7

Be Present, on Purpose, without Judgment

All the qualities of your natural mind: peace, openness, relaxation, and clarity are present in your mind as it is.

—YONGEY MINGYUR RINPOCHE

My colleague, Katherine Bonus, is the founding teacher and past manager of the UW Health Mindfulness Program at the University of Wisconsin. With the permission of Gary’s wife, she shared the following story about Gary, a young man in the end stages of cancer who had participated in her Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction classes. Gary had asked Katherine to accompany him through his cancer treatment. She witnessed this interaction between him and his physician during his last hospitalization, about four days before he passed away:

Gary was 31 years old. He was experiencing his third recurrence of cancer, after having survived two prior diagnoses. Chemo had sent him into remission twice before, but it was no longer effective. He was an enthusiastic human being, deeply loved and respected by his family and friends. Bright and successful as a graduate student and scientist, he was passionate about his work, in a loving relationship with his young wife, and eager to continue living. However, this third recurrence was not responding to treatment, and by the time this conversation took place, all medical avenues had been exhausted.

I arrived at Gary’s hospital room that morning to find his wife in the hallway. She was visibly shaken and told me the doctor had just left after having told them there was nothing more to do. He was going to be discharged. Gary had sent her out to bring the doctor back, as he had more questions.

I entered the room and could feel the profound sadness and stillness that was present. The silence was tender. I waited quietly with Gary, his mother, and a friend for the physician to return. She entered the room and the conversation began again. “What about clinical trials? Gary asked. “There must be something else. . . . Surely there must be something more. Maybe something alternative?”

I watched the oncologist. Her gazed fixed on her patient. She was present, and kind. “There is nothing more we can do,” she replied. “We’ve tried everything. You’re 31, you’re young. We want you to live. If there were anything else we could do, we would do it. Honestly, there is nothing else. I am so sorry.” She paused. “Gary, you need to get out of this hospital,” she went on. “Go home while you still have time and be with your family and friends. Turn all the energy you have about finding a cure toward your family. Have you said everything you want to say to them? Have they had a chance to be with you? I don’t want you to miss this opportunity while you can. There isn’t much time. Please, go home and turn your energy toward your family.”

There was a breaking open with lots of tears in the room and then silence. Gary looked directly into her eyes and silently mouthed, “What happens when we die?”

She repeated the question as if to be sure that she heard it correctly. He nodded yes. She became quiet, took a deep breath, and seemed to drop deeply inside herself. I watched her. What followed I will remember for the rest of my life.

Her response came with such tender presence. “I don’t know what happens when we die. Some people believe there is a heaven. Some people believe we get to come back to life in a new way. I honestly don’t know. But I do know this. Look around this room. You can feel the love that’s here right now in this room. I believe you were conceived in love, you were raised in love, love is here right now, and I believe with all my heart, when you pass from this life, you will be received by love. It is love.”

I watched Gary lean back on his pillow with a calmness, an ease. There was sadness, and there was relief. She leaned over to him and hugged him. “Thank you for letting me take care of you,” she said quietly. “I have loved caring for you. I want to say ‘Goodbye.’ Please, go home, live your days. I wish you well.” With that tenderness, she left him.

The atmosphere of the room changed. Gary’s young wife simply said, “Let’s get you home.” And together we began to make a plan. Gary was brought home that Thursday afternoon. He had the weekend with his family and some friends. Love was expressed; goodbyes happened. He died in the early morning hours of a Monday. He died in love.

I have no idea whether the oncologist practiced meditation. But I do know she was an embodied compassionate presence in the moment. She did not look away, avoid, or pretend. She had staying power to be with what was difficult. She had a steadiness of presence. She did not give well-rehearsed, contrived, automatic answers. She paused, listened, and met reality in present time.

I believe that through her presence she helped this man liberate himself so he could live fully while he was able to do so. Through her, he was more present to the reality of what is, rather than wasting his precious time. She paused, rested into stillness and clearly spoke from stillness. Her presence helped her patient and his family experience some peace in the midst of his real-life painful circumstances. It is said, “There is suffering and the relief of suffering.” That’s what I witnessed in that conversation.

A couple of weeks after Gary died, I wrote a letter to the oncologist thanking her for what I witnessed, for her true presence. She replied that when Gary had asked her the question, “What happens when we die?” she went totally blank. She felt deeply drawn inside, into nonthinking silence. It was as if the words came from silence, were spoken through her. She too had been deeply moved.

