How I learned to live more in the moment without meditating

“This moment is filled with joy and happiness, and if you are paying attention, you will know it.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

A few years ago, I moved to a new country with two children under the age of two.

The idea of ​​a fresh start, a new place, and life by the sea felt exciting at first. But the excitement quickly fades when you realize you don’t know anyone. I have no friends to call. I don’t have any family nearby. There is no one to sit with you on tough days and just listen.

I wasn’t ready for such solitude. A deep, quiet type that creeps in slowly. It’s nothing dramatic and is invisible to others. Just the low sound of cutting that lasts all day. I had two beautiful children who needed me and I was grateful for them every day. But gratitude and loneliness can exist in the same mind at the same time. I learned that the hard way.

The hardest part wasn’t the big moment. It was small. When you remember that you wanted to meet a friend but had no one to call. They all lived in different countries. It happened when one of the children got sick and no one could help him. When I saw other moms laughing together at the park and felt invisible even in the crowd.

Building new friendships takes time. The real stuff, the stuff that goes deep, where someone actually knows you, those things don’t happen right away. So I waited. And while I was waiting, I started to disappear a little from myself.

I tried meditating. Everyone said it would help. I downloaded the app, sat quietly, and tried to catch my breath. And I failed many times in very ordinary ways. My heart won’t stand still. I sat there trying to find peace and instead found a running list of all the things I haven’t done yet.

To be honest, I still don’t really know how to meditate. And for a long time, I thought that meant there was something wrong with me.

What I now know is that I did not fail at presence. I was just trying to get into it through a door that seemed unnatural to me at the time. I needed movement before silence. I needed color, air, curiosity, and something gentle to direct my attention to.

Photography has always made me happy. Even before I understood why, there was something about picking up the camera that changed my mood. It was like a quiet reminder that beauty exists and that I was allowed to look for it. One day, in the midst of my loneliness, I picked up my camera again.

It’s not about creating something impressive. It’s not about building a portfolio or posting something pretty online. Just go outside, walk around, and see what you notice.

I started breaking the rules I had been taught about photography: composition, light, and the perfect shot. In my own quiet way, I became a rebel against photography.

I pointed my camera at everything that caught my eye, no matter how imperfect or how small. A shadow reflected on the wall. The color of the sea one afternoon. The texture of common things that I have walked past hundreds of times without looking at them.

And then something happened that I didn’t expect.

It’s not because I forced it. It wasn’t because I followed some technique or program. But I’ve found that with creativity, there’s less room for worry to creep in. When you are truly looking, when you are truly aware of what is in front of you, deciding how to frame it, and feeling interested in the light, your mind is too busy being alive to be anxious. I’m sad because I’m too busy playing.

I call it getting into the happy zone. A place where you can temporarily forget your loneliness, fatigue, and guilt. Because I also felt guilty. It’s a special kind of guilt that can occur when someone is completely dependent on you. Feeling unworthy to take time for yourself. Leaving, even for 15 minutes, is some kind of betrayal.

But I kept going back. I came back to a different house each time. writer. More presence. More yourself. Be prepared for the next day, the next small request, the next moment of ordinary beauty that I might have missed if I hadn’t been trained to see.

Mindful photography gave me back something I didn’t realize I had lost: my own attention. Pay attention not only to the world around you, but also to yourself. Through the practice of noticing outer beauty, I slowly became aware of my own inner state. To check in. ask. What do you need today? The honest answer is to spend 15 minutes outdoors with my camera and be playful.

You don’t have to be a photographer. You don’t need expensive cameras, beautiful locations, or any technical skills. All you need is your phone, 15 minutes, and the will to look for one thing: one color, one shadow, one small detail that catches your eye today.

Let’s get interested. Let’s be a little rebellious about it. Forget the rules. Forget about the perfect shot. Just be aware. Just play.

Because sometimes it’s not the stillness that brings you back to yourself. Sometimes it’s the simple act of looking up and seeing what’s been there all along.