The Lost Art of Being Present

We never stop anymore. And I’m not pointing fingers here—I’m just as guilty, maybe even more guilty, than anyone else. We don’t stop to think, to eat, to read, to just be with people. We’re always moving. Always doing. And I get it—it’s in our nature. Humans are wired to stay connected, to stay informed, to create, to build, to work, and to learn. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: if we don’t learn how to pause, this relentless pace will kill us.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. America is the greatest country in the world. It’s a place where opportunity is everywhere, where you can achieve almost anything if you work hard enough. But when you study the lives of people who made some of the biggest contributions to society, you often find a pattern. They usually fall into one of two categories.

Some worked nonstop, sacrificed everything—health, relationships, peace of mind—and died with a heavy load of regrets. They never slowed down, never stopped long enough to enjoy the fruits of their labor. Then there’s the other group: people who did the thing they were here to do—built their business, achieved their goal—and then stepped back. They decided to be present with the people they did all that work for.

And I think we all know which group we’d rather end up in.

A Wake-Up Call

Today, I saw something that caught me off guard. I was at a coffee shop, and there was this guy sitting there with a magazine. No phone. No headphones. No laptop. Just reading a magazine and drinking his coffee.

At first, I didn’t think much of it, but I kept glancing over because it just felt... unusual. Not long after, someone joined him. They started talking, and while I couldn’t hear their conversation, it was clear this guy wasn’t just physically present—he was fully present. He wasn’t distracted or thinking about something else. He was locked into the moment.

And it got me thinking: when was the last time I did that? When was the last time I just sat somewhere, without a screen or a task, and paid attention to what was right in front of me? It’s embarrassing to admit, but I honestly can’t remember.

That moment took me back to a sermon I heard years ago. C.J. Mahaney, a pastor in Louisville, read a satirical Wall Street Journal article about a guy in a coffee shop. The article described a man sitting alone, drinking his coffee, and watching people come and go. No phone. No laptop. No agenda. And the punchline was that in today’s world, this kind of behavior is so abnormal that it seems suspicious—almost psychopathic.

It’s funny because it’s true. In a world that’s always moving, stillness feels strange. But maybe that’s why it’s so important.

The Challenge

Here’s the thing: this isn’t about being lazy. It’s about creating space for the things that matter. It’s about slowing down so you can see what you’ve been missing.

And I know it’s easier said than done. Life is busy. Responsibilities pile up. There’s always another goal to chase, another meeting to take, another task that feels urgent. But if we don’t make time to slow down, we’ll miss the people and the moments we’re working so hard for in the first place.

So, here’s the challenge I’m giving myself (and maybe you too): be like the guy in the coffee shop. Pick up a magazine or a book—something that has nothing to do with work or self-improvement. Go to a cigar lounge and leave your phone in the car. Sit somewhere and just watch. Be present.

You don’t have to be alone to do this. You just have to be here. Because life doesn’t wait. Time moves on, whether we’re paying attention or not. And the more we rush, the more we risk missing the very things that make life meaningful.

So, take the time. Be still. Be present. Not just for your own peace of mind, but for the people you love and the life you want to build.

You’ll be glad you did.