I’m really excited because France has finally opened up to tourism again and in about a week I’ll be heading to France to lead a much-awaited retreat at an unforgettable château in the rolling and bucolic hills of Bordeaux. Before arriving in Bordeaux, I’m also leading a “pre-treat” to Paris where I’ll personally guide guests for three days of walking tours around some of my favorite quaint Parisian neighborhoods, with perhaps some impromptu yoga on the lush lawns of the Tuileries Gardens.
My intention for this entire retreat is to practice several days of regular, deep presence and thereby truly uncover the secret to savoring life. I proffer that presence is the pre-qualifier for pleasure. Without presence, you could be standing in front of the Mona Lisa or being served an exquisite French meal and the experience would totally be lost on you. But, with presence, even the most mundane bowl of oatmeal could be a delicacy. So, why not have both: the Mona Lisa and the presence to truly appreciate it.
Speaking of the most famous woman in the world, here’s something I wrote about my first trip to Paris where I saw the Mona Lisa for the first time and became aware of a very curious phenomenon about not actually seeing her at all. Check this out and I’d love to hear what you think…
In 2011, I was in Paris for the first time, visiting the Louvre, perhaps the finest art museum in the world. While there were many paintings I'd been waiting my entire life to see, and I know I'm cliché here, the Mona Lisa was primo on my list.
I mean almost 60 years ago, they tried to insure the Mona Lisa for 100 million dollars but had problems because many felt that the sum was much much too low, and that was 1960s dollars! Fun fact: Napoleon used to have the Mona Lisa hanging on his bedroom wall and would spend hours in rapture starting at it.
I’d waited years to see the Mona Lisa and finally in Paris, giddy with anticipation, I made my way to the Louvre, a monstrous institution, through the Denon wing densely packed other priceless yet unnamable art, and found room #6 which houses the one and only Mona Lisa. I was dying to get a glimpse of the most (in)valuable painting in the world. At last, I turned into the room where the Mona Lisa hangs and at a distance, I could see the renaissance rockstar enshrined on her own dedicated wall, protected behind a guardrail, bulletproof glass, and flanked by two bouncers.
Suddenly, the hallowed hush of the Louvre was irreverently replaced by the din of excitable tourists. As I approached her, I was pressed in a hot vice of adoring fans, all craning to ogle the most mysterious woman on canvas. The venue felt transformed into an arena at a rock concert where I was squeezing through hordes of fans, desperately hoping to make eye contact with that infamous seductress and her inimitable half-smile.
As I jockeyed my way forward, I began to notice something very peculiar. Nobody was even looking at the Mona Lisa. Not really. Instead, everyone was looking at the viewfinder on their smartphones, tablets, or cameras. More than taking a moment to drink in this priceless work of art, most people were worried about getting the perfect selfie with Mona in the background.
And as I looked around at the crowd, I started to notice a distinct pattern. Many people would fire off several photos of some priceless art, including a few hundred selfies with the Mona Lisa, then without so much as a pause, they would scurry off to some other art masterpiece to do likewise. For what? So they could brag to their friends that they were in the same room as the Mona Lisa… but never really took a second to actually see it?
Still, I have to admit that something about this phenomenon is natural human behavior. Hasn’t everyone been guilty of experiencing something extraordinary—a resplendent sunset, an aromatic cup of coffee, or a masterpiece like the Mona Lisa—and we’re afraid the moment will end, so we try to capture it with a photo because doing so and posting it to social media will somehow make it permanent, right?
And have you ever tried to show some innocent, unsuspecting person the photos of that moment? It goes like this, “Here’s the great hotel I stayed at, only it’s so much nicer than the photo suggests, you should really see it. Oh, and here’s the most amazing latté I had at the perfect café, but you had to be there, this photo doesn’t do it justice. Here’s the Mona Lisa but she’s much smaller than you’d expect. . . ”
This is when you look up to see your friend’s eyes gloss over or start to check their watch. The photos don’t translate because the optics of the picture represents only the smallest part of what you hopefully experienced in the moment. Or which perhaps you didn’t experience . . .
