An observation on living among others while remaining at ease within myself
By Roshan Jayasinghe
“All in all, the goal of my planning and doing is to find the true meaning in life: peace of mind’ –
Bruce Lee
Reading those words, I found myself thinking about how much of my life I spend planning and doing. There is always something to attend to, something to improve, something I hope will place me in a better position than I was yesterday. Within all this activity, I wonder how often I pause to recognise what being at peace actually feels like for me.
Sometimes it is a quiet moment in the morning. Sometimes it is the relief of attending to a responsibility, having an honest conversation, or spending time with people around whom I feel comfortable. I may find it while working with my hands or riding a motorcycle, when my attention settles into what I am doing. Someone else may experience it quite differently, and even in my own life, what settles me can change from one day to another.
I notice that peace sometimes arrives in a very ordinary moment. Nothing remarkable has happened, and there are still things in life to resolve, yet for a while my thoughts feel settled. I am where I am, doing what I am doing, without feeling pulled somewhere else. There is a freedom in that: the liberty of inhabiting my own life, with room to notice passing opinions, moods, and uncertainties without needing to follow each one.
I become more aware of that freedom when I am around other people. I notice how a conversation can draw me into its pace. Someone’s enthusiasm may lift me, a thoughtful remark may make me pause, or a hurried exchange may leave me feeling hurried too. These small changes interest me because they reveal how responsive I am to the people around me.
I might describe this as a change in the energy of the room. Looking more closely, I may be responding to a shift in tone, pace, expression, or the way people speak to one another. Sometimes the atmosphere has changed, and sometimes it is my interpretation of it that has changed how I feel. I do not always recognise the difference immediately.
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Read More →Sometimes I notice myself speaking faster, becoming quieter, or preparing a reply before someone has finished. It interests me how naturally I adjust to a conversation, sometimes before I have recognised what I think or feel about it. I have wondered how often I enter the mood of a room without noticing that I have left my own.
Being open to others matters to me. Someone’s sadness can touch me, and their excitement can lift me. I value being able to listen, care, and share in another person’s experience.
I am also beginning to recognise that I can remain close to someone while allowing their feelings and my own to be different. I can listen patiently when something concerns them and hear a different opinion without needing to reach agreement immediately. A quiet moment in a conversation can simply remain quiet. I do not always need to give it a meaning or fill it with words.
I find something practical in occasionally asking myself, “What am I noticing here, and how am I responding?”
Perhaps something has caught my interest. Perhaps a familiar experience has shaped the way I heard a remark. Perhaps I am tired and would understand the same words differently after some rest. Sometimes I may simply need to listen a little longer before deciding what I think.
There may be no immediate answer. Even asking the question gives me a little time to understand my response. In that interval, I might continue listening or ask what someone meant. I might say, “Let me think about that,” and allow the conversation some room. These are small things, but they help me recognise what is happening within me as I participate in what is happening around me.
There are also occasions when a feeling deserves closer attention. A relationship may need an honest conversation. A request may require me to be clear about what I can reasonably offer. Something I have done may need an apology. Attending to these things is part of feeling at ease with how I live.
I have noticed that postponing a necessary conversation can occupy more of my mind than having it. Afterwards, there can be a quietness in knowing that I have spoken truthfully and made room to hear the other person. Sometimes the understanding that follows is something neither of us could have reached alone.
I also recognise a point beyond which my part ends. I can take care with my words, listen, reconsider, and acknowledge where I was wrong. I cannot determine exactly how another person will receive me, how quickly they will understand, or whether they will agree. I am learning to allow room for their response to take its own course.
I share parts of my life with others, sometimes very closely, but I still experience that life from within myself, and so does the person beside me. We bring different memories, expectations, hopes, and ways of seeing to the same moment. Closeness gives us opportunities to understand those differences, even when they remain.
I notice how reassuring agreement can feel. I am also discovering that a difference of opinion can remain between us while I continue to feel comfortable with the person. There is something freeing about leaving a conversation with a better understanding of each other, even when neither of us has changed our mind.
The same observation follows me home. A gathering ends, and parts of it may remain with me. I might recall something that made me laugh, reconsider an idea, or think of a question I wish I had asked. Sometimes I notice that my attention is still with a conversation while the evening around me has moved on.
There can be something useful to learn from returning to an experience. There is also a point at which I have taken what I can from it for now.
A helpful question for me is whether there is anything I wish to do with the thought. Perhaps I want to follow up with someone, learn more, or reconsider my own view. If there is nothing further for the moment, I can allow the evening in front of me to have my attention.
This does not always come easily. Some experiences take time to settle, and there are days when a quieter mind is more available to me than on others. I am learning to acknowledge that without turning peace into another demand I place upon myself.
Within what I think of as the Human Continuum, these observations have a wider meaning. What happens around me influences what happens within me, and what happens within me often reaches the next person I meet. The patience someone offers me can find its way into the patience I offer someone else. Equally, when I have been hurried or distracted, a moment taken to gather myself may help me give the next person my fuller attention.
I cannot control the atmosphere of every room I enter, but I can gradually become more aware of what I contribute to it and what I carry away. There is something meaningful to me in recognising that my way of being is part of another person’s experience, just as theirs is part of mine.
Can I be present with others while still recognising my own feelings? Can I care about people while understanding what is mine to carry? Can I leave room for their experience while allowing myself the freedom to be at ease?
These are questions I am learning to live with. Another person may begin with different questions and find peace in ways I have yet to understand.
When I return to Bruce Lee’s words, I find myself thinking about where peace sits among my plans. It is easy to imagine feeling settled once I have completed something, reached a goal, or worked out what comes next. Yet some of my most peaceful moments have arrived while all of that was still in progress.
A conversation I have enjoyed without watching the time, a difference of opinion that has left me curious about another person, a quiet moment in which I feel no need to add anything: I am beginning to recognise how much of the life I value is already taking place in moments like these.
There will be more to plan and more to do. As I go about it, I hope to become more aware of when I am already at ease, sharing a moment with someone who is living a life as distinct and complete as my own.
Perhaps the freedom I am discovering is being able to enjoy where I am while my life is still unfolding.
