All of us are tempted to live anywhere but in the present moment.

We often dwell in the past, remembering triumphs or tribulations, pain or pleasure, from yesterday or years ago.

We are lured by the future.  We look forward to or dread what might happen tomorrow, next week, or years from now.

For several decades, however, I have practiced living in the present. It’s a state of mind, focused on being in the here and now.

Do I remember the past?  Of course, but only as a guide to the future. I don’t live in the past.  My father dated a woman for nearly ten years.  Every time I was with the two of them she talked about her former husband. She never moved out of the past and into the present. After six months of hearing the same talk I finally tuned her out.

I have a personal rule that in conversation with my family and friends I try to share only what has happened to me during the past two weeks.  I keep it current because I don’t want to repeat old stories and bore people.  I like to keep the dialog relevant to how we feel with each other right now, and what is happening right now.

Do I look forward to the future?  Absolutely.  But in thinking about or planning for the future, I remember that I am enjoying the planning, which is what I am doing in the moment. For example, at the end of this week I am traveling with my entire staff to Hawaii to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the founding of my company.  I smile whenever I think about the trip. I enjoy anticipating the celebration in the present moment.  In this way, I can enjoy thinking about the future while still staying centered in the present. I only think about the problems – renting a car, having a place to stay, etc., as needed to make the arrangements. Once those have been made I don’t think about them again.

When I was younger, I was taught by a politician friend of mine how you can hurry along a reception line.  You shake the hand of the person in front of you and pull him along while you look at the next person in line and say, “Hello.”  This means that you are always paying attention to the next person, not the one attached to the hand you are pulling. By rushing the reception line along you are living in the future. But why rush your life along? Why not connect with the person you are with in the moment,

Living in the present improves human connection. When you talk to me I am only doing one thing: listening to you intently.  I’m not thinking about what I should say next or what I will eat for lunch.  I’m not remembering what happened last night.  I am paying attention to you.  Right now.  The flip side to this is that I expect you to pay undivided attention to me when I talk, and not take out your iPhone to check the latest text you might have received.

I enjoy the person I’m with when we’re together, and I don’t miss people who aren’t here.  If I did, I would be living in the future.  Then, when that future arrived, when I saw them, I would be thinking about my next future and I would completely miss the benefit of seeing, hearing, and feeling everything that is taking place in my life right now.

So stop to smell the roses.  And then sneeze.  It’s all a part of life.

Alan

My father worked for many years as a professional musician.  He played the French Horn in orchestras for movies made by Disney, 20^th Century Fox, and Paramount pictures.  He also taught French horn lessons in our home, and that meant as a young boy I had to be quiet part of the time.  Being quiet was hard for me.  At times it still is.

My father also required that I take piano lessons.  The lessons were okay, but I hated practicing. In retrospect, I have to admit that I learned a lot, especially from my dad.

One of his most important points of emphasis was phrasing.

“It’s like taking a breath,” he said.  “Each phrase must be interesting.  You can’t rush to the popular part of the music and ignore the rest.  You must pay attention to each note. Every note is important.”

Dad’s advice was great for playing music.  It was also great for my writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph has to be interesting.  When I consider buying a book I open it to a random page and read a paragraph.  Then I turn to another page and read a second paragraph.  If neither paragraph interests me I don’t buy the book.

In the 1980’s I owned The Whitefire Theater in Sherman Oaks.  My friend David Beaird directed many plays there.  I believe that Penn and Teller got their start at my theater, before attaining great fame and success in Las Vegas.

I was sitting next to David one day as he was auditioning actors for an upcoming play.  As the first actor finished a few lines, David turned to me and started talking.  I was startled.  I thought he should be paying attention to the actor.  He talked through a number of the auditions.

Afterward I asked him, “Isn’t it rude for you to talk to me in the middle of an audition?”

“Not at all,” he said.  “It’s up to the actor to hold my attention.  If he doesn’t, then he’s not going to hold the attention of the audience.”

I remembered my dad’s advice on playing the piano.  “Each phrase must be interesting.”

So in my writing, as in my life, I try to make each moment interesting – for myself as well as others.

In life, however, I have learned something counterintuitive.  The more closely I listen to others, the more interesting I become.  This is something we should all try to do. If someone you care about is talking, listen carefully to what they are saying. In these times of fractured attention spans, what could be more meaningful than to have someone really pay attention to you?

We all want to be seen and heard. I suggest there is no better way to connect with another person than to give them the gift of your undivided attention.

Thanks for listening.

Alan

Last week, I tried, to buy a shirt online.  I was directed to one page after another on a web site I’ll call “ShirtsToYou.”  It took me almost five minutes to find the shirt I wanted.  Then I was trapped on the site trying to complete my purchase.  When the checkout page refused to take my credit card for the third time, I gave up.

Then I tried Amazon, and bought the same shirt in less than a minute.  One reason Amazon sold me a shirt and “ShirtsToYou” didn’t is because Amazon makes purchasing easy.

I know a real estate broker, Dan, who moved to Hawaii a number of years ago.  I recently visited him and admired his home. It was beautifully furnished.

“It’s a funny thing,” he said.  “My wife Meg wanted us to retire to a warm climate.  I liked Seattle and wanted to stay there.  But on a vacation to Maui, Meg arranged for a local real estate broker to show us a few houses.

“I was in a bad mood that day and really wanted to be on the golf course.  But I’d made a commitment to Meg, so we looked at houses.  The first two were terrible.  But the third one, this house you’re sitting in, I loved.  It didn’t hurt that there’s a great view of the ocean and the house is on the ninth hole of my favorite golf course.  But what really sold me was that the house came fully furnished.  I suddenly realized I didn’t mind moving, but I didn’t want to pack and ship everything.  And I certainly didn’t want to decorate another house.  Meg and I almost got a divorce arguing over sofas when we furnished our Seattle house.”

“I understand,” I said.  “Until recently I hadn’t moved in forty years.”

By including the furniture the seller made it easy for Dan and Meg to say “yes” and move into a Maui home with everything, including art on the walls and dishes on the kitchen shelves.  “They even left their tool box and cooking spices,” Dan added. “And we sold our home in Seattle the same way.  It was only on the market a week.”

A dear friend of mine, Jane, lives in Chicago.  Her brother Ben wanted her to attend his daughter’s wedding.  The only snag was that Jane does not fly and the ceremony was in Boston.

“I sent a car and driver to bring Jane to the wedding,” Ben told me.  “She loved everything — the attention, the ride, and the wedding.”

There is an important lesson here.  If you want someone to do something, whether it’s buying a book, your house, or attending your daughter’s wedding, make it easy for them.

Speaking of making it easy, you can buy any of my three People Tools books or my children’s book Benji and the 24 Pound Banana Squash, quite simply.  Just look me up at Alancfox.com. My new children’s book, Benji and the Giant Kite, will be released in August and is available now for preorder.

Many thanks.

Alan