Mindfulness is the awareness that arises from being present, with heart, to what is, as it is. It is wisdom and compassion available to all. We practice simply dropping into our moments, one moment at a time, into the “isness” of life, letting go of fixed ideas and discovering the richness of the unfolding present moment. Mindfulness is not about getting rid of anything. It makes room for it all. It’s paying attention to whatever is with kindness as best you can.

PAUSE AND BE PRESENT

In order to initiate an empathetic encounter, caregivers must drop into the moment with complete presence. The founder of today’s mindfulness meditation movement, Jon Kabat-Zinn, teaches that this is like dropping a tennis ball into a hand. Although it sounds easy, this is no small accomplishment these days. People are interrupted and inundated with constant “noise”—Tweets, Facebook posts, texts, voice mails, e-mails, assimilating all kinds of information—only some of which is important or relevant. The mind often shuffles quickly among thoughts, sensations, and emotions. Minute to minute, caregivers find themselves pressured to perform, or impress others, read e-mails, follow current events, or even to get to their next appointment on time. All of this crowds the mind and forces people to mentally juggle the tasks in front of them, the last thing that was bothering them, and all of the stresses that await them later. I often visualize this endlessly churning mental activity as a tempestuous storm at sea.

Conversely, the state of being present is one that flows from the concerted, quiet effort of pausing. When people are fully present, their senses are alert. They’re perceptive and open to details. They’re prepared to take in information without judgment or analysis. True presence in the moment is in itself a communication to the person who is poised to listen. Being present, caregivers signal to their patient that they’re offering their complete focus and attention. With their bodies, faces, and voices, they reveal availability. Just as the calm but alert martial arts expert seems adept at predicting a sparring partner’s next move, the mindful clinician is able to move efficiently through a discussion, perceiving authentic signals that allow for the flow of insight and strategic action.

It’s not easy to stay focused in this way—especially in life-or-death situations. For instance, had the oncologist responded to her dying patient’s question with more information about the science of his condition, the outcome would have been much less effective for him and his family. Individuals don’t remember what we tell them as much as how we made them feel. The oncologist’s sensitive response addressed this man’s fears, not the mechanics of his difficult situation.

Establishing a compassionate connection such as this one requires close attention, preparation, and thought. It demands pinpoint accuracy and emotional attunement. This is nearly impossible if the mind is perpetually in motion. The first step then, is to stop . . . to pause, as the oncologist did, to clear the mind of chaotic thoughts. This is when personal biases (one’s internal clutter) can be identified and set aside so that one can be fully present and intentionally aware of the moment without judging the person being served.

It’s important to resist the urge to hurry through a conversation, especially a difficult one, with a person who is suffering. It takes intention to keep the mind from wandering to distracting topics such as other patients or tonight’s dinner. It takes self-awareness to avoid falling into ingrained beliefs and biases or responding in ways that are off-putting, unhelpful, or even damaging. Promoting salutogenesis is a deliberate act. The intentional behaviors of pausing and being present prepare caregivers internally to leave their comfort zone in order to consciously enter the space of the other’s needs with a clear and open mind.

To do this, effective caregivers must first stop moving. They separate themselves from the cacophony of the world. They clear their minds. They let go of preconceived notions about their patients’ lives and experiences. They drop into themselves, beneath all the internal and external noise around them. (This may require imagining that they are looking up from the seabed, observing the storm of thoughts and feelings above, but not getting swept up in them.) They pause to focus solely on the person in front of them.

Students are often surprised to discover that I mean this quite literally. A pause requires one to cease moving, take a deep breath, and remain in the present moment. It’s important to know exactly when to be still during an interaction. Intimate connections are enhanced in these spaces of internal quietness. The power of the pause has been documented in a study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association during which researchers observed interactions between patients and physicians. They found that “nonverbal attunement” prompted doctors to stop moving and speaking at moments of heightened anxiety. When they were still, their patients often provided important information that they had hesitated to reveal. Conversely, if the doctors did not take time to stop, patients refrained from sharing valuable and vulnerable information. They held back, in fact, even when their physicians asked spot-on, appropriate questions.¹

Most people, especially busy health care providers moving briskly from one patient visit to the next, are unaccustomed to allowing themselves the luxury of a pause. But even for harried doctors, this can happen in the hallway before entering an examination room. For me, it occurs when I place my hand on the doorknob. I stop and consciously take a cleansing breath before I enter and greet my next patient. A psychotherapist might pause between sessions to quiet the resounding echoes of one client before preparing for a conversation with the next. A manager might pause before calling an employee into a meeting about improving performance. A parent might pause before entering his teenager’s room to discuss what he found under her bed.

