On being present
“How are you?” is a question I receive at least 3–5 times daily, usually at the start of a Zoom call with colleagues. In our society, this question is the epitome of the throw away greeting, something uttered in passing and to which no one really expects a fulsome answer.
“Hows it going?”
“Great, you?”
“Great! Thanks”
“Take care!”
And you’re on your way. No information has been exchanged. No meaninfgul relation has been tended.
Lately, I’ve decided to shirk this social norm. I’m giving honest answers, ones that usually start something like, “I’m not sure, honestly. But I’m doing my best.”
It feels good, the honesty. It makes me feel more present. Hopefully it makes my friends and colleagues feel more present as well. For too long we’ve offered rote answers to these questions that shouldn’t be rote at all. Being asked something so personal as “how are you” should be thought of as a gift of the opportunity for meaningful connection. An assurance that we are not in this alone. Our answer should rise to that same level of value. We cannot change the world in isolation. And how can we expect to work together if we’re not truly being present with one another?
Global democratic erosion, social and environmental crises, and the chaos and destruction being sown by Donald Trump have left many of us feeling overwhelmed and ineffective. Amidst this turbulence, I find myself regularly wanting to withdraw into personal concerns, demoralized by the impossibly large issues that I, if I’m being honest with myself, have little to no power right now to remedy. I can do very littel about the firing of scientists working on the National Climate Assessment. I can do very little to affect the assault on universities and their tax-exempt status. I can express my immense disapproval to my representatives, and I do. I can protest, and I do. But in many ways, it still feels like my agency stops there.
And yet, precisely because the scale and complexity of global problems feel so daunting, it becomes crucial to reflect upon and rediscover the power that we do possess: this power to be present with one another.
When I think about change-making, I often start with a tendency to think big — to imagine sweeping policy reforms, global movements, or international interventions. These are important, of course, but they often obscure the quiet, persistent power of being present with people at a time and in a place (even a virtualone ). Being present is an entirely different (and much more accessible) theory of change, one that holds that genuine influence arises when we engage with the people and places immediately around us, building communities from the ground up, through sustained, intentional action.
Presence is about rediscovering the many different ways we can be citizens, neighbors, and stewards. The ways we take part in regenerating the life and creativity and human energy that defines the places we love.
David Fleming, the late thinker and author of Lean Logic, explained it this way:
Given a chance, communities on a small enough scale for individuals to feel real influence can be so effective that doing the apparently impossible is their daily bread. Anarchist in terms of their independence, orderly in terms of ownership and responsibility for their particular places, surprising in their inventiveness, they are, even now beginning to wake up to a long transition from the global city and towards located habitats on a human scale.
Fleming’s vision invites us to rethink the scale at which meaningful change can happen. He points out something many of us intuitively understand, even if we rarely articulate it: that communities operate at a human scale. Communities where individuals know one another, share common spaces, and feel genuine responsibility for one another’s collective well-being have a remarkable capacity for necessary, and even radical, transformation.
When we examine successful examples of grassroots movements and local initiatives, we see this principle of presence in action. Community gardens, neighborhood mutual aid networks, local cooperative businesses, and citizen-led environmental restoration projects are all examples of presence-driven change. These initiatives are not retreats from broader global concerns or dismissals of the role of government; rather, they emerge as deliberate assertions of local autonomy, responsibility, and creativity. They demonstrate that we are not helpless in the face of destructive national or global trends; rather, we have significant power precisely because we are present — aware, engaged, and committed — in our immediate sphere of influence.
Being present isn’t just about the practical outcomes — though these can indeed be transformative — but also about the deeper shift in mindset presence encourages. Capitalism has spent the last several decades dividing us and convincing us that we’re alone in this world. When we become truly present in our communities, we reclaim the fullness of what it means to be a neighbor and a citizen. Citizenship ceases to be merely a passive status or a bureaucratic classification; instead, it becomes an active, intentional practice of care, collaboration, responsibility, and creativity.
Presence is also fundamentally about building meaningful connections. In an age of digital isolation, polarization, and fragmentation, our greatest asset as changemakers may be as simple — and as profound — as our willingness to show up for each other. When we allow ourselves to be truly present with others, we forge stronger social bonds, foster trust, and develop a more resilient social fabric. From this foundation, we can collectively navigate the turbulence of our times, addressing challenges that might seem insurmountable when tackled alone.
Presence is not easy. It feels uncomfortable when you are out of practice. It feels too small to matter. It requires that we relinquish the seductive illusion of creating grand, immediate impact, accepting instead that real change often emerges slowly, organically, and unpredictably.
Presence does not mean disengaging from the broader political and economic systems that shape our lives. Rather, it calls for a strategic reorientation of our energies. It suggests that by grounding ourselves firmly in our communities and reclaiming our capacity for localized, tangible change, we can more effectively advocate for broader systemic transformation. Our local actions, multiplied across thousands of communities, can and do ripple upwards, reshaping the larger structures that govern our society.
If this all sounds too slow to you, remember that slow change is only slow until it isn’t. Eventually we reach a tipping point, and then the change becomes self-motivating and inevitable.
In my book, Finding Our Niche, I start with a chapter exploring the feeling of alienation and disempowerment many of us feel in the face of global upheaval and political chaos. Presence is the antidote to alienation. It reminds us that true, lasting change rarely occurs through distant, impersonal interventions alone. Instead, transformative movements emerge from the ground up, built upon the foundations of engaged communities embracing their own creativity, resourcefulness, and care.
The challenges we face today are indeed profound, but they also invite us to rediscover the immense power that comes from being fully present in our lives, our neighborhoods, and our shared places. In doing so, we reaffirm our collective strength — not as passive consumers of a commercially provisioned social order, but as active, committed citizens who shape our communities and, through them, the world.
So now, when I answer the question, “how are you doing?”, I will also add, “I’m doing my best to be present.”
