Now

We spend most of our lives negotiating with time. We look back and reinterpret it, we look ahead and try to predict it, and yet the only slice of it we actually possess is the one we’re standing in right now. It’s a surprisingly difficult truth to accept. Many of us live as if perfection sits somewhere in the future — after one more achievement, one more milestone, one more external validation. But increasingly, I find myself returning to a simpler, more confronting question: is this moment, now, perfect in its own way?

More and more, I realise that the answer depends on one thing alone: presence. Not the presence of circumstances or stability or even clarity, but the presence of the people who anchor our inner world. The people who create a sense of space and freedom around us — and more importantly, within us. Because despite everything I do not know about tomorrow, I recognise something that has become quietly powerful in my life: a sense of freedom I feel simply because of someone’s presence. A freedom that isn’t about escape, or breaking rules, or having limitless options. Instead, it’s a freedom that comes from feeling understood, grounded, and somehow safe even in uncertainty. That kind of freedom shifts the way you experience time. It softens the edges of what’s ahead, even when the path is unclear.

The truth is, I can’t predict what’s coming. Some days might bring wins; others might bring losses. Life tends to balance them out with a certain indifferent symmetry. But the presence of the right person — whether physically close or connected through something deeper; changes the emotional weight of those outcomes. Wins feel shared. Losses feel survivable. And the journey between the two feels meaningful rather than random.

It’s easy to dismiss this as romantic idealism. But I don’t see it that way. I see it as a form of gratitude; a recognition that certain people make us sturdier from the inside out.

Sometimes it feels as if the universe arranged this connection through a series of wild, improbable moves. As if it briefly lost control and accidentally engineered something too aligned, too specific, too perfect to categorise. We like to think we are architects of our own lives, but there are moments where you just have to admit: I couldn’t have designed this even if I tried. Some bonds feel less like decisions and more like phenomena — like gravity or magnetism; forces that simply exist whether or not you consciously choose them. And when gratitude for that connection rises, it comes with its own sense of blessing. Gratitude is often talked about as a soft emotion, gentle, calming, almost passive. But real gratitude isn’t soft at all. It’s grounding. It creates resilience. It gives shape to courage. It gives you a kind of inner conviction that when you inevitably walk through difficult valleys; the metaphorical “shadow of death” moments that life inevitably throws at all of us; you are not walking through them alone.

This sense of togetherness doesn’t erase hardship. It reframes it. When you know someone will guide you, or stand with you, or simply remain present in your inner landscape, you begin to see discomfort as a phase rather than a threat. You believe in the possibility of shelter even in the harshest emotional climates. And that belief shapes your choices, your reactions, your strength. Whenever I travel, physically or emotionally; that sense of connection acts like a compass. I can be thousands or even millions of metaphorical miles away, navigating deep oceans of uncertainty or ambition. And yet the idea of “home” becomes less about a physical place and more about a tethering presence. Sometimes the person you are emotionally bound to is not physically in the same space, sometimes not even in the same country. But that doesn’t diminish the anchoring effect they have on your inner world. Distance becomes irrelevant to connection when the bond is authentic. In many ways, that tether is the thing that keeps you from drifting too far into the chaos that ambition or adversity can create. It is the difference between being lost at sea and simply sailing deeper waters with confidence that someone will guide you back.As years pass, we evolve. We move forward, often further than we predicted. Careers shift, responsibilities change, the horizon expands and becomes more complicated. With every year, we accumulate both distance and depth. And in the middle of all this, we encounter the constant debate: how much of life is driven by luck? How much of it is legacy? How much is pure effort? People love to analyse these things, to break them into formulas or frameworks. But the truth is that none of these definitions matter when the emotional foundation remains steady.

When someone is present in your heart and soul — not in a fleeting romanticised way, but as a deep, grounding presence; the mechanics of life matter less. Legacy becomes something you build naturally rather than something you chase. Luck becomes a footnote, not a narrative. The external noise fades, and clarity emerges simply because someone believes in you at a cellular level. Presence becomes everything.But presence does not mean perfection. It does not mean predictability. It does not mean certainty. Presence simply means that at the core of everything, at the centre of the chaos and the ambition and the pain and the aspiration, there is a sense of us — a shared inner world. There is someone who gives shape to your courage, someone who turns fear into perspective, someone who makes the inner storms navigable. That presence becomes your anchor in the moments when life feels turbulent. It becomes your compass when decisions feel heavy or confusing. It becomes your internal guide in the quiet hours when doubt creeps in.

The older I get, the more I understand that “home” is not a location. It is not a milestone or a destination. Home is the emotional space created by the person who understands you in your fullness — your strength, your contradictions, your vulnerabilities, your ambitions. Home is the presence that steadies you when everything else is testing your resilience. And so, I return to my original question: is this moment perfect? Perfection, I’ve come to realise, has nothing to do with circumstances. It has nothing to do with clarity or success or comfort. Perfection is not the absence of difficulty. It is the presence of meaning. It is the presence of connection. It is the awareness that someone exists who anchors your soul and expands your sense of possibility. In that sense, this moment is perfect not because life is flawless, but because this connection exists — here, now, in the deepest parts of my heart and my mind. It exists as a steady flame even when the winds of life are unpredictable. It exists as a reminder that we are capable of both sheltering and being sheltered. We often grow up being told that strength is independence. But life eventually teaches you that true strength is interdependence — the courage to allow someone to be your anchor and your compass, and the willingness to be the same for them. So yes, this moment. with all its imperfections, uncertainties, and unfinished journeys; is perfect. Not because everything is clear, but because something essential is present. Something grounding. Something real. Presence. Gratitude. Connection.

That’s what makes this moment — this one right here — feel complete.

My essay on a poem I wrote. The poem is here  https://cirvesh.blogspot.com/2025/11/now.html

Cirvesh