I’ve had this note titled “be here now” for a while now in my drafts. I don’t think my thoughts on the topic are ready yet, but writing is better than not writing, so let’s give it a go.

I spent my early twenties obsessing over zen and buddhism. I’ve read the books, the koans, the forums. I’ve been trying to search for meaning for so long, and in my state of pure confusion, I thought I had found it. Every writer, every master and every Buddha were repeating the same thing: be here now, exist in the present, nothing else is real.

They were right, but I was not — I was just parroting what they were saying, learning the words but not the ideas. They were pointing at the moon and I was looking at the finger. I was one layer removed.

At a certain point, I had a page open on a website listing a hundred koans. Koans are short stories, often made hard to really understand on purpose as to simply not tell the truth but offer a blurred version of it, the more open to interpretation the better. There’s a famous one that I love, go and read it here and then come back. There’s a clip from a movie too that I think makes it a bit more accessible, it’s slightly longer but worth the watch.

At that time I was really only living in my head — and in other people’s. I was daydreaming, reading stories, and following advice. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with it and I still do it. It’s quite healthy! Empathy is at the base of a good life. But it cannot and it should not supplant one’s path, one’s discoveries, because for how much a good writer will be able to make you feel something, you will be one layer removed from it. You will not feel the thing, you will feel the retelling of it. It’s just not the same. And worse: I don’t think you can feel something until you’ve at least experienced it once — you cannot feel the first love, or the first loss, before it’s happened to you.

It’s a bit shameful to admit, but I spent so much time looking down at other people that were just living their lives instead of reading about the million things that could be read, the million stories. How could you be full as a person if you were not aware of x or y, if you did not read Tolstoy or DFW.

I was a fucking idiot.

I got my first tattoo when all crashed down after my first real break-up, it’s a drawing of a man searching for meaning (wink wink). It was the moment when I realised I was so preoccupied with looking out for meaning, about defining it, that I forgot to live it and experience it. I think it all changed when I did exactly that: I dropped my preconceptions and my theories and just started living my own life. I promised myself I would stop wondering about all the possible things and started instead being really present, doing things instead of thinking about them. I started spending my time away from my computer and with other people, going out, dancing, being there. And it all got more meaningful since that day. It got more real.

I now have more tattoos, but in my other arm: I have my cat Mononoke, and the two pets that I had when I was younger (now passed). They are, and were, what really mattered, because they were real. And I will get a few others for other important people and moments in my life. It might sound silly to other people, but that’s kind of the whole point: they matter to me and don’t have to make that much sense to anybody else.

I think overall I’ve become a bit stupider, or maybe simpler, since I’ve started living out there instead of in my mind (or its extension, the “knowledge” that is available). I get less preoccupied with things since I have my own to take care of, I can’t really keep up that much with the current state of events anymore, and I read much fewer stories. I think it’s all fine. It’s a balance and I might swing back in the future, at least in some part. I’m okay with that too.

As a side effect, I’ve also started making more mistakes. I’ve fucked up and let people down. I was so, so careful of presenting the best version that I could that I did not really present anything to anyone. I did not connect with people and with reality. It was all posturing. I was not really present. I am still not sometimes, but I try. The difference though is that don’t try to be, I just try and the being comes by itself.

I think I’m starting to sound like a koan. Speaking of which, there’s another one that I really like: it says that before embarking on the path of enlightenment, a tree is just a tree, with a trunk branches and leaves. During the search for enlightenment a tree is no longer a tree, it’s an allegory and a metaphor for many things. After enlightenment a tree is again just a tree, with a trunk branches and leaves.

I’ve dropped out of the race. I don’t seek enlightenment anymore, I don’t seek answers and most of all I don’t seek questions anymore. I live my life and they present themselves to me, and I try my best to tackle them as they come. Sometimes I do well, sometimes I don’t. I try to live the present, to be here now, and whatever happens happens.