Light Seeker | 找到你的光

我們總在回應訊息中失去了自己，在忙著成為一個「立刻回覆」的人時，也成為了時間的奴隸。

我曾以為活著就是不斷地往前趕路，直到我開始學習在水裡呼吸、在紙上寫字、在草地上靜躺，那些零碎卻真實的當下，才慢慢拼湊出我真正的節奏。

原來，活在當下，不只是口號，是一種身體的記憶，一種心的重整。

我開始學會不被訊息牽著走、不再每一通來電就立即回擊，而是成為時間的主人，選擇怎麼與世界連結，選擇什麼時候回到自己。

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我喜歡游泳，更喜歡的是在水中學會呼吸的日子。每一息、每一吐，都是一種清理，一種新陳代謝。

我記得前幾年看了一部電影，裡面有個專業人士每天清晨會跳進泳池，一邊游1500公尺、一邊為人禱告，也會寫信給他重視的人。那個畫面深深烙印在我腦海。

雖然我沒有馬上去做，但心裡好像被提醒：「該去泳池，把那些蓄卵的呼吸、情緒、煩悶，吐進水裡。」我喜歡這樣，一游，就游到內在的聲音變小了，腦袋清空，雜音退散，只剩下呼吸——不再有傷害我的對話、不再有責備自己的聲音、不再有排程的壓力。

原來在水中學會呼吸，是這個意思：

是一種冥想，是一種內在清潔，是一種在路上的打掃，是一種與神和好的過程，讓我可以無隔閡地往前繼續游下去。

然後我會跳到熱水池裡，讓肌肉放鬆、感受溫暖的包圍。最享受的是最後走進冰水池的那一刻——當身體逐步降溫，我看著手錶上的心率慢慢降下，腦袋也跟著轉涼。

我發現「心率69」是一個神奇的數字。到了那個點，腦袋變得清晰，體溫轉涼，腳趾也不再刺痛，只剩下由內而外擴散的一圈圈平靜。那是一種節奏，一種身體切換環境、角色與狀態的科技排毒。

我第二喜歡的事情是寫日記：寫感恩、寫飲食、寫心情。你問我怎麼這麼多話？其實我們人本來就很多話啊。我們的心思很亂、很飛，只要沒有回到當下，腦袋就一直在想：

「等一下要幹嘛？我想成為什麼？我想學什麼？我是不是一定要先拖地才能…？」

或是陷在：「他怎麼可以這樣對我說話？」的過去裡。

這兩件事——游泳與寫字，讓我跳脫過去的牢籠，逃到當下。

最近我還發現一個新喜歡的事情：躺在草地上。陽光、空氣、土地能幫助我重新獲得能量。離螢幕越遠，我越開心。痛，往往是這樣才被帶過。也或許，是痛與壓力，迫使我找到調解的方法。否則，一個訊息、一個人情，就把我鎖住了。

但時間一直在變，心也一直在變。

我們常說「少拿手機、多讀書」，其實就是提醒我們回到最真實的人際關係與內在空間。

不要再做一個一通訊息就回擊的人，而是學習成為一個時間的主人。

實踐建議

• 設定「回應時間」：每天固定兩個時段回覆訊息，其餘時間靜音，專心做當下的事。
• 安排「沉默時段」：一週至少一個晚上關掉手機、電視與社群，與自己或親近的人面對面相處。
• 養成「儀式性習慣」：像是游泳、散步、日記、泡澡，任何能讓你從雜音中退出、重新清理心靈的節奏動作。
• 與自己對話：每日早晚三分鐘寫下：「現在的我在想什麼？」這是最簡單的活在當下練習。

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So This Is What It Means to Be Present

We often lose ourselves in the habit of instant replies. We think we’re being responsible, responsive, needed. But slowly, we become slaves to time—and worse, to our phones.

I used to believe life was about rushing forward. But when I started breathing in the water, journaling on paper, and lying still on the grass, I discovered something far more real:

Presence is not an idea—it’s a rhythm. A physical memory. A spiritual re-centering.

I’m learning not to react to every ping, not to answer every call right away. I’m learning to own my time. To choose how I connect with the world.

To return to myself first.

I love swimming—especially how it taught me to breathe.

Each inhale and exhale feels like a reset. Years ago, I saw a movie where a professional swam 1500 meters every morning, praying as he swam, and writing letters afterward to those he cherished. That image stayed with me.

I didn’t immediately copy the habit, but something inside nudged me: “Go to the pool. Pour your cluttered breath, emotions, and burdens into the water.”

So I swim until the noise in my head fades. Until there’s only breath left—no replays of hurtful conversations, no critical self-talk, no to-do lists. Just breath.

Breathing in the water became meditation. It became a cleaning of the soul. A reconciliation with God. And with each stroke, I moved forward without barriers.

Then I’d move to the hot pool—letting the heat relax my muscles. But my favorite? The plunge into the ice bath.

As my body slowly cooled, my heart rate would drop. I’d watch it hit 69—somehow, that number became a magical threshold. My thoughts would clear, my body would settle, and peace would expand in slow, wide circles from the center out.

It’s a rhythm—a switch in body, role, and environment. A kind of tech detox.

My second favorite thing is journaling: gratitude, food, feelings.

You ask why I have so many words? We all do. Our minds are wild and noisy. If we’re not anchored in the now, we get caught thinking:

“What do I need to do next?” “Who am I supposed to be?” “Why did they say that to me?”

Swimming and writing pull me out of the cage of past and future, and back into now.

Lately, I’ve found another lovely practice: lying on the grass. The sunshine, air, and ground refuel me.

The farther I am from a screen, the lighter I feel.

Sometimes pain just passes like that—maybe it’s pain and pressure that push me to find healing routines. Otherwise, a single notification can freeze me in place.

But time keeps moving. And so do we.

That’s why we keep saying “put down your phone,” “open a book,” “see people face-to-face.”

Because it brings us back to what’s real.

Let’s stop being people who instantly respond, and start being people who own our time.

Practice Suggestions

• Designate “response windows”: Set two specific times daily to check and reply to messages. Mute your phone the rest of the time.
• Schedule “silent nights”: At least once a week, turn off all devices and spend the evening screen-free—alone or with someone close.
• Build “ritual rhythms”: Find your own—swimming, journaling, walking, bathing—whatever helps you slow down and reconnect.
• Talk to yourself: Ask each morning and night: “What am I thinking right now?” A 3-minute check-in. The simplest way to return to the present.