Preparing for Presence

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about presence—how it feels, how it shifts the body, and how much I need it as I prepare for our Living LIT retreat in November.

Presence is easy to talk about, but not always easy to practice. My natural rhythm is fast. I move quickly, think quickly, and often walk quickly, as if the next moment is more important than this one. But presence requires something different: slowing down enough to notice.

I’ve been practicing this in two ways.

First, through movement. For me, that means running to the gym in the middle of the day to lift heavy weights. It means pushing myself through both strength and cardio because I can feel my stress melt out with each rep. It also means making time for Pilates in the middle of the week, where every move is slower, intentional, and connected to breath.

And then there’s the other kind of movement—the kind I resist but need. Walking slower. Listening to the crunch of gravel under my shoes, smelling the fresh-cut grass, feeling the air on my skin. It takes conscious effort for me not to rush. But when I do slow down, I notice the difference: my mind quiets, my body softens, and I’m here, not racing ahead.

Second, through watching my grandkids. They don’t plan to be present—they just are. When they play, they laugh, run, fall, cry, and get up again without carrying the last moment into the next. I’ve been practicing joining them in that, letting myself laugh when they laugh, kneel in the dirt, or listen closely to their stories.

Science tells us what I’ve been learning firsthand. Stress floods our system with cortisol. It’s not the enemy—we need it to wake up, to act, to get things done. But when it lingers too long, we get restless, irritable, sleepless, unable to enjoy what’s right in front of us.

The antidote is practices that activate the vagus nerve, the body’s built-in reset switch. Slow breathing, grounding touch, mindful movement, and play all tell the nervous system: you’re safe, you can rest.

That’s why these practices are part of what we’ll experience together in November. Not just journaling and reflection, but movement that shifts stress out of the body. Not just meditation, but breathwork that resets the nervous system. Not just quiet time, but also laughter, food, and connection that remind us of the joy in being alive.

Lesson: The little things—lifting a weight, slowing your pace, laughing with a child—are not little at all. They’re how we lower cortisol, restore balance, and return to ourselves.

This is how I’m preparing for our retreat: by practicing presence in the everyday, so when we come together, I’m able to lead, fully present—grounded, intentional, and open to whatever the moment brings.