The Courage to Be Present

Mindfulness isn't about escaping life—it’s about being fully present where we already are.

My wife and I love to hike Colorado’s innumerable mountain trails. We’ve been married for nearly forty-two years, and on many of our hikes—typically six to eight miles—we’ll go long stretches without saying much to each other. And this isn’t planned. We don’t agree beforehand to hike in silence; it simply happens. Our attention on the trail drifts to the towering pines, quivering aspen leaves, fascinating rock formations, distant peaks, or, less aesthetically, to the vigilance required to avoid loose rocks and exposed roots. We feel no obligation to fill the silence with conversation. In fact, we’ve come to treasure it.

For a long time, I thought what I loved most about hiking was the solitude. At some point it hit me that it wasn’t the silence at all—it was the presence. I practice meditation and treasure the mindfulness it cultivates, but I’ve learned that mindfulness isn’t confined to a quiet room, a cushion, or closed eyes and a focus on breathing. No, it can happen anywhere. For me, hiking has become one of its purest expressions. The steady rhythm of walking, the crunch of boots on the trail, the scent of pine, the pauses to catch my breath when at altitude, and the need to pay attention to every step gently pull me into the present moment. Yesterday’s regrets and tomorrow’s concerns fade into the background. For a little while, I’m simply where I am.

One of the greatest challenges in modern life isn’t noise, but distraction. We seem uncomfortable with empty space. We instinctively fill it with conversation, podcasts, music, or the endless pull of our phones. Even while hiking through some of the most spectacular scenery in America, my wife and I sometimes encounter people whose conversations announce their arrival long before they come into view. There’s certainly nothing wrong with conversation—meaningful conversation is one of life’s great pleasures—but when we’re constantly talking, we’re often missing what’s happening around us...and what’s happening within us. Vulnerability begins with self-awareness, and self-awareness requires presence.

I also appreciate what those quiet miles say about our marriage. We don’t walk in silence because we have nothing left to say to one another. Quite the opposite. After more than four decades together, we don’t need constant conversation to reassure ourselves that everything’s okay. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s peaceful, encouraging, and it reflects trust. We give each other the freedom to notice, to think, to reflect, and simply to be. Interesting how some of our deepest moments of connection occur without a single word being spoken.

Our culture celebrates people with the quickest opinions, the loudest voices, the most followers, and the fastest responses. But vulnerability guides us in a different direction. It suggests we slow down, listen more than we speak, and become fully present—to the people beside us, to the world around us, and to ourselves. Meditation teaches us how to return to the present moment. Life gives us endless opportunities to practice it, with some of my best lessons having come not while sitting quietly in a room, but while walking beside the woman I love through Colorado’s mountains. Today’s world constantly pulls our attention somewhere else. One of the most rewarding things we can do is simply be fully present where we already are.