It was a beautiful Southern California autumn day. I was a junior in college, walking to my Philosophy of Mind class. The air was crisp, the leaves golden, and for some reason, I was genuinely excited. Excited to sit in that classroom and talk philosophy, excited to debate ideas with classmates, excited just to be. Life was simple then. My biggest obligations were showing up to class, working a few shifts a week at Subway, and trying to flirt with as many girls as possible.

As I strolled along the campus path, it hit me: This is it. These are the good ole days. I wasn’t looking back wistfully or reminiscing. I knew it right then and there, in real-time. I was young, free, and full of possibility. Life was good, and I told myself to savor it, to “be present” in the moment. Don't miss this moment like I did Christmas morning from ages 4 to 9.

But here’s the thing—telling myself to enjoy it didn’t actually change anything. The moment didn’t magically become more vivid or special because I decided to label it as such. In fact, when I think back on it now, that memory feels just as hazy as any other. Despite my efforts to freeze the moment in time, it’s not etched into my mind any clearer than a hundred other days. So, what’s the deal with this whole idea of “being present”? If recognizing a good moment while you’re in it doesn’t make it more meaningful or memorable, why do we put so much emphasis on trying to live in the moment?

The Paradox of the Present

One of the biggest contradictions I’ve noticed about the idea of “being present” is the motive behind it. Let’s be honest—most of us aren’t trying to savor the moment purely for its own sake. We want to preserve it, to lock it away in our minds like a photograph we can revisit in the future. But here’s the catch: the very act of thinking about the future memory takes you out of the present.

It’s a paradox. The moment you pause to tell yourself, I need to remember this forever, you’ve already stepped outside of it. Instead of fully experiencing what’s in front of you, your mind shifts to the future version of yourself, reminiscing about this moment. In trying to hold onto it, you lose the purity of simply being. It’s like someone lying on their stomach, fingers clawing into the earth, trying desperately to stop the planet from spinning—to freeze time in its tracks. But the earth doesn’t notice. It doesn’t slow down, doesn’t waver in its orbit. It just keeps spinning, indifferent to your efforts. All that’s left behind are the faint trails your fingers have dragged through the dirt, a futile reminder of your struggle to keep a moment in time.

This isn’t to say that wanting to preserve memories is inherently wrong. It’s human nature to want to hold onto the fleeting beauty of life. But the irony is that the harder you try to cling to a moment, the more elusive it becomes. The experience doesn’t become more vivid, nor does the memory of it grow sharper just because you were hyper-aware of it. In fact, that awareness can dilute the experience, turning what could have been a simple, joyful moment into a mental exercise in preservation.

The Myth of Amplifying Emotions

Another common misconception about being present is the belief that it somehow amplifies positive emotions, making an already good moment even better. But if you think about it, that’s not really how it works. In my own experience walking to my Philosophy of Mind class, I was already in an amplified state. The excitement of the day—the crisp autumn air, the anticipation of a stimulating discussion, the lightness of a life without major responsibilities—had me buzzing with energy and joy. That natural high is what made me think about being present in the first place. This is something we all do. People go to concerts and tell themselves to “live in the moment,” as if doing so will somehow make the music sound better or the experience more meaningful. They stare up at an eclipse, thinking that their awareness will make the awe of the universe feel grander. They sit on a beach during a vacation, trying to savor the serenity by focusing intently on it. But here’s the thing: the amplified feeling is already there. It’s the music, the eclipse, the waves—all of it is already working its magic.

When you tell yourself to be present in these moments, you don’t actually amplify the positive emotions—you just start thinking about them in a meta sense. You’re no longer just experiencing the music, the eclipse, or the beach; you’re stepping outside the moment to observe yourself experiencing it. And as I mentioned earlier, the moment you step outside of the experience, you lose part of its authenticity. The joy that was natural and immediate becomes slightly diluted by your effort to frame it. So, when you’re already riding the wave of an amplified emotion, trying to “be present” doesn’t add anything. If anything, it takes you away from the moment itself, leaving you more focused on your internal narrative than the raw experience unfolding around you.

The Fallacy of Being Present as a Mood Booster

There’s another flawed assumption about being present: the idea that it can transform a negative mood into a positive one. We’ve all been there—feeling upset, anxious, or distracted—and someone advises, “Just be in the moment.” The implication is that focusing on the here and now will somehow sweep away the negativity and replace it with joy or contentment. But this advice often leads to an even bigger problem: suppression.

When you’re in a negative mood and try to “be present,” what you’re really doing is attempting to override how you actually feel. You tell yourself, I shouldn’t feel this way right now; I should enjoy what’s happening. You start ignoring the emotions coursing through you, trying to block them out so you won’t regret missing out on the moment. But here’s the thing—this isn’t presence. It’s denial.

Being present isn’t about pretending your emotions don’t exist or trying to force them into something they’re not. True presence means acknowledging what you’re feeling, even if it’s uncomfortable. If you’re sad, angry, or anxious, being present means sitting with those emotions, letting them flow through you, and giving them the space and time they need. Only by accepting them can you truly move forward.

Suppressing negative emotions under the guise of “being present” is one of the worst interpretations of the concept. It’s a disservice to yourself and your experience. Ignored emotions don’t just disappear—they linger, waiting for another chance to surface. These emotions need time to run their course. They will pass, they always do. Some faster than others. By suppressing them, you’re not being in the moment; you’re running from it and maybe even prolonging their existence in your psyche.

The True Origin of “Being Present”

The concept of being present likely arose from a feeling we’ve all experienced—the sting of regret when we look back on a great moment and wish we had enjoyed it more. Maybe we think we wasted it because we were upset, distracted, or not fully appreciating it. That regret is painful because it’s irreversible. There’s no way to go back and relive those moments with a clearer mind or a better attitude. So, the idea of being present emerged as a solution to avoid future regret.

But here’s the truth: being present isn’t going to fix this. Great experiences will always be missed once they’re gone. That’s the nature of time. We can’t stop it to save those moments forever. We can’t amplify an already amazing experience by simply labeling it as such—the greatness of the moment is self-evident. And trying to force ourselves out of a sour mood to “enjoy the now” isn’t presence at all—it’s suppression, the very opposite of what being present is supposed to mean.

The reality is, we don’t have to tell ourselves to be present. There’s no alternative to life. The only thing we truly have is this second—oh wait, that gone. How about now? nope, gone. This second? Damn it. Ok, you get the point. Time marches on, regardless of our attempts to hold onto it. Instead of obsessing over being present or fearing regret, maybe it’s more important to focus on the attitude we bring to our memories. How we interpret the past matters more than whether we squeezed every drop out of every moment. The world is going to keep spinning, no matter what. The beauty of life isn’t in trying to preserve or perfect each moment, but in accepting its fleeting nature and finding peace in the fact that we’re part of something bigger—something that doesn’t stop, no matter how tightly we dig our fingers into the earth.