being present Archives - Ingrid Murray

These Past Months

Two outreached hands, spray painted in black onto a wooden fence, extend index fingers as if to touch, a la Michaelangelo's God and Adam on the Sistine Chapel.

The summer solstice fell on June 21st this year. Then the midway point of 2023 passed, and I finished James’ Clear‘s Atomic Habits a few weeks later. All of this has culminated in a pressing need to take a moment to pause, be present, and ask myself: How are things actually going?

The little things become the big things

Atomic Habits’ entire premise is that “small habits don’t add up. They compound.” The book explores the psychology of and misconceptions about habits, and suggests that building the lives we desire is possible through small, consistent daily choices and actions.

I highlighted nearly every other sentence; each on its own contains a multitude to parse out. It was Clear’s comments on self reflection, though, that jumped out at me as the mid-point of the year had just passed. He writes:

Reflection and review enables the long-term improvement of all habits because it makes you aware of your mistakes and helps you consider possible paths for improvement. … Personally, I employ two primary modes of reflection and review. Each December, I perform an Annual Review, in which I reflect on the previous year. … Six months later, when summer rolls around, I conduct an Integrity Report.”

I reflect and set intentions just before each new year, and I do have a sort of quarterly/seasonal reflection via my newsletter. Until now, though, I haven’t dedicated any thoughtful time mid-year to checking in on the goals I dreamed up the winter. And given that I’m progressively more stunned by how quickly time speeds by (and often bewildered as to how to recapture my days and be the agent in my own life), a summer review is a practice I’m adopting, starting now.

Two open mixed media art journals stacked on one another. The one at the bottom has black brush strokes! The one on the top is made of brown craft paper and has minimal collage and energetic marks and drips in neon pink and black.

What I’ve achieved

In a wild and literally life-changing year, moving to Germany was the biggest goal — everything else, really, was icing on the cake.

But I am proud of what else I’ve made happen: I chased some big dreams (took part in Messy May, applied for a freelance writing gig with an author I admire, called about a studio space), prioritized mental and physical health (journaled, meditated, felt all the feels, went on many walks, upped my fruits and veggies), and emphasized delight (attended an intimate Vivaldi performance, traveled to Italy, took part in some Oliver Burkeman workshops, tried new restaurants in Cologne).

Looking ahead

I’m stealing something from Clear’s Integrity Report — identifying and centering core personal values. Similar to years past, the values that resonate most with me are curiosity, creativity, joy, security, and connection. (This is a great tool I’ve found for narrowing down your own.)

How can I better embody my core values in my daily life?

Curiosity. “What if…?” Buy and try new art supplies. Explore new things, with permission to move away from them if they don’t feel right.
Creativity. More art-making, and embracing of imperfection. Stylistic exploration. More making things with my hands: knitting/crocheting (coasters), carving stamps, collaging, big paintings, jewelry, sewing (clothes). Make home home. MORE WRITING.
Joy. Get out of the house and see musicals, go ice skating, pet the dogs, go to a Weihnachtsmarkt, travel. Chase the things that make me so excited I want to throw up. Go on noticing walks several times a week. Reflect more on what brings me delight.
Security. Financial: Put more in savings by the end of year. Sell some art in some way. Self care/having my own back: regular reflection, writing, asking self Qs that help. Get better sleep. More movement, veggies, self love.
Connection. Stay in touch with old friends. Nurture new friendships. Have a regular virtual game day with family. Buy ticket for home. Read more books. Pick up the phone and call my parents.

Ultimately, in a few months, when I look back to what I have achieved from this point, I want to have written more, to have stretched my linguistic muscles and shaped my ephemeral and fleeting thoughts into words. I want to have cultivated joy and ease and connection, and above all to have been gentle with myself.

Street art of Bacchus nursing a hangover with aspirin and Alka-Seltzer

A look up at the intersection of two buildings early in the morning

Being Present

How much of your own life, of your own thoughts, are you missing?

Whenever I travel and face limited digital connection, I realize just how much my online habits have taken over my life. Last August, I was in Tunisia with my now-husband, visiting his extended family for the first time. Cell and internet service was limited, so I spent the entire week unplugged. I couldn’t snap a photo of the beach and immediately post it, then inevitably get lost in social media updates — so I snapped the shot and then returned to the present, actually enjoying the water and the company.

