Back to the Breath: How to Enjoy and Be Present in the Different Seasons of Life

I’ve always been a huge fan of Oprah Winfrey, soaking in every word of advice that she’s shared over the years, but it’s these words from her that have stuck with me the most:

“When you think you don’t have anything, I always say go back to your breath.”

Have you ever driven to work in the morning and then 45 minutes later, wondered how you got there? It’s like you were there, but you weren’t there? You remember the drive but you don’t remember making all of the turns and stops that you know you’re supposed to make?

This happens to me quite a bit. I used to think it was funny that I could live my life on auto-pilot, but now I see it as a sign that I’m not truly living in the present moment. Even with something as serious as driving to work in rush hour traffic, I’m not present. My body is there, but my mind is not.

There’s one other routine activity that I approach with the same robotic-like nature: putting my children to bed.

The seemingly easy task of putting my kids to bed is probably one of the most dreaded tasks of my evening. My two oldest kids hate going to bed. I’ve tried being sweet about it, talking with a soft voice and a quiet tone, but that doesn’t work with them so I’m forced to use my stern voice instead. “Brush your teeth. Put on your pajamas. Go to the bathroom. Get in your bed. Go to sleep. I said get in your bed and GO TO SLEEP!!!”

My youngest son is the easiest one to put to bed (he’s a baby so he doesn’t resist going to sleep just yet). Since he doesn’t fuss too much, I’m able to rush through his nighttime routine so that I can move on to the other two kids. But one night as I was putting him to bed, something told me to stop and take a breath. As I laid him down in his crib, I placed my hand on his chest and took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Then I said a little prayer for him, which is something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

I then did the same thing with my other two boys. When I finally got them into their beds, I placed my hand on their chest. I took a deep breath in, a deep breath out, and I said a prayer for them too. It was short, but it wasn’t robotic or rushed. It was meaningful, and most important of all, I was present.

Getting three children ready for bed every evening can be extremely draining — so draining that all I want to do afterwards is run to the refrigerator and grab a drink. An alcoholic drink. But I don’t want to run for a drink. I want to learn how to be more present with my children. It won’t be long before they are putting themselves to bed and won’t need me for anything. And then I’ll be wishing they were little again so that I can at least get a goodnight kiss from them.

That is the irony of parenthood. When your kids are young, you want them to hurry up and grow up; when they get older, you want time to slow down so that they can be little again.

I want to enjoy each season of my kids’ lives. I want to enjoy each season of every aspect of my life. My marriage, my job, my friendships, my writing, my yet to be fulfilled dreams and desires. I want to enjoy it all, and the best way that I can enjoy the different seasons of life is to always be present. Not wishing things were this way or that way. Not simply going through the motions or rushing through the routines. But by living, truly living, in each moment. And the only way to truly live in each moment, like Oprah says, is to go back to the breath.

It’s our breath, the inhale and the exhale, that keeps us alive.

It’s the reason that I’m able to sit in my husband’s office and type out this article — because I’m alive and breathing.

Some people didn’t get to wake up and take a breath this morning. It sounds harsh but it’s true. Some people no longer have the gift that I’m holding in my lungs right now at this very second. But I do. I have my breath, and for that very simple yet complex thing, I am grateful.

When I breathe, my thoughts always try to come in and take over. They are good at taking me on a ride to and ‘fro, this way and that way, to the past and to the future and all the way around and back again, but nothing — absolutely nothing — brings me and keeps me in the present moment like my God-given breath.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

I’m here. I am present.

I feel, I see, I hear, I touch, I taste, and I am thankful.