Ironically, trying to capture any moment prevents you from actually having it in the first place. It’s because you’re thinking about the future you want to create around the object rather than experiencing it in the present. To really experience any moment requires practiced presence with all of your senses. Your senses are an incredible tool for presence.
Without being present to the experience, when you’re back at home, looking at your dozen or so selfies with the Mona Lisa, you’ll have no connection to that moment. The photos will mean about as much to you as they would to your friend whom you abused with photos of your latté. The photos won’t recall an experience you thought you had because you never really had the experience to begin with.
And this is getting a little Zen here, but since our identity is the product of our ability to pay attention, if you weren’t present with all of your senses, there was really no “you” to have the experience in the first place.
I’m just as guilty as the next guy of trying to capture the moment with a photo. But by bringing my unconscious actions to consciousness, I can deliberately make a choice to do something different.
So never take photos of amazing things, right? Never post anything on social media? No, let’s not be luddites. But maybe try having the moment first, then if you want to, take a photo to remember a moment you truly experienced.
And sometimes, try allowing yourself to simply experience a moment without a camera. Soak it up and be 100% there by consciously involving all of your senses, raw and unfiltered.
Before there were cameras or smartphones, people had to use memories to recall experiences. Go old-school and create a real mental repository of experienced events. What did the light look like in the gallery? What does the smell of paint on canvas evoke to your imagination? What sounds did you hear in the gallery? What were the textures and temperatures you felt on your skin? How did it taste? And remember that if you try to taste the Mona Lisa you better be prepared to lose a tongue.
I realize that it’s a little glib to simply say , “be present.” But practices like yoga and meditation help us to establish presence as our default when we are having any experience, whether mundane or extraordinary. And with presence, even an otherwise mundane experience can prove to be extraordinary once your senses come alive.
Without presence, even the miraculous or priceless moments (read experiencing the Mona Lisa) will pass you by without leaving an impression. I'm thinking about those simple but perfect moments like hanging with our kids, focusing on good work, or experiencing live music, dance, or poetry. To receive the gift of these moments truly requires presence.
The immortal poet Rainer Maria Rilke speaks to being existentially destitute as the result of lack of presence in his rather stark poem, Already The Ripening Barberries Are Red.
Already the ripening barberries are red,
and the old asters hardly breathe in their beds.
Those who are not rich now as summer goes
will wait and wait and never be themselves.
Those who cannot quietly close their eyes,
certain that there is vision after vision
inside, simply waiting until nighttime
to rise all around them in the darkness
it's all over for them, they feel old and tired.
Nothing else will come;
no more days will open,
and everything that does happen
will cheat them.
Even you, my God. And you are like a stone
that draws them daily deeper into the depths.
He’s saying that without presence, without any poetic imagination for things as they are or could be, you’ll never experience the heaven which is here. Indeed, he suggests that even the notion of God offering you a future heaven is itself like a stone drawing you deeper into the depths of hell, the product of unconsciousness.
Sometimes in a yoga class, I see the fidgets, the distant stares, and the vacancy of someone whose mind is somewhere else. It happens to all of us sometime or other. Still, I want to say, “Come back. We’ve missed you. Be here now. Be there later.”
When you sense you’re having an extraordinary moment, or hell in any moment, try closing your eyes and running through all of your senses for a minute or two. Then open your eyes and add the most dominant sense. Ask yourself, how does this make me feel? Truly involve all your senses to practice being completely present to the experience.
This might all sound like a Mr. Miyagi mantra and probably is. But hey, that dude could break boards with his forehead so that’s gotta count for something. Plus you can’t break boards with your forehead if your head is somewhere else.
I invite you to practice being fully present in all your experiences whether mundane or extraordinary. Be completely present by using all your senses and truly experience the moment.
When that's done and you’ve actually stimulated the neurons enough to make a memory, then you can opt to pull out your phone and take a selfie to remember the momentous occasion.
Drop me a line. I’d love to hear what you think about taking selfies and more importantly, the practice of being present enough to enjoy any situation.