The pause provides a moment’s relief from the noise of the external world and from the incessant, intrusive, and often unnecessary whirring of one’s own mental processes. It also allows caregivers to gain control over their mind’s reflexes. In particular, it helps them break from the biases, the habitual way they process information, and the emotional reactivity that I discussed in the previous chapter. Once the critical mind starts up, people feel less, but for a connection to occur, it’s important for them to feel more. It is for this reason that pausing is an essential element of compassion.

Induction for hypnosis and guided imagery requires a pause to get one’s mind out of thought and into the place where suggestions will be more powerfully received. In fact, people pause naturally all the time—before hitting a golf ball or throwing a pitch or diving into a pool, before delivering the punch line of a joke, before posting an e-mail or letter. They pause and count to ten before reacting angrily or taking action. They pause before saying something significant that touches another’s emotions. They pause before whispering a prayer. The pause invites meaning.

The process of pausing allows caregivers to halt the reflex that provides a snap judgment or prompts them to simply move on to the next routine question, living and seeing within the confines of their own mind’s beliefs. It encourages them to observe with all of their senses. They can think before providing a prefabricated answer to the questions in front of them. There will be a time and place to bring in expertise, but to acquire authentic information that helps caregivers choose the most useful tools, they must first pause and see their patients as they truly are, and not through how they have been conditioned. As caregivers quiet their minds, they refresh the view and are better able to take in information they might have missed.

PAUSING, MINDFULNESS, AND THE COMPASSIONATE CONNECTION

Because the pause allows people to observe, without judgment, it is crucial to the development of a deep, empathic connection. But how does one foster the ability to do this naturally, seamlessly, and appropriately? From my experience, the practice of mindfulness is the key component of this important process. This is the capacity to focus on one thing on purpose, in the present moment, without judgment. This singularity can occur in many ways and through many different practices. The “one thing” can include the breath (pranayama yoga), the present moment (mindfulness meditation), a word or mantra (Transcendental Meditation), a prayer (religion), or a poem (the humanities). It can be an activity or even an extreme sport. When fly-fishing, the casting can be that “one thing” to focus on. And high-risk activities such as bungee jumping or skydiving can do wonders to focus the mind in the present moment. Perhaps that’s why they’re so addictive to some people. It makes them feel alive. It forces them into authentic living on purpose with nothing else on their mind but the free fall, or the base jump, or the inward two and a half somersault with a twist.

The practice is very simple. The mind will wander (as it always does), but then practitioners can gently bring attention back to their “one thing.” This is also true when sitting with a patient, a friend, a family member, or a client. The connector can note without self-criticism the tendency for his or her mind to wander and then return to the person being cared for. In this way, that person becomes the meditative focus. In essence, one’s work chair becomes one’s meditation cushion.

One of the pioneers of using a mindful approach before engaging in medical interactions is Dr. Ronald Epstein, a professor of family medicine, psychiatry, oncology, and nursing at the University of Rochester Medical Center, in Rochester, New York. He is the author of the book Attending. In a classical examination of mindfulness among physicians that was published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, he found that the self-reflection inherent in this practice enables them to “listen attentively to patients’ distress, recognize their own errors, refine their technical skills, make evidence-based decisions, and clarify their values so that they can act with compassion, technical competence, presence, and insight.” Through mindfulness, one is afforded the capacity to pause, be present, and make a meaningful connection.²

Until I started to practice mindfulness meditation myself, I was unable to get my mind fully out of my own biases, busyness, and distractions. But the repeated act of pausing and focusing that occurs during this activity allowed my own mirror neurons to be more sensitive to others’ feelings. I had rarely experienced this prior to having this kind of centering practice. In fact, it is so important, the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine and Public Health is now working mindfulness into the curriculum for its medical students and residents.³ The University of Wisconsin integrative medicine program was also recently awarded a contract to teach mindfulness to clinicians throughout the Veterans Health Administration across the United States. The focus is on strategies to “change the conversation” from just attending to disease to taking into account “whole health”—from treating the illness to treating the person. This is shifting the culture of health care from a linear process (this disease is a result of a problem or behavior) to a circular process that helps patients realize they can transform and be empowered to find a better way and not simply be labeled as having another disease.

