Recently, I have been conscientious of presence. The way one holds themselves. The way one walks with purpose. The way one eats alone in the glowing sunlight.
Before college, I thought if one was by themself, it meant that they were lonely. But upon entering college, I witnessed this permeance of solitude. Eating by yourself and watching a show, taking a walk at Crum Woods and listening to music, studying in the backshelves of McCabe. Now that I am in my second year, I think I have realized that college life is predominantly filled with constant noise. Barely time to breathe from luxurious course work, persistently listening to news, our eyes, desperately exhausted as we try to push through these last bits of writing. Perhaps, we need time, submerged in ourselves, our own being, just being. Perhaps, this solitude is pertinent, to withhold, to withdraw from the world for a few long seconds in order to reset.
Now more than ever, a habit I have been trying to uphold is not checking my phone upon waking. Rather, I try to preserve this small part of me that is still sleepy — calm, at peace. I take a few steps forward to receive sunlight. Sometimes, I open the windows and breathe in the crisp morning air. And if I have time, perhaps I will make myself some boiled eggs and rice crackers. Perhaps, I will read a book. Perhaps, I will steep a cup of green tea and lean over to fill my face with fog — and I breathe. This slow movement, deliberate. I try not to rile myself up with stress and today’s workload. Instead, I acknowledge it and push it away. I put the thought away for now: not yet.
For now, I will move with intention. For now, I will take it one step at a time. For the now, I try.
When I start to live life like this, I begin to notice that the ordinary does not seem so ordinary anymore. I notice the way the dining staff take the time to ensure all the scrambled and sunny-side-up eggs are accounted for — the way they will remember your name and you will remember theirs and then a conversation starts to bloom and a relationship forms. I notice the way when my friend plays Für Elise, there is light there. Quiet in the way her finger presses the keys, quiet in the way life starts to become a composition. I notice your somber eyes, the way they are lined with fatigue, your forehead traced with wrinkles, and your hands — dry and cold and smears of pencil marks on that last finger of your decaying hands. Tired, they shout. No more, they wail.
But amidst all this, I notice that within a few minutes, I feel myself faintly smiling. A smile, I did not know had appeared. When everything gets overwhelming, hectic, I let myself float a little. And soon, the background noise of the dining center filled with students’ voices and final exam dates fade, and I find myself: deep, within, a glowing orb. I am there. I am here. Just here.
