Are You Really Here?
Aug 20, 2026
You Don't Find Life in Yesterday or Tomorrow. You Find It Right Now.
For most of my life, I thought being present meant showing up.
I showed up for work. I showed up for my employees. I showed up when customers needed me. I showed up for my family.
At least, that is what I told myself.
But there is a difference between being in the room and truly being present. You can sit across from someone you love while thinking about tomorrow's problems. You can hear their words without really listening. You can spend your life building something for your family while missing parts of the life you are supposed to be sharing with them.
You can be there without really being here.
I know that because I have done it. I also know it because my son Parker is no longer here.
We Always Think There Will Be More Time
Parker died in December 2020. He was only 20 years old.
Losing him changed everything I believed about life, success, strength and time.
Before Parker died, I understood intellectually that life was short. We all do. We hear it at funerals. We repeat it when someone becomes sick. We tell each other to appreciate every day.
Then we return to our routines.
We answer another email. We take another call. We postpone another conversation. We tell the people we love that we will make time for them once work settles down.
But work rarely settles down.
There will always be another problem to solve, another goal to reach and another reason why today is inconvenient.
We live as though time is unlimited because accepting otherwise would force us to reconsider how we are spending it.
After Parker died, I did not find myself longing for grand occasions. My mind returned to the ordinary moments: sitting together, laughing, driving somewhere, talking late at night or simply having him nearby.
The moments that once seemed ordinary became priceless because I could no longer have them.
That is one of grief's cruellest lessons: it teaches us the value of a moment after the moment is gone.
I Thought I Was Doing It for My Family
I have always worked hard.
I spent decades leading people in demanding operations, carrying significant responsibility and eventually building my own company. I wanted to succeed. I wanted to provide for my family. I wanted to create security and build something meaningful.
Those are not bad things. But good intentions do not automatically create a good life.
There were times when I was physically with my family but mentally still at work. I would be thinking about payroll, customers, employees, tomorrow's problems or the call I needed to return.
I justified it because I believed I was doing everything for them.
Many leaders and business owners will understand that feeling. We carry so much that we convince ourselves no one else can carry. Our responsibility becomes part of our identity, and eventually we no longer know how to put it down.
The danger is that 'I am doing this for my family' can slowly become the reason we are unavailable to them.
Our families may understand the pressure we are under. They may even support the sacrifices we make. But they still feel our absence.
Sometimes, by the time we understand the cost, we cannot recover what was lost.
My Darkest Moment
Five months after Parker died, the grief, guilt and pressure became more than I believed I could carry.
I got into my Mustang and drove toward a maple tree at full speed.
In that moment, I did not want to hurt my family. I did not want to die because I did not love them. I wanted the pain to stop, and I could no longer see another way to make that happen.
Something stopped me.
I believe God was not finished with me. I believe Parker's story was not finished either.
That moment forced me to confront how far away from my own life I had drifted. I was trapped in yesterday, reliving the decisions, guilt and pain surrounding Parker's death. At the same time, I was terrified of tomorrow and unable to imagine a future I wanted to live.
I was everywhere except the only place life was still happening: right now.
That realization did not erase my grief. It did not instantly repair my faith or make life easy. Healing did not happen in a straight line. But it gave me somewhere to begin.
You Cannot Live in Yesterday
Yesterday can teach us, shape us and even haunt us. But we cannot live there.
We cannot rewrite the conversation. We cannot recover the missed opportunity. We cannot change what happened.
For years, I carried unbearable guilt about the decision to remove Parker from life support. Although the decision came from love, I felt as though I had ended my child's life. I replayed it repeatedly, trying to find an answer that would somehow make the outcome different.
There was no different outcome waiting for me in yesterday. There was only more pain.
Yesterday must be honoured and understood, but it cannot be allowed to consume every moment we still have.
You Cannot Live in Tomorrow Either
Tomorrow can become another hiding place.
We tell ourselves we will live differently when the business improves, when the children are older, when the mortgage is paid, when we retire or when life becomes less complicated.
We postpone joy until we believe we have earned it. We postpone purpose until we feel ready. We postpone forgiveness because we are waiting for the other person to move first. We postpone telling someone we love them because we assume there will be another opportunity.
There is nothing wrong with planning for tomorrow. But tomorrow cannot become the place where we store everything that matters.
Life is not waiting for us in some perfect future. Life is happening while we are waiting.
Presence Is More Than Putting Down Your Phone
We often reduce presence to a simple instruction: put down your phone. That can certainly help, but genuine presence goes deeper.
Presence means listening without planning your response.
It means looking someone in the eyes and making them feel that, in that moment, they matter more than whatever else is demanding your attention.
It means noticing when your spouse says, 'I'm fine,' but clearly is not.
It means hearing what your children are trying to tell you beneath their words.
It means walking through your workplace and seeing human beings, not merely positions, productivity numbers or payroll expenses.
Presence requires vulnerability because it asks us to stop hiding behind busyness. It forces us to feel what we have been avoiding and hear what may be uncomfortable.
Presence is not passive. It is one of the most intentional choices we can make.
The Question That Changed Everything
When I stepped onto the Speaker Slam stage, I shared the most painful story of my life.
I did not tell that story because I wanted people to feel sorry for me. I told it because I knew someone in that room might be trapped in yesterday, afraid of tomorrow or silently carrying pain they believed no one else could understand.
I wanted them to know that they were not alone. I wanted them to understand that no matter how dark life becomes, their story does not have to end in that darkness.
After the speech, a woman approached me and said:
'Tonight, you saved a life.'
Those words will remain with me forever. They reminded me why I survived and why I now speak.
My pain will always be part of me, but it does not have to be wasted. It can become something that helps another person find strength, perspective and purpose.
That does not make Parker's death acceptable. It does not mean I believe he had to die so I could find a purpose.
It means I get to decide what I will do with the life still in front of me.
Right Now
There may be someone you need to call. Call them now.
There may be someone waiting to hear that you love them, appreciate them or forgive them. Tell them now.
There may be a conversation you have avoided because it feels uncomfortable. Begin it now.
There may be a dream you continue postponing because you are waiting to feel ready. Take one step now.
There may be someone sitting beside you who does not need your advice or another promise about tomorrow. They need your full attention. Give it to them now.
I cannot return to the moments I missed with Parker. But I can honour him by being present for the moments I still have, with my wife, my family and every person God places in my path.
I can continue building and dreaming. I can remain ambitious. I can work hard and pursue success.
But I no longer want success at the expense of being awake for my own life.
Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not promised. The only place you will ever find life is right now.
So pause for a moment. Look at the people around you. Think about what matters most.
Then ask yourself honestly: Are you really here?
