Last year I was training for an intense two-person relay with my running buddy. We were training to run 50 miles collectively (me 22 miles, her 28 miles). This was a trail-relay full of elevation gains and losses that were intimidating, but a challenge we were stoked to take on. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it to the race due to Hurricane Helene, but we trained right up until two days before it was supposed to happen.
That alone was a lesson in enjoying the process rather than only focusing on the end destination (a post for another time), but what really came through for me during that training cycle were revelations around presence.
On one run in particular, I hit the trail with the end goal of 11 miles as outlined in my training schedule spreadsheet (yes it’s nerdy, yes it’s lovely - shout out to Coach Aja). As I was heading to the trailhead, I was feeling intimidated and nervous about the mileage - not because I hadn’t run that far before, but because it just felt like a lot to tackle that day, especially on trail.
But what I love about trail-running rather than road-running is the opportunity to immerse deeply in nature and the extra amount of presence required from every part of your mind and body. The trail is dotted with rocks, stones, leaves, roots, branches, and tiny plants that call out for attention. If you zone out to music or a podcast or even your own thoughts too much you could slip, fall, or worse, miss the experience of it all.
Trail calls you to be present, to watch your step, to only pay attention to the very next placement of your foot, to feel your breath, to feel your heart, to feel your life.
So, during the first mile of this 11-mile run I felt exhausted thinking about all of the ground I had yet to cover. I caught myself staying stuck on “11 miles, 11 miles,” and realized I was going to reach 11 miles whether I only focused on that end number or whether I only focused on each next step. Either way, I’d get there - it was just a matter of where I wanted to put my energy. A matter of which choice felt more enjoyable.
So, I shifted my focus to the next step, and as I did I forgot about “11 miles.” I tapped into the joy of the moment. I paid attention to the micro-movements of my feet and ankles - where my toes hit the dirt, where my heels propelled off of rocks, where my ankles navigated in and around roots with graceful cautiousness.
As cliche as it sounds, it was a new embodiment that each step adds up to that final 11 mile destination. But when I was only focused on the total amount of mileage, I was missing out on a powerful opportunity to strengthen self-trust to take the next aligned step towards that destination.
And then of course I related that to the creative journey (and the life journey in general). When creating art, if we stay focused on the final end-piece, we are pulled out of all of the aligned creative choices that must be made to get there. When I focus only on the end vision, I tend to tense up, get rigid, and hold my breath and body in a way that prevents flow.
But when I set the end vision as a compass point - and then let it go - I can tap back into taking each micro-step that feels right in the moment, trusting over time those actions will add up and come together into the final piece - not only the one I have in mind, but the one that wants to come to life which could be even better than what I first imagined.
It becomes SO much easier to approach creating (and life) in this way. It releases the grip (my constant work), releases the pressure, releases the rigidity. Rather than thinking of all of the miles, or steps, you have to cover to get where you want to go or to reach your goal or to finish the piece, you only have to ask,
• “What feels like the right next step?”
• “What feels like the aligned next choice?”
• “What feels like the next color I want to add?”
• “What feels like the next line I want to make?”
And as you answer each question with an action, that action asks the same question again and again and again - ultimately simply asking, “What next?”
Which then gets answered with a new action and so on until you’ve reached 11 miles or your final piece.
Ultimately, it is through the necessity of this presence that I’ve come to find attention is simply reverence. Attention is devotion. Attention is living.
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