A journey to presence

This winter break, my family and I embarked on a road trip that was also a return to roots, to memory, and to a sense of timelessness. Driving through Southern Spain, we revisited the villages where my ancestors were born and raised, reconnecting with both family history and the relatives who still call this region home. These moments of connection and rediscovery brought a unique stillness, a feeling that time unfolded at its own unhurried pace there.

Every visit to my Andalusian roots seems to invoke this sensation: a distinct slowing down of time that feels almost tangible. There’s a natural rhythm to life there, one that resonates deeply with me every time I return. Whether it’s the golden sunlight washing over olive groves or the whisper of the wind through the arid stretches of the Tabernas desert, the South seems to demand presence. It draws you in, not through spectacle, but through quiet sublimity.

The Tabernas desert, in particular, left me spellbound on this trip. Its vast, undulating expanse feels otherworldly yet grounding —a paradox that defies articulation. Strolling aimlessly through the landscape, I found myself enraptured by its hypnotic allure. In these moments, everything else —worries, plans, and the relentless forward march of time— faded into insignificance. The desert’s ineffable beauty commands deeply rooted stillness.

There’s something transformative about surrendering to this slowness. With hands casually clasped behind my back, I walked without destination or agenda, letting the land and the moment guide me. It’s a way of being that stands in stark contrast to the relentless pace and constant demands of our modern lives. There I found a quiet joy in simply existing, absorbing the energy of the land, the stories embedded in its contours, and the wisdom it seems to whisper to those who pause to listen. Being there, at that very moment, was simply enough.

This land teaches me something each time I visit: to live in harmony with time rather than against it. The pace of life here is deliberate, unhurried, yet profoundly connected. People take their time, whether sharing a meal, chatting in the town square, or tending to the land. It’s a rhythm that honors presence over productivity, being over doing. And as I’ve come to realize, this way of life is not just refreshing; it’s essentially and deeply comforting.

There’s a Japanese concept called ‘being time’ (有時, u-ji), which expresses the idea that existence and time are inseparable —that we are time itself. This beautifully connects with what I wrote in my previous post about framing time, and during these days, I felt the truth of it profoundly. Time isn’t something to be managed or outrun; it’s something to be inhabited fully, with grace, intention, and a quiet presence.

As we wrapped up our journey, I carried this wisdom with me. The landscapes of Southern Spain, from rugged deserts to ancient towns and vast fields, remind me that life isn’t measured by milestones or minutes but by the depth of our presence in each moment. And in that presence, we find something timeless.