Encouraging caregivers to explore mindfulness within themselves will result in sustainable change in how they view the people they are caring for. One really needs to explore this self-reflective, philosophical journey before being able to provide it for others adequately. Caregivers can practice mindfulness in a two-minute encounter and in so doing can connect and develop trust even in very short bursts. Or they can stay in a mindful state for forty minutes or more. From our research, we have found that as we train our colleagues in this process, they improve efficiency and become better diagnosticians. What’s more, their patients are happier with their care.⁴

THE BROADER BENEFITS OF MINDFULNESS

Other investigations have shown that mindfulness meditation actually has an impact on brain plasticity, reversing the negative emotions associated with burnout and strengthening resilience.⁵ It can rewire brain circuits in a way that’s healthful for mind and body.⁶ At the University of Massachusetts Medical School, a team of neuroscientists analyzed MRI brain scans before and after intensive mindfulness training. They coupled this training with a few weeks of incorporating mindfulness practice during everyday activities such as walking the dog and washing the dishes. In a clear case of brain plasticity, the researchers found that the process of being aware and present in the moment increased gray matter in several regions of the brain, including those associated with stress management, mood, and sense of self.⁷

I found this to be true in research that my colleague Luke Fortney and I completed with the help of our talented mindfulness teachers in 2013 at the University of Wisconsin. In one study, we taught a group of burned-out, busy physicians how to practice mindfulness. We abbreviated an eight-week course into an intensive weekend class with two follow-up evening sessions. During these classes, we taught participants about mindfulness and the importance of pausing and being present, and how these practices influence interactions with patients. We followed these physicians’ burnout levels and their stress, anxiety, and depression, and found that even though we didn’t track whether they continued practicing mindfulness in the intervening interval, there was significant improvement in these measures over the ensuing nine months.⁸

John Makransky at Boston College has tailored Tibetan mindfulness practices to be accessible to people of any faith or background. These meditations ease practitioners into “a state of simple presence and a compassionate connection with others.” They provide sanctuary from inner turmoil and reactivity and restore energy. The mind relaxes and remains open—as Dr. Markransy puts it—a “profound letting be. That is where deepest rest and replenishment are found.”⁹ Practicing meditation allows people to feel as if they are dropping below the choppy waves of a raging sea into its calm depth. This is the place where one’s innermost capacity of tranquility and wisdom is accessed. And it is from this place of calm that caregivers can best embody a sense of peace and safety for others.

Yet, for most people, this kind of serenity and focus is elusive. In November 2010, Science published an article entitled “A Wandering Mind Is an Unhappy Mind.” The investigators, Matthew A. Killingsworth and Daniel T. Gilbert, wanted to discover how often people’s minds wander, what topics they drift to, and whether those mental flights impact happiness. They asked volunteers to use a smartphone app that contacted them randomly during the day, asked them questions, and then recorded their answers in an online database. In 2010 this database contained nearly a quarter of a million samples from about 5,000 people who range in age from eighteen to eighty-eight and lived in eighty-three countries.

For their study, Killingsworth and Gilbert analyzed samples from 2,250 adults (58.8 percent male, 73.9 percent from the United States, with a mean age of thirty-four years). At random times of the day, the app contacted them and asked a happiness question (“How are you feeling right now?”), which they answered on a sliding scale from 0 (very bad) to 100 (very good). An activity question was posed (“What are you doing right now?”), which they answered by indicating one or more of twenty-two activities. Finally, they were asked a mind-wandering question (“Are you thinking about something other than what you’re currently doing?”). They could answer this in one of four ways: (1) No; (2) Yes, something pleasant; (3) Yes, something neutral; or (4) Yes, something unpleasant.

Killingsworth and Gilbert then correlated these responses and discovered that people’s minds wandered often (46.9 percent of the samples and in at least 30 percent of the samples taken during every activity except making love), regardless of what they were doing. The researchers found that the more the mind wandered, the unhappier the subjects were compared with those who were focused on one thing. This was true during all activities, including those that were the least enjoyable. Although minds were more likely to wander to pleasant topics (42.5 percent of samples) than unpleasant (26.5 percent of samples) or neutral (31 percent of samples) ones, people were no happier when thinking about pleasant topics than about their current activity and were considerably unhappier when thinking about neutral or unpleasant topics than about their current activity.