Usually, any time I have a few seconds between tasks, or I am waiting for something, even for a few minutes, I reach for my phone. I scroll through Instagram, or type in some answers in the NYT crossword app. I check my email, knowing that it’s mostly newsletters I won’t read and won’t respond to, just for something to do. I’ll check the weather over and over.

You are a priority

For years, I have practiced paying attention to the tiny things, the bees and the ants and the clouds and neighborhood kids laughing. But rarely do I give myself that same time and attention.

Anne Lamott writes in her book Bird by Bird about how so much of writing is sitting down and waiting, listening, and seeing what arises. “If we just sit there long enough, in whatever shape, we may end up being surprised … Try to calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen,” she says. Austin Kleon has a similar mantra, shared by a former writing teacher: “Apply ass to chair.” Put the distractions aside and show up for yourself and your art.

The creative process requires us to be present. How much inspiration and intuition are we missing by keeping ourselves distracted? Why do we spend so much time avoiding what is right in front of us, or what is going on within us?

How I practice being present

“There is ecstasy in paying attention,” Anne writes. But to pay attention, to find that ecstasy, we have to tear ourselves away from all the things — TV, social media, notifications, news — that are tearing us away from ourselves.

I’m still learning how to be more present (and unlearning toxic avoidance), but here’s what works for me:

Embrace the discomfort. When we are used to being entertained and distracted every moment of every day, unplugging or sitting still is hard. I remind myself to sit with that discomfort, and not to run from it.
Get grounded. When I need to ground myself in the present, I do things that require me to be off my phone: get outside, go to the gym, meditate, or journal.
Get in the flow. I stop ruminating on the process or the shoulds, and start. I’ll put some paint on a page. Stick some collage down. Go full screen in a writing app and get some words out. If I show up, often the flow will follow.

Ode to Summer

The heat in Baltimore has finally broken and it’s under 90°F for the first time in months. It’s lovely — my windows are wide open for much of the day, my cats firmly planted on the windowsills. It’s also a reminder that fall is just around the corner.

When this time of year hits, I spend more time in the present, soaking up every bit of sun and warmth, like Frederick the mouse, and noticing and appreciating all the little things about the season that will soon be a memory. This summer, especially, I am gathering up all the things about this season and this neighborhood.

Change is on the horizon: after five years of living in my current home, this is the last summer I will be here. I want to remember all the little things I have noticed and loved, to remember when it’s cold and dark and I am homesick.

Especially, I want to remember how early summer’s fireflies transition to the late summer sound of cicadas and crickets, and how the goldfinches gather in the thistles in June and July and make their way to the echinacea in August. I want to remember the deer who graze mostly unfazed on the hill behind the new development (and the foxes who played there last winter).

I want to remember the turn of each road, the walks with friends, the little libraries, the impromptu dog park, and how the ghosts of other seasons linger in kinesthetic memory as I pass — snow and holiday decorations, the lilacs and magnolias in bloom, wild cicadas making their 17-year debut in 2021, pumpkins and fourth of July banners.

This is a bittersweet moment. Change always is. For now, I will be present and soak up every moment.

And when he told them of the blue periwinkles, the red poppies in the yellow wheat, and the green leaves of the berry bush, they saw the colors as clearly as if they had been painted in their minds.”
Leo Lionni

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

This year, thus far, is made of the highest highs and lowest lows. In fact, it feels exactly like the start of Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

In January, I eloped in a beautiful ceremony in Denmark. Then, I had a serious health scare, culminating in my first-ever surgery. A few months later, two of my grandparents were diagnosed with cancer. Luckily, my husband and I were able to travel to the west coast to spend precious time with them, and a few days later, we had a beautiful wedding celebration with family and friends.

Life is full of ups and downs, but rarely do they happen in such extremes right on top of one another. On this emotional roller coaster, I am acutely aware of how much the good times are possible because of the bad times, and vice versa. If loved ones weren’t so dear, we wouldn’t miss them when they’re gone. Ill health reminds us to be deeply grateful when we are well.

It is the highs that define the lows, and the lows that define the highs.

All this leaves me overwhelmed by love and a renewed understanding of how fragile and fleeting life is. If nothing else, this year (thus far!) is a reminder of the certainty of beginnings and endings, and that this moment — right here, right now — is all we really ever have.