I’ve spent years chasing presence: Meditation retreats in Thailand, silent sits at dawn, and countless hours on the cushion, wrestling with my monkey mind.
I even wrote a book about Buddhism and minimizing ego.
Yet here I am, getting schooled in mindfulness by someone who can’t even hold her own head up properly.
My daughter arrived three months ago, and she’s been running a masterclass in presence ever since.
No certificates, no fancy retreat centersJust pure, unfiltered demands for attention that would make any Zen master jealous.
The other morning, I was holding her while mentally outlining an article.
You know that state where your body is in one place but your mind is somewhere else entirely?
She wasn’t having it.
Mid-feed, she pulled away, locked eyes with me, and let out a wail that said, “Hey, I know you’re not really here.”
Busted, by a baby!
That’s when it hit me: All those years of formal practice, and I’m getting my deepest lessons from someone who communicates primarily through crying and various bodily functions.
The brutal honesty of baby feedback
Here’s what meditation teachers won’t tell you: Their feedback is way too polite.
When you drift off during meditation, nothing happens.
Your mind wanders to your grocery list or that awkward conversation from 2015, and the universe just… lets you.
The cushion doesn’t complain, and the meditation app keeps playing its soothing background music.
But a baby? She’s got a built-in BS detector that would put any mindfulness bell to shame.
When I’m present with her, really present, she’s calm.
She makes these little cooing sounds that melt your heart.
Her whole body relaxes into mine.
It’s magic but, the moment I start mentally composing emails or planning my day while going through the motions of playtime?
Instant feedback as she gets fussy and turns away.
Sometimes, she straight-up cries until I snap back to reality.
It’s like having a meditation teacher who follows you around 24/7, calling you out every single time your attention wavers (except this teacher weighs 12 pounds and has no verbal filter)!
Presence isn’t optional anymore
Before becoming a father, I could fake presence pretty well; nod at the right moments during conversations, or throw in an occasional “mm-hmm” while scrolling through my phone.
We’ve all mastered this modern art of being physically present but mentally absent.
Babies don’t play that game.
When my daughter needs something, she needs it now.
This forced immediacy has revealed something uncomfortable: I’ve been living in a constant state of mental time travel.
Always planning the next article, reviewing the last conversation, anywhere but here.
In my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I wrote about the Buddhist concept of being fully present.
Turns out, I was better at writing about it than living it.
My daughter doesn’t care about my theories.
She operates on pure instinct, and that instinct demands authentic connection.
You can’t schedule presence with a baby like you schedule a meditation session because it’s an all-day practice.
The myth of multitasking with meaning
I used to pride myself on being a multitasker by writing while listening to podcasts and answering emails during phone calls.
I thought I was being efficient, then I tried changing a diaper while mentally drafting an article.
Let’s just say it didn’t end well for anyone involved.
Babies force you to realize that multitasking is often just doing multiple things poorly.
When I’m truly present during feeding time, it goes smoothly; when I’m half-there, mentally somewhere else? She picks up on that scattered energy immediately.
The feeding takes twice as long, she’s frustrated, I’m frustrated, and nobody wins.
This extends beyond just baby care: I’ve started noticing how my divided attention affects everything.
My writing suffers when I’m constantly checking notifications, my runs feel like a chore when I’m mentally at my desk, and even my daily meditation practice was becoming another item to check off while thinking about the day ahead.
Relearning the basics
You’d think after years of studying mindfulness I’d have this figured out, but watching my daughter experience the world is like seeing it for the first time myself.
She’s just here, fully engaged with whatever’s in front of her (a mobile spinning above her crib gets her complete attention).
My face becomes her entire universe during playtime.
This is presence without effort, without technique, and without trying.
It’s humbling, honestly.
All those meditation retreats, all that study of Eastern philosophy, and I’m getting schooled by someone who hasn’t even developed object permanence yet.
But maybe that’s the point: We complicate presence with techniques and frameworks when really, it’s our default state.
We just forgot how to access it.
The practice that never ends
My meditation practice used to be confined to specific times.
Five minutes here, thirty minutes there: Structured, controlled, and comfortable.
Parenting doesn’t work that way as it’s a 24/7 mindfulness intensive with no breaks.
The teacher is always watching, always demanding your full attention.
Uunlike a meditation retreat, you can’t leave early.
This constant practice is exhausting but also transformative.
I’m more present throughout my entire day now, not just during designated meditation times.
When I write, I write; when I’m with my daughter, I’m with her.
The boundaries between “practice” and “life” have dissolved.
Sure, I still sit for formal meditation when I can, but those sessions feel different now.
Less like an escape from life and more like a continuation of the presence my daughter demands all day long.
Final words
They say it takes a village to raise a child, but nobody mentions that sometimes the child is raising you right back.
My daughter might not know any Buddhist philosophy.
She can’t discuss the nature of consciousness or the importance of living in the now; she just does it, naturally and completely, and expects the same from me.
Every day, she teaches me that presence isn’t some elevated state to achieve.
It’s about showing up, fully, for whatever’s happening right now.
Even if that’s a 3 AM feeding or the fifth diaper change before noon.
The irony isn’t lost on me: I traveled across the world, sat in silence for days, and read countless books on mindfulness… but the greatest teacher was waiting for me at home, weighing less than a bag of rice and communicating primarily through cries and coos.
Thank you, little one, for the constant reminders, for refusing to accept the half-present version of me, and for demanding nothing less than my complete attention.
You might not realize it yet, but you’re running the most effective meditation retreat I’ve ever attended.
