Life is full of innumerable places,
some preferred over others.

Maybe you are
Up and active on a sunny day.
Lounging at your local coffee shop.
Resting and enjoying a vacation.

Or

Maybe you are
Begrudgingly sitting at your desk on a dreary day.
Lounging in rush hour.
Tirelessly working to meet a deadline.

Wherever you may be, the anticipation of where else you could be robs you of the ability to experience where you currently are.

We can, if we truly seek, discover the beauty between here and there.

The breathing,
laughing,
crying,
creating,
contemplating,
your very life,
can feel as if it is on pause until you are finally there.

Finally
Outside with better weather.
At home.
On vacation.

Far too often, we trade life– what’s right here, right now– for the fantasy of being elsewhere.

That isn’t to say you cannot prefer some locations or environments over others.

There is nothing problematic in having preferences.
Problems only begin to arise when we put our lives on hold until reality perfectly aligns with our preferences. This is a recipe for a prolonged sense of disappointment.

It is easy to remain open to life when strolling on the beach or sitting on a mountain top;
it is much more difficult when scrolling through email or sitting in traffic.

If we are able to feel alive there, do we not also possess the ability to do that here?
If we are able to feel a sense of lightness there, do we not also possess the ability to do that here?
If we are able to be at ease and escape our anxieties there, do we not also possess the ability to do that here?

We have the ability to feel alive, light, and calm. We simply must learn to experience them in other scenarios.

How do we learn to enjoy our lives?
While I don’t believe there is a singular answer that could successfully be extrapolated to fit everyone, I also don’t believe we are hopeless to discover an answer for ourselves completely by ourselves.

We are endlessly being invited to see life in a new way.

How do we learn to enjoy our lives?
For me, a simple hike and a short drive helped me live my way into an answer.

The Hike

Hiking is incredibly important to our dog, Oaken.
My wife and I like to join him when we’re invited.

There is nothing quite like hiking.

When you are moving your body,
exerting energy,
basking in Nature,
and seemingly removed from society,
you cannot help but feel more in step with life.

I feel most myself when I am hiking,
surrounded by pure beauty,
separated from the hurriedness of life.

My wife and I discovered a new hike last week.

It had sharp pines and wide vistas, an array of textures and colors.
Also, it had my favorite person, always in frame, complimenting what laid before me.

Yet, I began to feel discontentment growing within me.
This yearning to be elsewhere.
This condemnation that what surrounded me wasn’t quite enough.

Why?
We were near a highway.
If only we were hiking in silence, then I could enjoy this.

The slightly irritable and easily ignorable sound of commuters (negatively) contributed more to my state of well-being than anything else.

More so than what stood before, behind, and within me.

With this realization, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I also couldn’t help but see the wisdom in this.

The fantasy of some future idealized moment robs us of experiencing the joy and mystery of this moment.

Martin Heidegger, the German philosopher, outlined two different modes of being, with each having a different focus.
1. Everyday: How things are.

2. Ontological: That things are.

When you are operating from the Everyday mode of being, your focus lies on the specifics of life. Instead of appreciating the stunning absurdity of life, you easily grow numb to it, quick to identify how things are and how they differ from your preferences.
The subtle sound of a distant highway is able to disturb you.

When you are operating from the Ontological mode, your focus lies on life. Instead of endlessly critiquing life, you naturally find yourself grateful that there is life and that you get to be a part of it.
The subtle sound of a distant highway is unable to disturb you.

For me, beginning to operate more so from the Ontological mode of being has gradually made me feel lighter, more curious, and more aware of just how unfamiliar much of life truly is to me.

To be clear: The end goal is not to abandon one mode of being for the other.
One does not need to strive to live solely from the Ontological or Everyday mode being.
The goal is a healthy integration of the two.

By beginning with an appreciation that things are, we are sure to possess greater clarity and lightness as we consider how things are.

The Drive

Two days after the hike, I drove home from a short yet stunning walk.
Have I mentioned I love living in Colorado?!

Peace by Ben Rector came up on Spotify.

A reflective, honest song about a man trying to find peace naturally nudged me to do the same.

As I was trying to feel greater peace, a noisy, catalytic converter-less car playing heavy metal pulled up parallel to me at a redlight, entirely drowning out this gentle tune.

Here I am again.

There is an abundance of things to admire.

It’s golden hour.
Sunny and 70.
100% windows down weather.

The foothills are towering over me.
Everything is turning more and more green.
I am driving home to go eat nachos for crying out loud.

Can one “negative” aspect have that much power?

Henry David Thoreau writes in Walden, “I trust that nothing can make life a burden to me.”

Nothing can make life a burden to me.
Try repeating that to yourself.

When the copy machine jams again.
When your harddrive crashes.
When the stain on your favorite shirt won’t come out.

Nothing can make life a burden to me.

When friends disappoint you.
When you don’t get that job.
When you burn the meal you spent hours preparing.

Nothing can make life a burden to me.

When there is little sunshine in the 10 day forecast.
When the last place you would choose to be at is where you are.
When there is a ridiculously loud car overpowering your ridiculously peaceful song on a ridiculously beautiful day.

Nothing can make life a burden to me.

This redlight was one of those rare, eternal red lights, offering me plenty of time to learn this lesson.

Immediately,
I felt a bit of disdain for the driver,
balked at rolling my windows up,
noticed the similarities between this and the hike,
and then, once again, laughed.

Nothing can make life a burden to me.

With windows down and a smile on my face, I savored that moment and the entire drive home with a sense of peace that Ben Rector sung about:
“I have figured out you find peace where you make it.
Scenery won’t change it.”

“If you really want to escape things that harass you,” Seneca writes, “what you’re needing is not to be in a different place but to be a different person.”

I don’t need to be in a different place.
I need to be a different person.

A person who can laugh, breathe, and find joy regardless of where their feet are.
A person who has preferences but is able to accept and maybe even embrace the limitations of life.
A person who is both courageous enough to design their lives to their liking and humble enough to accept when life doesn’t conform to their will.

There is life, goodness, and beauty to be discovered both here and there.

Would we allow ourselves to be in awe that things are.
Would we, like a child, grow both curious and appreciative of the familiar and unfamiliar.
Would we discover the beauty between, both here and there.