2025: Arriving vs. Striving
Can the act of chasing something prevent us from truly experiencing it?
A particular kind of striving exists around this time of year. On the surface, it feels like a positive turn towards healthier habits: cutting out alcohol, waking up earlier, starting a new exercise regime, and meditating more. These were some of the intentions flashing across my mental marquee on January 2nd. But they’re not new. I’ve been here before —not just at the start of a new year but also at the beginning of other transitions, like moving house or returning to work after maternity leave. I’m skilled at generating lots of intentions that lack the backbone of a “why.” As a result, I end up focused on being the kind of person who does the ‘thing,’ like sitting on the cushion or waking up at 5 am, instead of focusing on the reason behind doing those things in the first place. Maybe this is why so many resolutions fail to resolve anything and why we often find ourselves back where we started. Even the most wholesome or well-meaning intentions need a “why.” And not a surface-level why built on clichés or societal conventions, but a why that feels connected and authentic.
For example, I am committing to meditating more. Why? To be more present. I can throw out that statement without a moment’s thought and convince myself it’s enough. But when I question this generic response, something deeper emerges: why do I want more presence?
As I sit with this question, I notice space opening up—a pause where my default response feels inadequate. why more presence? Because I don’t want to miss my life. I don’t want to get lost in my head or overlook my girls growing up. Investigating this further, I realise a need to define what more presence actually looks like and what I want to be present with.
Because being 100% present with one thing inevitably means being absent or unaware of many other things. Total presence is impossible because we’re constantly choosing, consciously or unconsciously, where to direct our time and attention. Maybe this scratches the surface of my real why: meditating not simply to ‘be more present’ but to become more aware of what pulls my focus—and more intentional about where I choose to place it. To be present requires surrendering to the now and accepting what is and what isn’t—including, for me, the fact that I’m often striving to be something I’m not.
In this context, setting an intention “to be more present” feels inherently contradictory to the goal. Striving, by its very nature, implies the absence of arriving.
This irrationality isn’t exclusive to the goal of ‘more presence.’ Beneath many of our seemingly thoughtful resolutions lies the underlying narrative that arguably fuels consumerism and capitalism, as much as our deep insecurities: the constant push to do more and be better. This relentless striving traps us on the hedonic treadmill, a cycle of chasing satisfaction without ever reaching it. Instead of accepting where we are, we find ourselves stuck in a loop of “never enough,” disguised as self-improvement.
To challenge this, I have, in January’s gone by, focused on “being enough.” While this intention seems to rise above the self-help hamster wheel, it too risks becoming another form of striving—leaving me with a sense that I’m not “feeling enough” enough of the time.
So, how do we create meaningful change without falling into the same fatiguing cycle of self-improvement?
This year, I’ve shifted from setting intentions to using lenses—broader themes that naturally foster presence without making it the goal. The four lenses I’m exploring are:
• Less is more
• Go slow
• Simple beauty
• The spaces in between
Initially, I created these lenses to change how I interact with food and mealtimes (something I’ve been reluctant to write about until now). Instead of following rigid rules, I wanted an approach that not only reshaped my actions—like preparing, plating, and eating—but also deepened my relationship with food itself. Interestingly, applying these lenses naturally promotes a heightened awareness of the moment I am in. Presence is a beneficial side effect of the approach, not its primary goal. It reminds me of psychologist Ellen Langer’s playful explanation of mindfulness: “It’s just noticing new things […] it’s what you do when you're having fun!”
This insight inspired me to use the lenses in other areas of my life, such as my relationships, work, and parenting. For example:
• How can “less is more” guide how I interact with my phone?
• How can “the space in between” help me honour silence in a coaching session?
• How can “go slow” inform how I navigate mealtimes with my 16-month-old twins?
• What might “simple beauty” reveal about a dark January day?
Over the next few articles, I’ll explore how these lenses are helping me reconnect with the full spectrum of life—its mess, joy, stress, wonder, and everything in between. I’m discovering that presence isn’t a destination but the way we arrive.