Welcome to Unscripted, a weekly reflection on what it means to live without inherited stories, rigid identities, or predetermined purpose. Each Monday, I explore a different part of this shift toward presence and clarity—one moment, one breath, one pencil stroke at a time.
Presence is often spoken about as if it were rare, advanced, or difficult to attain. Something earned through discipline, training, or years of practice. Something monks cultivate and the rest of us chase.
But presence isn’t something you acquire. It’s something you notice.
You already have it.
What most of us lack isn’t presence—it’s permission to trust it.
What Presence Is (and Isn’t)
Presence isn’t calm. It isn’t silence. It isn’t the absence of thought. It isn’t a permanent state you arrive at and stay in.
Presence is simply being aware of what is happening right now—without immediately trying to fix it, explain it, judge it, or escape it.
It’s the moment you notice your breath without controlling it. The instant you realize you’ve been lost in thought. The pause before a reaction. The awareness that you’re thinking.
Presence is not the elimination of noise. It’s the recognition of it.
And that recognition is already happening—whether you’re aware of it or not.
Why Presence Feels Elusive
If presence is already here, why does it feel so hard to access?
Because we’ve been trained, from early on, to live one step removed from direct experience.
We’re taught to interpret before we feel. To evaluate before we notice. To assign meaning before we sit with what’s happening.
Most of our lives are spent inside commentary:
- What this means
- What this says about me
- What I should do next
- How this fits into a larger story
Presence doesn’t live in commentary. It lives before it.
And the mind is very good at pulling us back into narration.
Presence and the Pencil
This is where the pencil matters.
A pencil doesn’t rush. It doesn’t jump ahead. It moves line by line.
When you write with a pencil—physically or metaphorically—you’re forced to slow down enough to stay with what’s here. One word at a time. One stroke at a time.
You can’t write tomorrow’s sentence today. You can’t revise what hasn’t been written yet.
The pencil keeps you honest. It keeps you present.
This is why writing—journaling, reflecting, sketching thoughts—is such a powerful doorway into presence. Not because it produces something, but because it requires attention.
Presence Is Not a Performance
One of the great misunderstandings about presence is the belief that it should look a certain way.
Calm. Peaceful. Centered. Spiritual.
But presence includes:
- restlessness
- frustration
- boredom
- doubt
- fatigue
- grief
- joy
Presence isn’t a mood. It’s a relationship to whatever mood is here.
You don’t become present by fixing your inner state. You become present by seeing it clearly.
The moment you notice, “I’m distracted,” presence is already operating. The moment you realize, “I’m anxious,” presence is already here.
You didn’t fail. You woke up.
The Skill You’re Already Using
Think about the last time you caught yourself daydreaming. Or replaying a conversation. Or worrying about something that hasn’t happened.
What noticed that?
That noticing didn’t come from thought. It came before thought.
That’s presence.
You don’t need to build it. You don’t need to strengthen it. You don’t need to protect it.
You only need to stop overlooking it.
Presence is not fragile. It’s constant.
What comes and goes is attention.
Presence and Living Without a Script
Living without a script doesn’t mean living without plans or structure. It means not confusing your plans with reality.
Presence keeps you grounded in what’s actually happening, rather than what should be happening.
When you live from presence:
- you respond instead of react
- you listen instead of preparing a reply
- you notice when a belief no longer fits
- you feel when it’s time to let something go
Presence doesn’t give you answers. It gives you clarity.
And clarity changes everything.
Practicing Presence (Without Making It Another Task)
Here’s the paradox: The moment you try to do presence, you lose it.
Presence isn’t practiced by effort. It’s practiced by noticing.
A few gentle invitations—not instructions:
- Notice when you’re lost in thought.
- Notice the sensation of sitting where you are.
- Notice the sound furthest from you.
- Notice the impulse to move away from discomfort.
- Notice the next breath—without changing it.
Nothing to improve. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing to achieve.
Just noticing.
And when you forget? That noticing is the practice.
Presence Is Enough
Presence doesn’t promise happiness. It doesn’t promise peace. It doesn’t promise certainty.
What it offers is something quieter and more reliable:
honesty.
From that honesty, life begins to untangle itself—not all at once, but moment by moment.
The Pencil-Driven Life isn’t built on constant awareness. It’s built on repeated noticing.
A thousand small returns.
You don’t need a better technique. You don’t need more discipline. You don’t need to become someone else.
You already have the quiet skill you’re looking for.
It’s here— now.
And now.
And now.
The Pencil Driven Life 