Someone asked me recently if I’m at peace. The question caught me off guard in the best way possible.

It’s something I’ve been intentionally working towards for myself for a while now. But I think the question landed differently because of the conversations I’ve been having with people lately.

Real conversations. Deep, uncomfortable, powerful conversations. The kind that go wherever they need to go, without trying to make them neat or find an immediate solution.

I feel incredibly lucky that people feel safe enough with me to have them. There’s something pretty special about being trusted with the parts of someone’s experience that they might not share everywhere.

So, am I at peace?

Yeah, for the most part.

I don’t think peace is a place you arrive at and stay forever. For me, it’s something I continue to find, sometimes lose, and find again. A big part of that has been learning to be present.

Not just physically there, but actually there.

The habit of being somewhere else

One thing I’ve noticed is how often we’re here, but our minds are somewhere else.

I’m sitting with my kids, but thinking about emails. I’m having a conversation, but already thinking about what I need to do next. I’m enjoying a quiet moment, but reaching for something to listen to, read, or learn.

We fill the gaps. The drive, the walk, the time between meetings, the quiet before bed. There's always something we could consume, something we could improve, something we could be doing.

And to be clear, I love learning. I’m curious by nature, and I care about growing as a person and in my work.

But lately, I’ve been questioning how often I reach for more information simply because there’s space for it.

What happens when we stop filling every quiet moment?

What might we notice if we let ourselves sit with a thought instead of immediately reaching for the next one? If we allowed ourselves to feel something uncomfortable without needing to resolve it right away? If we listened to someone without mentally preparing our response?

I’m learning that sometimes the most valuable thing I can do is nothing at all.

Just be where I am.

It sounds simple. But it's hard.

Presence requires us to notice when we’ve drifted away from the moment we’re actually in. It asks us to come back, again and again. And for me, it’s become less about trying to achieve some permanent state of calm and more about building the habit of returning to myself and to the people around me.

I’ve had to cultivate this. I still do. But I’m proud of the difference it has made in my life.

Presence changes how people experience us

I think about this a lot in my work with founders and leadership teams.

We talk about communication, emotional intelligence, self-awareness, and executive presence. We invest in leadership development and work on becoming better communicators.

But how much of our ability to lead well comes down to whether we’re actually present with the people in front of us?

I know I feel the difference when someone is truly present with me. Most of us probably do.

There’s a difference between someone hearing your words and someone genuinely listening. Between someone waiting for you to finish so they can respond and someone trying to understand what you’re saying. Between a leader who immediately jumps into solution mode and one who can sit with a difficult situation long enough to understand what’s actually happening.

That difference matters.

When someone brings you a problem, do you have the capacity to hear them out before deciding what needs to happen? Can you sit in an uncomfortable conversation without becoming defensive or rushing to make the discomfort go away? Can you give someone your attention without simultaneously managing five other things in your head?

These aren’t just communication techniques. They require us to pay attention to what’s happening within ourselves, too.

If I’m already frustrated, distracted, worried about the next thing, or attached to a particular outcome, that’s going to influence how I listen and respond. I might miss something important. I might react before I understand. I might shut down a conversation that needed a little more room.

And the person across from me will experience that, whether I intend for them to or not.

We can’t always control what someone brings into a conversation, but we can pay attention to what we bring into it ourselves.

I think that’s a meaningful part of leadership that doesn’t get enough attention.

The discomfort of not immediately fixing things

One of the things I’ve come to appreciate about the conversations I’m having lately is that they don’t always need an immediate solution.

Sometimes people need to work through something out loud. Sometimes they need someone to challenge their thinking. Sometimes they need to hear themselves say something they’ve been avoiding.

And sometimes, the most helpful thing I can do is stay with the conversation rather than rush it towards a conclusion.

That doesn’t mean avoiding action or accountability. It means recognizing that understanding what’s happening is often an important part of deciding what to do next.

I see the same thing in leadership.

It can be tempting to respond quickly, especially when people are looking to us for answers. We want to be decisive. We want to resolve the issue, make the call, and move forward.

But moving quickly isn’t always the same as moving well.

Sometimes the conversation we want to get through is the one we need to stay in a little longer. Sometimes the answer we’re reaching for is getting in the way of the question we should be asking.

Being present doesn’t guarantee that we’ll make the right decision. But it gives us a better chance of understanding the situation, the people involved, and the impact of whatever we decide.

And that matters when people are trusting us to lead them.

Presence is a skill we can practise

I’m not writing this as someone who has figured it all out. I still catch myself thinking about work when I’m with my family. I still reach for distractions. I still have moments when I’m listening to respond rather than listening to understand.

The difference is that I notice it more often now.

And I’m learning to come back.

Sometimes that means putting my phone away when I’m with my kids. Sometimes it means letting a quiet moment remain quiet. Sometimes it means pausing before responding to something that frustrates me. Sometimes it means giving a conversation the time and attention it deserves, even when there are ten other things I could be doing.

None of these things is particularly remarkable on its own. But small, intentional habits can change how we experience our lives and how we show up in them.

I think presence is a skill. And like any skill, it takes practice.

Not because we need to become perfectly calm, endlessly patient people who never get distracted. But because our attention is one of the things we bring to every relationship, every conversation, and every decision.

It’s worth being intentional about where it goes.

Coming back to the moment

When I think about that question, Are you at peace?, I don’t think my answer is about having everything figured out or having somehow reached a point where life no longer feels complicated.

It’s more that I’m learning to spend less time fighting the moment I’m in and more time actually experiencing it.

To be present in my work, my marriage, my relationships with my kids, and my relationship with myself. To make room for uncomfortable conversations. To let silence exist without immediately filling it. To recognize when I’ve drifted somewhere else and find my way back.

And I’m noticing how much that changes the quality of my conversations with other people, too.

There’s something pretty special about being able to meet someone where they are without immediately needing to take them somewhere else.

I think we could all use a little more of that. In our homes, in our relationships, and certainly in our workplaces.

We spend a lot of time thinking about how to become better leaders, better partners, better parents, and better people.

Maybe some of it starts with something much simpler.

Being here for the life we’re actually living, and for the people who are living it alongside us.

Where could a little more presence change the way you show up?