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Seth Godin tells a story about a Japanese term, kamiwaza, and describes it as “fully human, fully present.” Strictly speaking, kamiwaza is more like “ a godlike feat” or “with divine skill,” the kind of performance that makes people say, “That shouldn’t be possible.”
But the point he’s aiming at is dead-on.
The problem isn’t that most of us lack talent.
The problem is that most of us are not here.
We’re half in the room and half in our heads. Half in the work and half in the outcome. Half in the conversation and half in the fear of what it might cost us.
A cheetah doesn’t do that. The cheetah is not wondering if it left the oven on. It is not rehearsing an argument that it might have next week. It is not scrolling its mental feed for validation.
It is full on cheetah.
Human beings are capable of something similar—not by becoming animals, and not by becoming gods, but by becoming undivided.
Zen has a term that’s closer to what Seth is describing: ichigyō-zanmai—total concentration on a single act. One practice. One thing at a time. Wholehearted.
That’s the virtue of presence: to give the moment what it asks for, instead of forcing it to compete with everything else you’re carrying.
Presence is not a mood. It’s a choice.
Presence isn’t soft. It isn’t passive. It’s not a spa-day concept.
Presence is a form of personal integrity.
It’s choosing to bring your whole self to what matters, even when you’d rather hedge, hide, or keep your options open.
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When you look closely, “being present” has three virtues braided together:
Attention: What you notice. What you refuse to numb. What you’re willing to see clearly.
Commitment: What you decide. What you stop renegotiating. What you do even when you don’t feel like it.
Connection: What you honor. The reality that your life and work are not solo projects—even when you’re working alone.
You don’t need a monastery to practice this. You need a willingness to stop living like your life is a rehearsal.