Presence-time
I'm thinking about the quality of time I spend with my 3 year old son. He's all about spending time with me, which I'm so grateful for. He told my wife the other day, "Daddy plays with me because he loves me." It warms my heart to know that he knows I love him.
Like most children, he's a very intuitive empath. He can tell if I'm not mentally or emotionally with him, though I might be sitting next to him on the couch. He’s so attuned to my attentiveness or inattentiveness that even if we are watching a movie he will know if I’m checked out. I may have my laptop open (dead giveaway, I know), reading, or even just thinking about something else, and he’ll know. He senses an absence, aware that there is a part of me not with him. Maybe he will ask me a question to bring my attention back, or he’ll look for my eyes to see his eyes. He wants more than my mere physical presence. He wants me to engage in the same moment with him, taking in a story like he is taking it in, attuned consciously with him to what is happening in and around us. He wants presence-time with me.
On a recent morning, I woke up early and walked out to our living room. Scattered around the room were monkey and dog stuffies, a "Lighting Da Queen" car, a Buzz Light year toy, and the spaceship tent his aunt and uncle got for him for his birthday one year. We flew to the moon in that spaceship the night before, bringing along all those stuffies and toys with us. We experienced the story together, taking it in and living it out in tandem.
These objects of a brief childhood strewn about over the floor serve as emblems and signs of moments brimming with joy, laughter, play, love – and presence – the beautiful detritus of time well-spent.