Living In The Present Books Novels & Stories

When he heard Damon calling me his wife, Noah seemed struck. He looked around in disbelief and ground out, “And so you let her live in a place like this?” Then, he came forward and grabbed me by the wrist. “Come. I’m taking you somewhere better to live.”

The hum of the refrigerators filled the space where music had been. Minutes later, outside, the air was cool, carrying the promise of sleep and tomorrow and whatever waited beyond it. As I locked the door behind me, something settled fully into place. I wasn’t running from the past anymore. And I wasn’t chasing the future either. I was standing in the present, feet planted, eyes open. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, it felt steady. Like the ground beneath me wasn’t going to give way. Like whatever came next, I’d meet it on my feet.

Where we have always lived. Where we will always live. In the ordinary days. Which are everything. Which have always been everything. Which will always be everything. That is what she built. That is what we hold. That is what we pass forward. Not a monument. Not a legacy. Not a conclusion. A practice. An ongoing practice. Of being present. Of receiving fully. Of choosing. Again. And again. And again. In the space. In the between. Where we live. The morning is coming.

I thought that was enough. It was not enough. And now I am here. In an apartment that is not mine, in a life I did not plan, and the strangest part of all of it is that I am more myself than I have been in years. More present. More awake. Like I had been moving through my own life at a slight remove and something cracked the glass and now everything is closer and louder and more real and even the hard parts feel more honest than anything from before. I pick up the sketchbook from the nightstand.

The ability to be in the present moment and find it sufficient rather than simply the territory between the last threat and the next one. I was beginning to be able to do that. “Yes,” I said. “I think that’s accurate.” She looked at me across the kitchen island in the Thursday morning light. “Elena would be very proud of you,” she said. I looked at the rosemary plant. “I hope so,” I said. The morning continued its unhurried work. Outside, spring was doing what spring did. Inside, a life that was mine was finding its shape. One ordinary Thursday morning at a time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The transition from the grand, consuming scale of the master architect to the intimate, quiet scale of a life well-lived was not a sudden departure, nor was it a fading away. It was a slow, graceful descent into the present moment. Elena had discovered, after the world was fully built, that the most profound work was no longer the act of shaping the environment, but the simple, radical act of being fully present within it.

--- The waves crashed. The stars shone. And a woman sat in a garden, holding the weight of a lifetime. Not because she was afraid. Because she'd learned that the practice of presence is not about being everywhere — it's about being here. And she was finally here. End of Chapter 195