Justice Notes: Being Present
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
This week’s Justice Notes turns inward. After a recent support-group meeting, one of the members of our group posed a simple, unsettling question: What does being present mean to you? This essay is my attempt to answer.
BEING PRESENT
It’s been five years since my release, and some equilibrium has been restored. But the surprise meeting with a past associate, the uncomfortable encounter, and the unanswered question are never-ending. I’m still disconnected from humanity, and I haven’t reached out to any of my former inmates. I’m not sure why that is. But that’s what prison does to you, it takes everything you came in with and everything you left behind. I still think about them; many of them are probably in those dreams I have every night that I can’t remember in the morning.
I’m uncomfortable around good people. The self-loathing, the residual guilt that the guards instilled in us every minute of incarceration, lingers long after the arrival home. I’m connected to a group of former white-collar felons—a kind of AA confessional for the formerly incarcerated. I’m the worst kind of member, still wallowing in my own brokenness, and reluctant to share and truly connect with their honest and open confessions.
Last week, one of our members, a woman who regularly participates in the discussions, challenged us all to share what Being Present means to each of us. She has an authentic, vulnerable, and generous voice. Her authenticity and vulnerability intimidated me. Like most meetings, I hid behind the screen, less present than ever. But since then, I’ve decided to confront the issue.
I think it was Woody Allen who said that 90% of life is just showing up. I’m not sure it was Woody, and I’m not sure this holds true. I show up a lot, but I’m not present. I drift like a bored reader struggling to get through a voluminous text of directions. I still tend to reschedule meetings, postpone phone calls, daydream through conversations, and rush to get through them all. It’s only when I write that, for whatever reason, I’m my most present and authentic self. It’s like the keyboard won’t function if I try to enter something dishonest. Thank goodness for my writing. But it’s not the answer. Because you can’t live your life in a community of others without being present and authentic. I’ve been doing that my whole life, and it didn’t end well.
I leave these meetings ashamed of myself. Much of my reluctance is that I’ve always been uncomfortable on my feet, but it’s not much of an excuse. Everyone on our Zoom call is uncomfortable. They just overcome it and openly share. The only answer is to keep trying. I’m still showing up. I have a 90%+ show-up rate. Maybe this will be the week I’ll break the pattern. I’ll keep trying. Change is hard.
If you’re drawn to the idea of storytelling as self-reckoning, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Thank you for reading White-Collar Journal. Subscribing is free, and I hope you’ll continue with me as I explore stories of incarceration, justice, and redemption.
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Good one! Honest reflection