Killingsworth and Gilbert’s analyses strongly suggested that the wandering mind they detected was generally the cause and not the result of unhappiness. They concluded that “the ability to think about what is not happening is a cognitive achievement that comes at an emotional cost.”¹⁰

To me, the key here is that people are happiest when their minds focus on one thing well. But I always like to look at the extremes of the data. In this case, I wanted to know what the happiest people in this study were doing. It turns out that they were making love. This makes perfect sense, as it is difficult to have a satisfying sexual experience if one is worrying about tomorrow’s presentation or replaying a recent argument with a sibling. In fact, one of the main causes of sexual dysfunction is the anxious, wandering mind, which can lead to erectile dysfunction and difficulties reaching orgasm. Consider a pleasurable sexual encounter. Two people are mutually giving and receiving, engaging in an intimate and reciprocal dialogue, focusing solely on each other in the moment. But immediately after the climax, what does the mind do? It jumps right into judgment. “How was that for you?” “Was it one of your top five orgasms of all time?” “Did I nibble on your ear long enough?” Being mindful, in the present moment without judgment, is the perfect recipe for good sex. But recognize how quickly one’s consciousness wants to move on and jump to judgment and analysis—it always does.

Mindfulness is also one of the best ways to treat insomnia. Most people get great ideas right before falling asleep. In order to transition into sleep, the mind rests into one thought that evolves into no thoughts, and then, eventually, sleep. Counting sheep works on the same principle. Most sleep-induction insomnia is due to a racing, wandering mind. By focusing on “one thing”—the sheep—or engaging in a mindfulness practice (say, by beginning a slow and careful mental body scan starting with one’s left big toe), extraneous thoughts disappear and relaxation and sleep ensue.

IT’S NO SECRET

On an intuitive level, most people are attuned to whether or not the person they’re dealing with is connected to them and focusing on their real needs. Recently, I happened to overhear a conversation between two teenage girls that reinforced this for me. One said, “I’m done talking to her. I don’t know why I bother. She never listens to me.”

The other replied (rather absently, it seemed), “Really? I thought you guys talked all the time.”

The first one said, “She always says, ‘Yeah, that happened to me too.’ And then she goes on and on. I’m done talking to her.”

The speakers might have been all of fifteen years old, but I thought their insights offered profound commentary about what’s meaningful and what can go awry in an interpersonal interaction. Two people might talk “all the time”—in other words, have long-term interactions, general comfort about disclosing details, and a wealth of shared information about important experiences—but still the conversation doesn’t feel complete or authentic.

Instinct kicks in and tells people when someone isn’t fully present with them. The adolescent says she’s sharing amply but still has the sense the listener (a parent? another friend? a sibling?) doesn’t care deeply about the conversation. The fact is, just like in our common cold study, people know in their core when a connection is present or absent; compassion is there or it isn’t. It’s clear whether a person’s words are being taken to heart, or whether a friend is only half-listening. Also, individuals can readily sense when they’re respected as a listener as compared to when they’re being talked at by a person who just needs another available pair of ears. Even though many words may pass between two people, they still may not make a real connection. What feels right in a conversation is having the opportunity to express an idea completely—from beginning to end.

Clients also need to sense that their caregivers got the point and didn’t become derailed. We know from research that doctors can come up short in this regard. One study in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that physicians tend to allow patients to speak for only twenty-three seconds before interrupting.¹¹ And then they direct the conversation toward a medical agenda that’s not necessarily where their patients’ concerns were heading.¹² Patients read and understand these cues.

