The Present

Illustration by Maryam ElSharkawy

On a Thursday night, I sat in a tiny high-ceilinged apartment, surrounded by friends, wine glass in hand, listening to music as it encased the room in a vocal buzz. Laughter and fermented grapes warmed our insides. I perched on the carpet, cautiously draping my hand across the bent knee of a friend, palm facing the ceiling. The tiny pricks of the stick and poke needle as it punctured the thin layers of my ring fingers’ skin sent jolts of pain vibrating down my palm. The atmosphere was warm and youthful as we sat in sweats, drank cheap wine, and inked one another’s tight skin. At that moment, surrounded by friends and beautiful smiles, there was nothing I was more focused on. If you asked me four years ago if I would ever get a tattoo, let alone one from a friend and not a professional, I would have said “no” without hesitation. I would have been too worried about how a tattoo would hinder my future. It would be on my skin forever, it would be apart of me. After my experience with one therapy session in high school, however, my answer has completely changed. 

During my later high school career, I was overwhelmed with the thought that I maybe had anxiety. I told my mother and she took me across town to a therapist that dealt specifically with people who have anxiety. There, I was welcomed into an older man’s home while dogs circled my legs, excited to see a visitor. The psychologist shooed them out of his office, closing the door behind us. I could see the shadows of the dog’s little paws under the door as if they were trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. It was oddly comforting. The therapist (whose name I can no longer recall) asked me a series of questions carefully constructed to help diagnose my potential anxiety. After 30 minutes of conversation and the sporadic dog barking as background noise, the man mining the depths of my conscious told me it was unlikely that I had anxiety. In reality and his professional opinion, he thought I spent too much time thinking and worrying about the future, which in turn gave me mild characteristics of anxiety. “Try to be more present,” he said while writing something on his note pad. 

I never returned after that first session: I felt there was no point if I didn’t have diagnosable anxiety. However, after I decided he was right, I spent way too much time thinking about my future rather than what was right in front of me in the present. I realized that it’s important to live in the moment and not worry about what is to come. That night at my friend’s house four years after the therapy session, it was an impulse to pull out the ink and needles, and it was an impulse to get a tattoo. I was living in the present, not worrying about the future, if I would like it tomorrow, in a week, or a month. Stick and poke tattoos aren’t meant to last very long, but it was more the action of getting it done than having it last. I no longer think to the depth I once did about how certain choices will affect my future self as it’s not worth the brainpower to worry and ponder about it. I find that it’s effective to use your energy to think about what’s happening right now, and to be grateful for it. The tattoo my friend gave me wasn't perfect, but it was fun and I will remember the moment forever, which is all that truly matters to me. Eventually, the moment will fade and only be a memory, but I did it for my present self rather than my future self. I urge anyone who worries about the future to try and distance themselves from what’s to come. It’s not worth the effort, because, in reality, the constant thinking and worrying about what hasn’t yet happened won’t make the future any different or any easier. Live in the moment, embrace what is and not what might be. Don’t let yourself be the reason you aren’t fully embracing the present. Do what makes you're present self happy, your future self will most likely thank you for it.