Being Here, Now: Choosing Presence

It took me a few weeks to understand what I really wanted to say. And the truth, like many meaningful things, is simple, but not always easy.

Being present isn’t something that just happens. It’s a choice.

We live in a world that rewards busyness. We're taught to move fast, check the boxes, and stay productive. Boredom feels like failure. Slowing down feels wrong.

But what if that stillness, the moments where nothing seems to happen, is actually where everything begins?

This realization came when we were sailing north, farther from shore than usual. Our Starlink fried, and just like that, we had no internet. I sat at the helm, refreshing Instagram again and again, until it hit me: the wifi wasn’t coming back.

And in that unexpected pause, something shifted.

I put the phone down. Played music on the speaker. The world came alive. Flying fish leapt across the waves, the wind kissed my face, and music filled the air. I laughed. I danced. The kids joined in, and we all sang together.

Later, they sat for hours drawing and crafting. Not fidgeting or drifting away, truly focused. We played cards. And told stories.

Nothing outside had changed. Not the sea. Not the boat. But we had.

Even though it wasn’t planned, even though it was forced on us at first, we chose to be there.

It wasn’t one grand epiphany. It came slowly, in quiet, almost ordinary moments:

Gal gasping at a view in Haifa he’d passed a hundred times, but only saw once. Or standing perfectly still, watching a butterfly land on a flower. Bar lighting up at a mechanical challenge, totally immersed. Sergey, never not grinning when dolphins swim beside the boat.

These moments sharpen the world. A ripple, a flower, a gust of wind, they become miracles when you stop to notice.

And presence doesn’t end in the moment.

When we’re truly present, we get curious. We notice more. Ask questions. A plan changes. A door opens. A new idea takes root.

It’s easy to believe that staying busy will get us further. But I’ve learned the opposite, that sometimes, the simple act of stopping, lifting my head, and letting the outside in has given me more than any checklist ever could.

We didn’t start this journey to escape. We started it to live more fully. And the biggest lesson we keep learning, again and again, is that the journey itself is not the goal.

Living it is.

So if you’ve been waiting for a sign to pause, to look up from the screen, to let wonder in, this is it.

The magic is already here, waiting.