This will be one of many.

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What does it truly mean to live? Why is it so difficult? In the hustle of daily existence, we often forget that we are, really, living. Perhaps living is so difficult because the present is all we have, and it’s the one thing we overlook.

The past, for all its influence, is unreliable. Our memories, as vivid as they may seem, are malleable, shaped by emotions, biases, and the limits of our perception. We might recall moments of joy or regret, but how often do we question whether those memories are accurate or complete? Dwelling in the past can be a trap - a pitfall of what-ifs and might-have-beens that serve no purpose today. Similarly, the future with its promises is nothing more than a blank slate, a canvas that exists only in our imagination. Dreams of the future inspire us, but they are built on assumptions about a world we have yet to encounter.

And so, we come back to the present: the fleeting, ever-changing moments in which we exist. The present is where our brains are wired to operate, where we perceive, react, and make choices. It is the stage upon which our lives unfold, the only reality we can truly touch. But what does it mean to truly live in the present? It’s more than just existing, it’s about being fully engaged. It’s understanding that every action we take now shapes both our memories of the past and the possibilities of the future.

The ancient Greek philosophers grappled with these questions long before us. Aristotle, for instance, categorized humanity into three distinct ways of being: those who live for pleasure, those who live for honor, and those who live for thought. Those who live for pleasure seek immediate gratification, pursuing the sensory and physical joys of life. Those who live for honor devote themselves to a cause, striving for glory and recognition. Lastly, there are the philosophers, who live to think, question, and theorize - those whose lives, according to Aristotle, are above the rest.

To live solely as a philosopher, detached and endlessly reflective, risks losing touch with life itself. To live only for honor or pleasure too, feels incomplete, for both approaches tether us to fading desires. The truth, I believe, lies in embracing the complexity of being human. Living in the present doesn’t mean confining oneself to one mode of Aristotle quantified existence: it means recognizing and responding to what life demands of us in each moment. It means finding joy in small pleasures, committing ourselves to meaningful pursuits, and allowing space for thought and reflection. No single aspect should define us entirely, because each moment of present brings its own unique pleasure.

To live in the present, then, is to accept our humanity in all its facets. It is to acknowledge that while we may never fully control the past or the future, we can shape our response to the now. And in doing so, we honor not just the philosophers or the dreamers, but the everyday human experience.