I'm not a very present person. My thoughts are like a puzzle, but instead of the pieces making a cohesive picture on someone's orderly living room table, mine float in the air, twisting and turning and mashing together in chaos.
It's a beautiful mess that's often completely disjointed, and while it allows me to make completely new pictures by combining the floating pieces in new ways, those new pictures break apart in mayhem almost as soon as they come together.
I write, and I imagine many artists make art, in order to take these new pictures and put them somewhere fixed where they can't escape again. Writing is one of the few places where I can truly be present.
I'm trying to be 'in the moment' in other parts of my life too. But there's also the possibility that I'm just not built to be a very present person. I'm always 6 feet above the ground, lost in ideas and possibilities and stories. Maybe my tool for feeling solid Earth beneath my feet is to make. And instead of trying to force it in some other manner, perhaps my cure is to constantly be making.