My eyes scan the cafe.
A moment later, they land on a cozy table tucked away in a corner. I quickly shuffle my feet toward it, focusing not to drop the heavy pile of magazines in my arms. I set them down. Phew. How are they so heavy?
The barista calls my name, and I walk over to pick up my hot white chocolate mocha. I find my way back to my table. I kick my sandals off, tuck one leg under me, and as I take the first sip of my coffee, I flip the cover of the first magazine.
I suddenly find myself back in 2008.
In the room I share with my sisters in a one-bedroom apartment, I sit on the sky blue satin sheets on my twin bed surrounded by posters of Kobe Bryant on my side of the wall, magazines I checked out of the local library on my lap.
My favorite is Seventeen magazine. It shows me how to apply makeup, do my hair, what products to use on my face, what outfits look good on my body type, and even makes me laugh in the "Traumarama" section where teens share their most embarrassing moments.
As a high school teenager in pre-tech times, reading fiction books and looking through magazines are how I escape my reality.
And now, nearly two decades later, all the way across the country, I am doing the same thing again.
I spend two and a half hours here, somehow not noticing how much time is passing. I forget to look at my phone the whole time, too immersed in the short stories and articles in between sips of my coffee. Later, I realize how refreshing it is.
Sitting in that cafe reading the words on the pages in front of me, bringing the pages closer to my face to look at the photos in detail, it reminds me the subtle acts of being truly in the present moment.
Oh, how screens are slowly eroding this ability nowadays.
Every day this little device in my hand bombards me with quick, satisfying reels, polished photos, clever captions, heart-tugging storytelling, annoying ads, rage-bait-y headlines.
But the one thing it doesn't give me is presence.
To notice the physical space I occupy. To feel the sensations in my body in this moment. To observe what is real. Tangible.
Right now, in this little corner, I am reminded of what real life is. It's the hot coffee slightly burning the roof of my mouth, the smell of a brand new magazine, the smooth feel of the pages between my fingers, the quiet chatter of the couple two tables down, the noise of the coffee machine behind the counter.
What do you notice around you in this moment? What do you see? What do you smell? What do you hear? What do you feel?