Table of Contents
Another Week
I sat with the experience of Being this week, not as philosophy and not something to explain. I wasn’t trying to define it. I was trying to notice it and experience it. To see what I could learn and what it meant to be with myself and with others. It wasn’t about proving anything or performing. I wanted to show up and see what was already there.
A few experiments
I started posting simple notes on Substack. “Good morning,” “How’s it going,” “Happy to see you here.” They weren’t prompts or lessons. They were invitations, a way of welcoming people without asking them to do anything in return.
I wasn’t trying to add value or teach something. I wasn’t trying to be clever or insightful. I was just showing up and saying hello.
Then I tried something stranger. I posted a note that was only a single period. I did this three times.
The idea behind it was simple. In the real world, you can be silent and still be present. You can sit in a room, walk through a space, or share a table without saying a word and still clearly exist. Online, silence means invisibility. Social media equates activity with existence.
There’s no digital placeholder for presence. If you don’t post, you disappear. If you don’t produce, you don’t exist. There’s no “I’m here” button, no way to simply be without saying something. Those posts were social media experiments, but they were also pointing at something else.
Being is physical
Most of my week didn’t happen online. It happened while eating, sleeping, working out, thinking, and taking care of the ordinary business of being alive. What kept showing up was how physical Being actually is.
I’m in and of this world. We all are. Not just thoughts and ideas, but a body. A corporeal thing that needs sleep, food, hygiene, and movement. There’s nothing mystical about that. There’s just life that needs to be tended to.
I breathe the air. I eat food. I bring the world into my body in order to exist. My body fits exactly into physical reality. There’s no gap between me and the world. We are always touching.
My mind may wander into the past or the future, into worry or flow. My body never does. It is always right here, right now.
Being is active
It’s clear to me that Being is not passive. It ends in ing for a reason.
Breathing is happening. My heart is beating. Thoughts are appearing without stopping. I’m seeing, feeling, wanting, evaluating, and choosing. Even when I think I’m doing nothing, there’s a great deal going on.
The wanting is constant. Wanting to breathe in and breathe out. Wanting food, warmth, safety, and comfort. Wanting to be engaged, entertained, loved and valued. Wanting to matter, to help, to be useful. Alongside that is the evaluating, how things are, what they mean, what should happen next. Not to mention the choosing or not choosing that follows.
All of this comes straight out of existence itself.
Because of that, the idea of Being as a clean noun started to feel off. As a noun it is too separate and abstract. Being and doing aren’t separable, they’re tangled together.
There’s no being in isolation. My being is contingent on everything else that exists, and it is always wrapped up in action, even when the action is subtle. It might be comforting to have a crisp model of what Being is, but that may be like Platonic ideals, useful abstractions that don’t really exist.
States, selves, and movement
I also went into the week thinking Being might feel like peace. Well, that didn’t happen.
Being wasn’t calm or serene by default. It was simply being present with whatever was there. That included boredom, restlessness, joy, tenderness, worry, and contentment. I noticed I could shift the flavor of being just by staying present, and I could also shift it by doing something. Like writing, jogging, sleeping, or thinking.
The states changed, constantly. I guess they always do.
That helped me name something else. There’s how I’m being (my current state) and there’s who I’m being. Those aren’t the same thing.
Within my own being, I noticed at least two selves. There’s my unchanging nature, what I showed up with. My essence. Playfulness, wit, a love of laughter, a contrarian streak, a smile that comes easily. And then there’s my “functional self”, the one I learned over time. The patterns that helped me solve problems and keep myself safe, how I focus, what I worry about, how I value outcomes.
Both matter and neither is wrong. Still, they aren’t identical.
Being alone and being in relation
On a different note, sometimes I say, “Just let me be.” That isn’t peaceful Being. It’s a declaration of autonomy. Resistance. (You know: Leave me ALONE!) A request not to be interfered with. A boundary. A very different flavor of being.
And then there were moments of worry, especially about the people I love. The most difficult thoughts are imagining a world without them Being in it. They don’t define my own being, but they give it purpose. And, they weren’t always there, but they came into my life and now we’re intertwined.
Maybe this is what it means to be in relation. Maybe Being is never fully singular.
What came at 3am
One night this week, I woke up at 3am and this poured out of me. I wrote it down.
I’m including it here for your consideration.
Meditation on Life & Humanity
This is a meditation on life and humanity.
It explores the full arc of life, including themes of aging and passing. If any part feels uncomfortable or overwhelming, you’re welcome to focus on your breath, open your eyes, or stop entirely. Listening to yourself is part of the practice.
Close your eyes.
Notice your breath.
Imagine a timeline, your life, stretched out in front of you.
To your left is your past.
To your right is your future.
And in an instant, you are back at the beginning.
At your birth.
You emerge into the world
You take your first breath.
You cry.
You meet your mother’s eyes.
You are welcomed into this world.
You discover your inner light, alive.
And you see so many paths in front of you, full of possibility.
Time moves forward.
You learn to smile, to eat, to walk, and to talk.
You taste ice cream.
You smell fresh-cut grass.
You are a child.
You go to school.
You meet other children.
You play.
You grow.
You learn.
You mature.
You form friendships and face hardships.
You venture out on your own.
You build a life, a career, an identity.
And here you are.
Right now.
You notice your inner light is still there.
It may be gentle and soft, like moonlight or a candle.
Or bright and fierce, like a roaring fire or solar flare.
There is warmth.
There is lightness.
And time moves forward.
Two years from now, everything is working out.
At work.
At home.
In life.
It doesn’t matter how you got here.
You notice your calendar.
How you spend your days, weeks, and months.
Who you are with.
What matters.
What matters less.
You notice the joy.
And who you have become.
There are still paths ahead, though fewer now.
Time moves on.
You notice your breath.
Your hair grays.
You remain of sound mind and body.
Careers end.
New lives join yours.
Loved ones pass.
There is peace.
You arrive at the final, infinite moment.
There is no fear.
Only awareness.
Your inner light is full.
You see it connected.
To yourself.
To others.
To the earth.
To the universe.
You see the impact you’ve had.
And looking back, you notice every path inevitably led here.
You contemplate what it means to be alive.
And your humanity.
And when you are ready,
You dissolve into your own light
and you pass
Into whatever’s next.
Opening your eyes,
you realize you are transformed.
The end all and be all
I don’t have a neat conclusion to this week. I’ll just have to let it be. 🙂
I have a better understanding of how alive Being actually is, how physical, how relational, how active it is, and how temporary our states are compared to what feels steady underneath them.
I do have a wish. Or maybe it’s a question.
What would it look like if our digital spaces allowed us to be present without producing? What would it mean to show up without performing? What would change if Being counted, even when nothing was said?
You’re welcome to be here, even silently, just as you are. If you want to leave a period, I’ll respond with one too.
.
A Small Note
I think of these experiences like refilling a pillbox. Each one is a vitamin I take to stay healthy. And when I fill it, I repeat a small mantra I’ve been saying for years:
Another week.
This week, I’m putting these vitamins into my pillbox:
- Silent presence: showing up without needing to produce
- Being a body: remembering I’m a body, not just a mind
- Humanity: choosing people over platforms