How I learned to be more present without meditation

“The present moment is full of joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

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

The idea seemed exciting at first – a new beginning, a new place, a life by the sea. But the excitement wears off quickly when you realize you don’t know a single person. No friend to call. No family around. No one can sit with you on a difficult day and just listen.

I wasn’t prepared for this kind of loneliness. The deep, quiet kind that creeps in slowly – not dramatic, not visible to anyone else, just the low hum of disconnection that carries you through the day. I had two beautiful children who needed me completely and I was grateful for them every single day. But gratitude and loneliness can coexist in the same heart. I learned this the hard way.

The hardest part wasn’t the big moments. They were the little ones. When I wanted to see a friend and remembered that I had no one to call. They all lived in a different country. When one of my children got sick and there was no one to help. When I saw other mothers laughing together in the park and felt invisible, even in the crowd.

Creating new friendships takes time. The real ones—the ones that go deep, the ones where someone really knows you—they don’t happen quickly. So I waited. And while I was waiting, I started to lose myself a little.

I tried meditating. Everyone said it would help. I downloaded the apps, sat quietly, tried to follow my breath. And I failed, repeatedly, in the most mundane of ways. My mind wouldn’t budge. I would sit there trying to find peace and instead find a list of everything I haven’t done yet.

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

What I understand now is that I did not make a mistake in being present. I was simply trying to enter through a door that did not feel natural at the time. I needed movement before silence. I needed color, air, curiosity and something gentle to hold my attention.

Photography has always made me happy. Before I knew why, there was something about holding the camera that changed my mood—like a quiet reminder that beauty exists and I’m free to seek it. So one day, in the midst of so much loneliness, I took out my camera again.

Not to create anything impressive. Not to build a portfolio or post something pretty online. Just going out and walking around and seeing what I noticed.

I started breaking the rules I was taught about photography – composition, light, the perfect shot. In my own quiet way, I became a photography rebel.

I pointed my camera at whatever caught my eye, no matter how imperfect, no matter how small. Shadow on the wall. The color of the sea on a given afternoon. Some ordinary texture, I’ve passed by a hundred times without seeing it.

And something happened that I didn’t expect.

Not because I forced it. Not because I followed any technique or program. But being creative, I discovered, allowed less room for my anxiety to take over. When you’re really looking—really noticing what’s in front of you, deciding how to frame it, wondering about the light—your mind is too busy living to worry. Too busy playing to be sad.

I call it getting into the happy zone. The place where you temporarily forget loneliness, exhaustion and guilt. Because there was also guilt – that particular guilt that can occur when someone is completely dependent on you. The feeling that you don’t have the right to take time for yourself. This leaving, even for fifteen minutes, is somehow a betrayal.

But I kept going back. Because I came home different every time. Lighter. More present. I prefer myself. It’s ready for the next day, the next little need, the next moment of everyday beauty that I might have missed if I hadn’t trained myself.

Mindful photography has given me back something I didn’t know I’d lost – my own focus. I have to pay attention not only to the world around me, but also to myself. The practice of noticing external beauty slowly taught me to notice my own inner state. Log in. Ask: What do I need today? And to answer honestly: fifteen minutes outside with my camera and a willingness to be playful.

You don’t have to be a photographer. You don’t need an expensive camera, a beautiful location or technical skills. All you need is your phone and fifteen minutes to look for one thing – a color, a shadow, a small detail that catches your attention today.

Be curious about it. Let yourself be a little rebellious with it. Forget the rules. Forget the perfect shot. Just notice. Just play.

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