The Present of Presence
"Do I really have time for this?”
My inner skeptic challenged me, warning me of the increasing pile of responsibilities and urgent deadlines demanding my attention back in my dorm room. The thought forced my fists to clench.
The fall breeze tugged at my sleeves, gradually blowing away all life’s responsibilities and the worries that clouded my mind had suddenly disappeared into the cold air. But within the breeze a thought slipped into the opening of my ears. I closed my eyes, allowing the sounds of rustling leaves and a stream of water to wash over me.
“Let go and appreciate what is around.”
As I opened my eyes, a smile spread across my face as I was reintroduced to my reflection in the water which was rippled by various hues of koi fish. I looked up to be surrounded by the beautiful fall colors and the soothing sounds of nature. I was still leaning on the small wooden bridge that overlooked the countless hues of green trees.
Who knew that in this noisy and crowded university lay a hidden sanctuary — a location where time appears to slow and anything outside of the gates fades away in the quietness of the Earl Burns Miller Japanese Garden?
A place where I could let go of my worries and just be in the present.
My life as a collegiate student-athlete is a constant juggling act. The relentless demands of practices, classes, homework, team meetings, travel and games create a storm of obligations that will test and can strain my physical, emotional, social and mental abilities. It seemed like a never-ending cycle of athletic and academic responsibilities, from early morning team practices until a late-night study session that normally led to an individual basketball training session. Although I've been living this college athlete lifestyle for three years, it still presents its challenges.
However, the life of busyness and the constant being on the go is not all bad, because I feel every waking moment is dedicated to a path and pursuit of excellence. Yet, amidst the activity, there always lingered a persistent want for moments of solitude and inner peace. That is what I felt and knew I needed. Peace.
In the two years that I have been at Long Beach State, I have heard several coaches, students, faculty and even Long Beach residents speak of their experience in the Japanese Garden. A few of the coaches, including my head coach praised its peaceful atmosphere and how it was relaxing for them. Some of my peers, even athletes, said they found inspiration while doing homework. Members of the Long Beach community express their gratitude for having a peaceful retreat that is free and accessible to the city. Thus, this garden truly does impact the lives of those who wander within its gates. In addition, their statements revealed that if they, who also manage busy schedules, can find the time for themselves then I should be able to as well.
I sat on my bed with my laptop illuminating my dark room. My finger hovered over the laptop mouse, shaking to confirm my reservation for tomorrow. I was just one click away from reserving a day and time that worked for me. I can recall a handful of occurrences in my life when I prioritized my well-being over the current demands in my life, but it was not easy.
Sydney Woodley smiles as she walks at the Japanese Garden. Photo by Kimberly Carrillo
My fear of missing out on training sessions or falling behind in classwork began in my high school years. I was a year-round athlete, running cross country in the fall, playing basketball in the winter and competing in track meets during the spring. So there was little to no time for myself. My junior season of basketball left me with terrible shin splints to the point where I could have sustained a fracture. Therefore, instead of running track, I decided to sit out that upcoming season and not participate in any running sports during my senior year. It alleviated physical stress and I was able to heal and perform much better during my senior basketball season.
Sitting out for running sports was challenging because it was what I had always enjoyed. But the break presented its benefits. So, if I could sit out for the fall and spring sports, I could carve out at least thirty minutes of my busy schedule.
It was this decision that led me to the entrance of the Japanese Garden. As I stepped inside the scenery, I was instantly surrounded by greenery, cherry blossoms and the pond. My body was tense as I wandered along the concrete pathway. The garden was foreign to me, and there was a huge contrast from how others described their experience.
“How could I find peace in a place so unfamiliar, yet serene?” I thought.
I decided to lean on the bridge that overlooked the garden. It was not until I closed my eyes and allowed my body to absorb its surroundings. I could hear the sound of the trickling pond with the koi fish swimming and the ambiance of people talking and laughing. I smelled the mixture of pine and lilac from the trees. I could feel the wind blowing through my fingers that rested on the rusted timber. With every breath I took, my body felt lighter and softer.
I opened my eyes and I was still in the same garden. But whatever commitments, mistakes and dreams I had prior were non-existent. I let go and embraced the beauty of what was in front of me. I was at peace.
In the months since my first visit to the Japanese Garden, its lessons have continued to resonate with me and have altered my approach to time and the meaning of peace. I had to release my grip on what I needed to get done and appreciate where I was at the moment. Of course, it is not always easy, but I have been able to find alternate ways to release and relax. One of my favorite activities is playing video games because I don’t think about what I have to do or what I have done, but I just focus on the game.
My experience has reminded me of the words of a Bible verse, Psalm 23.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”
The garden’s simplistic design encouraged me to disengage with outside distractions and focus on its beauty, revealing that peace becomes a distant fantasy when you allow the present to be consumed by the past and future.