outside. We people-watched. We made up stories about strangers. We were present-oriented for exactly 73 minutes.

The world didn’t end. The report waited. The emails accumulated. And I had the best Pad Thai and the best conversation I’d had in months.

The Physiology of Presence

Being present-oriented feels different in your body. When you’re future-focused, there’s a forward lean to everything. Shoulders pitched ahead, mind racing toward what’s next, breathing shallow because you’re literally holding your breath for tomorrow.

Present-orientation has a settling quality. Shoulders drop back. Breathing deepens. You actually taste your food instead of inhaling it while typing. You hear the full sentence someone’s saying instead of just waiting for your turn to talk.

At that Thai lunch, I noticed:

• The way Curtis’s eyes crinkle when he really laughs
• The spice level was perfect – hot but not painful
• A toddler at the next table discovering ice cubes
• The sun making patterns through the umbrella
• My phone buzzing and not caring

That last one was revolutionary.

The Fear of Missing Out vs. The Reality of Missing Now

FOMO usually means fear of missing out on something better happening elsewhere. But I had a different kind – fear of missing out on future success, future security, future achievement. So I sacrificed present joy for future maybe.

But here’s what the chickens taught me: The worm is now. Life is now. Curtis’s stories about his fishing buddies are now. Jesse’s phone calls are now. The sunset is now. The Thai food is now.

Tomorrow’s worms aren’t guaranteed. But today’s worm is right there, and Lelu is going to enjoy every second of it, even if Stevie Chicks is trying to steal it.

Present-Oriented Doesn’t Mean Irresponsible

Let me be clear: I still work. I still plan. I still save for retirement and meet deadlines and honor commitments. Present-oriented doesn’t mean becoming a financial disaster who lives only for today.

But it does mean when I’m working, I’m working. When I’m with family, I’m with family. When I’m on vacation (and yes, I take real ones now), I’m on vacation. No laptop. No “quick calls.” No “just checking email.”

It means choosing where my attention goes instead of letting anxiety drag it into tomorrow’s maybe-problems or yesterday’s should-have-dones.

The Practice of Presence

Being present-oriented at 61 requires practice. Decades of future-focus don’t disappear because you had an epiphany watching chickens. My brain still wants to

• Plan tomorrow during today’s dinner
• Solve next week’s problems during this week’s weekend
• Worry about next year during this year’s vacation
• Calculate retirement while missing actual life

So I practice. Simple things:

• Phone stays in another room during meals
• One conversation at a time (no mental multitasking)
• When walking, just walk (not walk-and-plan)
• When Curtis tells a story, listen to THIS story, not think about MY story
• When the chickens do something ridiculous, watch them

The Unexpected Benefits

Since becoming more present-oriented, unexpected things have happened:

My relationship with Curtis improved. Turns out, he’s been interesting this whole time; I just wasn’t present enough to notice. His fishing stories are actually funny when you listen to them instead of pretending to listen while mentally reviewing your to-do list.

My creativity exploded. When you’re present to the moment, you notice things. Colors, patterns, absurdities, beauty. My Dutch pour paintings got better because I was actually present while creating them instead of thinking about what to create next.

My anxiety decreased. Most anxiety lives in the future – what might happen, what could go wrong, what if, what if, what if. When you’re present-oriented, there’s just this moment, and this moment is usually fine.

The Present-Oriented Challenge

Here’s the hard truth: Being present-oriented at 61 means acknowledging that there’s less future to focus on anyway. This isn’t morbid; it’s mathematical. I likely have 20-25 years left if I’m lucky. That’s not a lot of vacations. Not a lot of sunsets. Not a lot of spontaneous Tuesday lunches.

I can spend those years focused on the ever-receding future, or I can be present for them. I can work through them, or I can live through them. I can plan for someday, or I can be here for today.

The chickens know something I’m just learning: This moment, this worm, this now – it’s all we actually have.

Today’s Choice

Today I choose to be present-oriented. Not because I’ve mastered it (I haven’t) or because it’s easy (it’s not), but because I’ve seen the cost of the alternative. Ten years of vacations I took but didn’t take. Conversations I had but didn’t have. Moments I was there for but wasn’t there for.

When my mind wants to leap into tomorrow’s problems, I’ll watch the chickens. When anxiety pulls me toward future fears, I’ll taste my coffee. When work wants to invade vacation, I’ll remember that condo in the Keys where I chose spreadsheets over sunsets.

Being present-oriented doesn’t mean ignoring the future. It means not living there. It means being where my body is. It means that when Curtis brings me coffee in my dragonfly mug tomorrow morning, I’ll be present for that moment of daily kindness instead of already being at work in my mind.

The chickens get it. Lelu doesn’t care about tomorrow’s worms when today’s worm is right there, worth fighting for, worth being fully present for.

At 61, I’m learning that every moment is a worm worth being present for. Even the mundane ones. Even the difficult ones. Even the ones that don’t seem important until you realize you’ve missed a decade of them.

Today I choose to be present-oriented. The emails can wait. The future will arrive whether I worry about it or not. But this moment – this coffee, this sunrise, this ridiculous chicken drama – this is happening now.

And now is where I choose to be.