In the moment
Why is “living in the moment” so hard to actually do?
We’ve all heard the phrase before: live in the moment.
It sounds simple. Almost obvious. But turning it into a habit is another story entirely—especially in the world we live in.
Most of us spend our time bouncing between two places.
We look backward, replaying regrets, past failures, or even past accomplishments. Then we fast-forward into the future—planning, mitigating risk, lining up the next phase of life, the next job, the next responsibility.
But rarely do we do something intentional in between.
Rarely do we stop.
Right in the middle.
That’s what “the moment” actually is.
The moment is a muscle—and most of us don’t train it
I’ve learned this through practice. And honestly, through being forced into it.
Coming from a stressful career, a divorce, and other traumatic events, I didn’t arrive at this insight because I wanted to. I arrived because I had to.
And that’s usually how it goes.
We don’t make changes because it’s the “right time.”
We make them because we missed the subtle warnings along the way.
Stressful jobs.
Chaotic households.
Family and relationship pressures.
Constant noise.
We get so used to the noise that we become numb to what our body and mind are trying to tell us.
So when we move from past to future, we never pause in the middle long enough to listen.
Listening is harder than planning
Being “in the moment” isn’t passive. It takes effort.
It means being centered. It means listening. It means noticing what your body and mind are signaling—without immediately drowning it out with distractions, goals, or expectations.
That part doesn’t come naturally to people who’ve spent their lives in survival mode.
But sometimes perspective comes from unexpected places.
What my dog taught me about presence
I’m a dog person. Always have been.
If you’re not a dog owner, maybe it’s a newborn, a toddler, or a young child—but the lesson is the same.
They live with a lens that’s unfiltered. Pure. Entirely present.
My dog has been my sanity check more times than I can count.
When I’m carrying regret from the past.
When I’m stuck worrying about where I’m going.
When I’m weighed down by things I can’t control.
She pulls me back to center—without words, without judgment.
And honestly, without her over the last ten years, I think navigating forward would have been much harder.
Presence doesn’t argue. It just exists.
Plans aren’t the problem—noise is
I still believe in goals. I still believe in direction.
But here’s something I’ve noticed over time.
If I look back at five-year plans I once made, less than half of what I thought I would accomplish actually happened. And for a long time, I framed that as failure.
Lack of discipline. Lack of follow-through. Lack of focus.
But when I looked closer, something else stood out.
Many of those goals weren’t truly mine.
They were shaped by noise. By expectations. By what I thought I was supposed to want.
Recognizing that helped me ground myself. It helped me accept that I don’t control most outcomes—but I do control how I respond, how I behave, and what I prioritize today.
Smaller goals bring you back to now
There’s nothing wrong with having a North Star.
But there are many paths to get there—and most of them are outside your control.
What is in your control is what you do today.
That’s why I stopped chasing big, abstract goals and started setting smaller, daily ones. Goals I could actually keep.
That’s how I rebuilt confidence. That’s how I lowered stress. That’s how I learned to stay present.
One day at a time. One decision at a time. One moment at a time.
Practical takeaway
If you want to live more “in the moment,” start here:
Stop trying to control outcomes and focus on what you can control today.
Set smaller goals. Daily goals. Goals that build trust with yourself. Presence grows from consistency—not from perfect plans.
The past can’t be changed.
The future isn’t guaranteed.
But the moment is always available—if you’re willing to stop long enough to meet it.