That can be a huge problem in health care. We know from studies that patients who don’t mention an issue and who don’t ask their doctors for help are ultimately less satisfied with their care and experience less improvement of their symptoms. One investigation demonstrated that nearly 10 percent of patients left their doctor’s offices with one or more unvoiced concern and were hesitant to ask for the help they sought.¹³

Multitasking is another modern-day issue that interferes with pausing and staying present. Would a person reveal meaningful information to a caregiver who is busily typing in an electronic medical record and not giving his or her full attention? I think not. The computer is becoming the primary object of focus in the exam room. It’s used to organize a patient’s information and help consolidate records within a system so that all professionals working with a patient have access to the same test results and diagnoses. That’s all for the good. However, more strategically, it is also used to extract money, guaranteeing that the right codes are used to bill insurance companies. Typing on the computer differs from clinicians jotting notes on paper, which help them remember important aspects of a patient’s unique story. Now they have to click buttons that have a right or a wrong pathway—with little space for gray areas. If they make an error, they must go back to correct it. When clinicians focus on the person, there is little right or wrong. There is only a story that puts a symptom into the context of the patient’s life. The computer helps medical systems improve care in many ways, but it also interferes with the most vital aspect of care—pausing and focusing on what gives doctors the most important information . . . the person in front of them.¹⁴

Besides, the professional’s level of distraction can be harmful. One of my colleagues, John Beasley, wrote a paper with Christine Sinsky entitled “Texting While Doctoring: A Patient Safety Hazard,” which speaks to the value of being fully present.¹⁵ “Texting while driving is associated with a 23-fold increase in risk for crashing and is illegal in most states,” they write. “Using a cell phone while driving reduces the amount of brain activity devoted to driving by 31 percent. Multitasking is dangerous—cognitive scientists have shown that engaging in a secondary task disrupts primary task performance.” And so they ask, “Might physicians typing into electronic health records pose similar risks?”

The sad answer is that they do. Multitasking can undermine important activities such as observation, communication, problem solving, and the development of trusting relationships. And this can interfere with proper diagnosis and treatment. John Beasley and Christine Sinsky have observed patients signaling depression, disagreement, or lack of understanding nonverbally and have witnessed “kind, compassionate, and well-intentioned physicians missing these signals while they multitasked.”

In truth, when inputting information on patients’ computerized records, physicians and others on a medical team devote much of their attention to the screen, not to the people they’re helping. Even children are attuned to their divided attention. The Journal of the American Medical Association recently published a drawing made by a young girl showing her doctor turned with his back to her as he input data into the computer. His complete separation is not lost on the girl. This reminds me of a story I heard recently from a distracted father whose daughter asked him, “Listen to me with your eyes, Daddy.” One possible solution to this problem is for medical groups to hire “scribes”—people who record important information during the office visit, allowing the physician to interact freely and fully with his or her patient. This, of course, can be costly and patients would have to agree to having a stranger in the examination room, but it’s still a strategy worthy of consideration.

Most medical training involves some discussion with clinicians-to-be about how to develop rapport with patients. The word comes from the French en rapport, which means to be “in harmony with.” Students even go through mock encounters with actors who play the role of patients. Those sessions teach the respectfulness of a clinical encounter. Students learn to ask general questions about patients’ well-being and to present undirected conversation openers such as “What brings you in today?” Through these encounters they learn to take a history, conduct an exam, ask health questions, and even deliver bad news. Adding mindfulness training to this regimen enhances new doctors’ relational skills.

There are also many subtle nonverbal aspects involved in developing rapport. Ultimately, the deepest, most meaningful conversation involves an interaction in which two people pause, drop down beneath the tumult, bring their individual selves, and work together to create something richer than the sum of the parts. Metaphorically, they enter a dance together. And, as you’ll see in the following chapter, just as in a dance, in order to connect in a conversation, the first step involves establishing trust. All of that happens before anyone offers a single word.

NOT MISSING WHAT’S IMPORTANT

The state of pausing and being fully present opens one up to unexpected beauty. It might prompt creativity and insight. Care­givers could miss these moments if they don’t take the time to recognize them. Of course, this is true of daily life, too.

I remember a day not too long ago with my family. We were on our way to Florida for a weeklong vacation, and the trip involved a connection between flights. Our first flight had been delayed, so when we landed, time was short to make it to the next terminal. We had our bags with us, and I kept checking my watch. I looked quickly at the arrivals/departures board to locate where we were headed. Urging my wife and children along, I began speed walking and then running through the airport, dodging other passengers, nervous about whether we’d make our connection on time.

Then I happened to look back. My wife and teenage kids had lagged behind. They were hurrying, but they were laughing, having a great time hustling through the airport. If I had not stopped in my determined route to get to the place I was certain we needed to be, I would have missed the delight in their faces.

So much of life is lived in the perception of the “what if.” Our fretting yanks us out of the moment, into the stress of what may happen. But if we pause and are present, we can take in the beauty all around us, even while running through an airport to catch a plane.