Episode Details

If you ever want to make me feel inadequate, suggest to me that I “be fully present.”

For a long time, that was my aspiration. A thousand yoga and meditation classes drilled into my head that the highest virtue is to “be here now.”

I have no problem, in theory, with presence. One of the main themes of my work is to empower executives to tolerate their own thoughts, feelings, emotions, and urges.

I generally prefer presence to absence (except for some meetings). It’s the “fully” that’s been the problem.

Have you heard it a thousand times too?

"Be fully present." In meetings. In one-on-ones. In every conversation that matters.

It sounds right. Noble, even. Give 100% of your attention to the people or person in front of you.

But here's the problem: if you actually try to be 100% present, you become useless.

The Dining Room Problem

I’ve been to a bunch of events at Kripalu, a yoga retreat in New England. And one of the weirdest things I do there is mindful eating.

Mindful eating is one of those classic presence exercises. I sit down, nodding solemnly to my table mates, signaling that I’m an advanced spiritual being with barely any ego left.

No phone in my hand, no tablet in front of me. I gaze deeply at my food. I notice the aromas, the textures.

I silently thank the sun, the rain, the farmer, the trucker, the cook, the dishwasher, the accounts receivable clerk for the fertilizer company, the earthworms, the whole shebang.

I take small bites, chew carefully, notice everything.

It's beautiful.

Then someone repeats, “Can you slide your chair in so I can get by?" and I’m completely thrown. Earthworms and dainty bites out the mental window, replaced by a flustered annoyance.

It turns out that 100% presence for one thing means zero capacity for anything else.

That's fine —mostly — at a yoga retreat. It's a disaster in a leadership conversation where you need to listen, think, respond, draw on your experience, and track the bigger picture — all at the same time.

The 5% Witness

What actually works is something I teach coaches and leaders that sounds almost absurdly modest: keep about 5% of your attention on the fact that you are present.

That's it. A small, steady thread of awareness — I am here, I am paying attention — running quietly in the background. That lets the other 95% of your energy go where it needs to go: listening to what's being said, reading the room, connecting dots, formulating your response.

This is actually more like what experienced meditators do, for the most part. They don't white-knuckle their way to unbroken focus. Instead, they maintain a gentle witness — a part of their awareness that notices when they've drifted.

Where Leaders Lose Themselves

What happens without that 5% witness?

Sometimes, if the present moment isn’t engaging (because it feels unimportant or boring), you might catch yourself thinking about last night’s ball game or whether a double-perl stitch will work for the collar of that sweater.

More frequently, especially with leaders, something else happens. Something more insidious: autopilot.

On autopilot, you get so absorbed that you merge with your role, or the task in front of you. You’re so engaged that you’ve forgotten that “you are.”

You don’t notice your body. You don’t notice your breathing. “You the be-er” disappears and is replaced by “you the do-er.”

But wait, you might protest: this sounds like flow.

And that guy with the really long name says that flow is a desired state.

And sometimes it is.

Flow — all task, zero self-awareness — becomes a problem when there are other people in the equation, and their needs and goals and priorities are different from yours. And when your nervous system’s threat detection algorithm lights up.

This can look like: