Being Present

With a deep breath, I pulled in air from my regulator, then slowly let the bubbles escape as I exhaled. I could hear the slow, intentional rhythm of respiration and feel the weight of the water around me. It was a comfort, an embrace. The awareness of air and water together slowed the pace of life.

Although I have nearly a hundred and forty dives in my log, there’s no sense of repetition—I’m delightfully surprised at each dive’s gifts. And there, at eighty-six feet underwater on a reef in Little Cayman, God and I had a conversation.

Our place—God’s and mine—is often on a coral reef. There, he seems to know I’m peaceful and receptive, and while I can’t hear his words, I can feel his whispers in my heart. He seems to wait patiently for these moments. On a reef, I’m a better listener and a better observer.

During the previous few months, I’d been acting as though the best way to live the life he’d given me was like a child filling her pockets with rocks. I had stuffed one valid, wonderful opportunity after another into my bulging pockets, whether or not I truly felt called to any of them. Full pockets equal a full life, right? Many of the “rocks” were sources of incredible happiness—writing, photography, and time with my family. But I picked up other “rocks” merely because there was no reason not to participate, and because I didn’t want to feel left behind.

During this dive, I thought about how I’d been determined to do so many things all at once. My fear was that if I wasn’t at work constantly, developing each and every area of aptitude God had given me, one or more avenue would go dark and still. But something about scuba diving provides a release from one world and opens my eyes to another.

Dark and still. Those were the words that echoed in my mind on the surface and followed me underwater. In front of me was a landscape of coral formations, dark caverns, and the blue abyss. I knew I could get caught up in the awe of the vast world around me, and not really see the wonder within its magnitude. I could keep swimming, say I’d been present and appreciated what was there, and check the box. But then I’d miss out.

Instead I remembered that when I’m still, this blue world comes into vivid focus. Floating closer to what appears to be a rock formation brings greens, blues, yellows, and purple hues to life in some of God’s most beautiful creations. Some names are easy to decipher, like brain coral, vase coral, and tube coral. They’re all on display with their unique ridges, indentations, and intricate patterns. Inside a dark hole, I might find some luminescent shrimp dancing about or a rock crab napping after his night’s adventure across the ocean floor. I’m reminded that these formations are homes and hiding places for hundreds if not thousands of living things.

But I can’t see it all at once, and God reminds me I can’t take in everything in life with my eyes and spirit all at once. That’s not how life works. It’s impossible to focus on everything, and not making a choice splits my attention and dilutes my understanding of where I’ve come from and where I’m going. When I miss the tiny movements, the small steps and short strides, I miss out on how happy I am with what’s really in focus.

[Tweet “God reminds me I can’t take in everything in life with my eyes and spirit all at once.”]

God’s whispers in these quiet moments help me breathe power back into myself—a good kind of personal power that provides strength and peace. In Amy Cuddy’s book Presence, I read about power as a force of nature, and I agree wholeheartedly. Cuddy says feeling powerful “synchronizes our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors, bringing us closer to presence,” and she goes on to say that power “makes us feel fearless, independent, and less susceptible to outside pressures and expectations, allowing us to be more creative.”*

Presence and personal power. These were the concepts I’d buried. I needed to enjoy the opportunities most meaningful to me instead of weighing myself down with too many yeses.

Back on land, I’m encouraging myself, calling upon myself, to repeat the whisper to be present, to choose a focal point and watch it come alive. I’m remembering the pull of breath, the exhale of bubbles, and the whisper in my heart. I’m giving myself permission to be happy being happy, to dive into what’s in view, and to focus on simply being present.

*Amy Cuddy, Presence (Boston: Little Brown and Company, 2015), 129.

If you don’t see Lacey Rose Dixon taking photos or writing, she’s thinking about it. So far, she’s called Minnesota, South Dakota, and Michigan home, and her passport gets itchy for stamps. Lacey loves scuba diving with her hubby and crawling after her little man. Follow her @laceyrosedixon on Twitter.

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