Wish I was here
Choosing to live where everything is amazing, but nothing is real.
Before we dive in, a big thank you to the 7 of you who signed up for paid subscriptions to this newsletter—that’s 7 more people than I expected!
If you’re keen to support this publication and my version of longer form, introspective writing, you can head to this link. It means the world to me. 🙏🏻
There's a memory from many years ago that continues to haunt me.
I'm on holiday in Vietnam with my parents and older brother. We are sitting in an outdoor cafe, each having a coffee, taking a break from the day's activities. All of us are tired, sticky; every movement feels thick and heavy, like we're sitting in sludge while a creaky fan spins slowly overhead.
While my body is here, my mind is not. I am restless, uncomfortable, and wishing I was somewhere else. I am grumpy as hell.
At one point, I grunt or fidget or do something, and my mum asks, "Why?" in that tentative way that parents have when they know something is up, but are being careful because they're not sure what lies on the other side.
And I blurt out, "I'm just hot and bored."
If ever I had to write a listicle of the Top 10 Bratty Moments of Julian's Life, this would easily make the top 3. Even today, I wince whenever I recall this incident.
Right now, as I’m writing this, we've all just returned from another trip to Vietnam—our first family holiday in close to a decade.
This time, I'm thinking about something different.
We've just sat down for dinner at a restaurant in Hoi An's old town. My mum and I are staring at a screen hanging on a wooden beam—the only obvious piece of tech in an otherwise charming, antiquated interior.
We've had a long day. The food is not amazing. I'm feeling a little moody because I feel like I didn't order well, and am regretting not checking out the restaurant next door when my brother noticed it.
But as my mum and I stare at this incongruous screen, watching the digital image of a roast duck fade out into pixels, the pixels fading into a prawn, neon orange, and back out again, duck, prawn, duck, prawn, more dancing pixels, we look at each other and laugh.
"Isn't that so ridiculous?" we say.
In that moment, I realise where I am. I am alive, spending time with people who love and give a shit about me. I did not have to apply for leave to come on this trip, and just less than an hour ago I was on a boat on a river watching the sun set over mountains in the distance. Dinner could have been better, but what the hell do I have to complain about?
This is not a story about family. This is a story about how, for much of my life, I have always struggled with being present in my own life.
Whenever things have not felt straightforward or effortless to me, it has always been easier to evacuate; to check out and to mentally and emotionally leave a situation. It has always been easier to escape into my imagination, to ruminate over how something could have gone better or differently. To focus on what is missing, rather than what isn't.
It is a downward spiral that I can embark on quite willingly and effortlessly, where I start at, "Why didn't it go this way?" quickly progress to, "If only I had done this, they had done that, and we had agreed ..." only to find myself in, "If only I was more like this, less like that, then we would not be in this situation, and I would not be feeling this way about myself ..."
Whenever I think of what it's like when I'm not present, this is what I come closest to:
I am watching multiple screens. In front of me is a screen that is playing the movie of what I wish was happening instead. Off to the side is one playing a documentary covering all the events which led up to this moment. Next to it, a commentary video unpacking all the historical analysis and existential philosophising that I associate with this moment. Next to that, another screen plays an endless reel of other things that are weighing on my mind: work, friends to catch up with, life admin, shit I'm still trying to resolve, etc.
And when I evacuate to this movie room, it doesn't mean that I'm happier.
It is familiar; a space where I feel comfortable and safe. But it is in this space that I am also suffering. There is nothing warm, fun, or energising about the downward spiral.
Externally, I become more disengaged, more irritable. I become a bad vibe, which in turn creates a bad vibe, and in turn feeds my desire to be somewhere else because there is now an abundance of bad vibes to go around.
It's taken me precisely this long to learn this: I cannot escape a present situation by wishing it was better. No matter how much magical thinking I indulge in, an unpleasant reality that I'm in is still an unpleasant reality that I'm in.
So over the last year, I've been trying to notice whenever this starts to happen. And when I do, I literally say to myself, "Ehhhh, you're drifting. Come back. Oi. Idiot. Do you want to be here or do you want to be miserable? Stop it."
I then realise that I am here right now. I can look up, get out of my head, and do something about it.
And it doesn't have to be anything big. I just have to say something, put food in my mouth, connect with the person next to me, look around for something quirky or surprising that can ground me and remind me that I am alive in this moment.
It is just about shifting myself from thought to action. Do the thing. Ask the question. Go to the place. And allowing myself to be surprised by whatever happens.
After all, life is not a movie to be watched. Whenever I choose to evacuate, I'm choosing to spend my energy deciding which movie is worth watching, skipping from one to the next and back again, rather than playing a role in the only movie that actually exists—the one that I'm in, and not the one I'm watching.
I am also slowly learning that being present is not just about giving my full attention to whatever is happening right now. It is also about recognising that what I have is good, and then wanting what I have.
Because I actually do, if only I would stop to notice it.
The thing about watching the television screens is that there is no risk in watching. There is no possibility of pain in simply being an observer and commentator on my own life.
As long as I am musing and obsessing and deconstructing and intellectualising, I am not risking rejection, embarrassment, anger, and all those other horrible things that come with not being met with what I'm looking for.
Yet the irony is that when I'm able to do this, to step out of my head and my feelings to engage with the present—whether it's a place, a person, or an event that is unfolding—to see my life for what it is ... I feel like I'm actually existing in my body.
I feel lighter.
I become more capable of curiosity and gratitude.
I crack more stupid jokes.
I do more, and more things turn out fine.
I become the kind of person I actually want to be around.
Work with me 1-1: I coach individuals to deepen their self-knowledge and create tools to better navigate careers, relationships, and life. If you resonate with my writing and are keen to explore working together, you can drop me an email, connect with me on LinkedIn, or book a conversation with me. Even if you’re not sure whether this is for you, I’m happy to chat.
I don't know, but I am going to guess you are en route to 40? I went through much of what you're writing about then, but the good news is this process brings you out the other side a much calmer, happier, less anxious person. And if that doesn't work, there's always Zoloft lol!! See you soon.