Finding Presence in Absence

How Absence Can Reveal What Matters Most

Whenever I feel overwhelmed by life, I long to retreat to a magical cabin in the woods to find solitude and respite in nature. There is something inherently healing about this idea. However, when I actually find myself in that setting, away from my usual routine and comfort zones, I often feel unsettled instead of peaceful. I sit alone, and without someone to talk to, I am left to confront the emptiness around me.

I frequently reflect on the concept of presence, but not absence. In my life and coaching practice, one of my core values is being with people—to be present, attentive, listening, and observing. I cherish the opportunity to connect deeply, feeling the energy exchange between individuals. I aspire for people to come away from their time with me feeling seen, understood, and loved.

But what happens when my time with loved ones comes to an end? Whether they are family or friends, what happens when I am not with them? Sometimes, small doses of deep connection are just what the doctor ordered. Yet, at other times, I find myself longing to be with people again—to be in their presence, feel their energy, and lean into that connection. We are often reminded that we are social creatures and that connection and community matter, which is true. However, in the beautiful words of John O’Donohue, “I think that absence is the sister of presence.” This means to me that in any relationship—whether with friends, family, or lovers—we need both absence and presence to have a complete experience. We are not meant to be together every hour of every day. There is beauty in being apart, in those quiet moments when we can return to ourselves and just be.

The word "absence" comes from the Latin word "absentia," which is derived from "absens," the present participle of "abesse," a combination of:

- "ab," meaning away from

- "esse," meaning to be

At its root, absence means to be away or away-being. Absence isn’t just "nothingness"; it represents the being away of someone or something that still possesses existence. There’s a quiet reverence in that notion, almost as if absence carries its own presence.

In my "Searching for Jasmine" series, I shared a story about a friendship from my high school years. I became best friends with someone, which was significant for me since my only other "best" friend had been from elementary school. I felt deeply understood and connected to this person. However, after high school, I moved to the United States to attend school, and she returned to her home country. Suddenly, our presence with each other shrank to midnight phone calls (due to the time difference), snail mail letters, and some emails. The absence in our relationship loomed larger than the presence, and I panicked.

My anxiety soared, and I began sending message after message, hoping to connect with her as often as possible. I became jealous when she started making new friends, demanding her attention. I had no idea how to sit with the discomfort of absence, so I clung to the need for presence. As you can imagine, this did not end well. Eventually, she felt overwhelmed and ended our friendship. I was heartbroken and devastated, unable to see how my inability to be comfortable with absence contributed to this outcome.

Over the years, this pattern has repeated itself. My heart is filled with joyous, loving energy when I am with friends and family. But when I'm away from them, my heart feels downtrodden and sad, yearning for the next opportunity to connect. Interestingly, I genuinely enjoy being alone, yet it becomes uncomfortable when I don't want to be. I then start reaching out, seeking to alleviate the discomfort of absence.

As a society, we are often taught to avoid being alone and apart from others. While connection and being with people are important, we have lost the ability to appreciate our own company and find contentment in it. We demand 24/7 connection and stimulation, viewing absence as the enemy.

But absence doesn’t have to be viewed this way. Longing and absence can actually be embraced as meaningful experiences. Longing for something signifies that we are alive; it indicates that we feel deeply about the person, place, or thing we miss. We can allow this longing to lead us to suffering as we wish for the present moment to be different, or we can transform it into a beautiful aspect of the greater whole by simply sitting with the longing and acknowledging, “Wow, I must really love and care for this. How beautiful is that?”

The Silence Between the Notes

"Music is the space between the notes."

—Claude Debussy

A coaching session can be compared to a beautiful piece of music, where both words and silence play significant roles. In a world that emphasizes the value of speech, the silence of the unsaid often has the most transformative power. Bringing this realization into my relationships with friends and family is challenging. We are taught that being with others means engaging in conversation, exchanging words, or convincing others of our beliefs. When we encounter silence, we often think, “What’s wrong?”

Being comfortable in silence with another person is one of the most beautiful experiences we can share. It allows two individuals to be together, at ease in their own skin, as they take in the moment. These quiet times can lead to a deeper connection. This idea extends to times when we are apart from loved ones. Even when we cannot see or speak to someone we care about, we can still feel their presence and the energy that our relationship holds. Our love and care for them does not diminish in their absence; it often presents a significant opportunity to keep those feelings alive.

In music, absence does not contradict presence; instead, it enhances the meaning of presence. A note resonates only because of the silence that accompanies it. The most profound aspects of music often emerge from the silence between notes. Silence provides the space to breathe, anticipate, and reflect. It creates tension and anticipation that propel us into new possibilities. Silence allows sound to linger, settle, and resonate, giving our hearts the opportunity to process what our ears have heard. Without silence, we risk becoming overwhelmed or numb. It is in silence that meaning crystallizes, and new ideas are born. Every note emerges from a place of stillness, making silence a creative force rather than a passive one. It holds infinite potential.

How beautiful it is to think of absence from another person as the silence in a song! In the space between the notes, we breathe, we wait, we feel. The music encompasses not only what is played but also what is held, withheld, and allowed to echo. In that space, we find ourselves closest to the essence of presence itself.

The Stillness That Holds Us

"Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can
retreat at any time and be yourself."

—Hermann Hesse

What does stillness feel like in your body? In your spirit? What is it like to slow down and be present with ourselves in a world that constantly seeks to distract us and keep us on the move?

In his book Walking in Wonder, John O'Donohue references Meister Eckhart, who once said, "Nothing in the universe resembles God so much as silence." Cultivating a practice of stillness and silence serves as a portal to the Divine within each of us.

I didn’t always believe this. It was only through developing my own meditation and contemplative practices that I came to understand the immense power of silence. It's akin to the advice we receive to drink eight glasses of water a day. We often neglect this by consuming other beverages, but once we commit to drinking water, our bodies begin to crave it more and more. We realize this is what our bodies truly need! The same applies to silence and our spirit. The more we sit in silence, the more we desire it, and we come to understand that this is what our spirit craves. There is no magical formula to discover; the way back to ourselves and our inner voice is through stillness and silence. That is the formula.

When I discuss my purpose and how I know what I am meant to do in this world, people often ask, “How do you know that?” To me, the answer is now straightforward: I listen. Have you noticed how the world is designed to prevent us from listening to ourselves? The news, entertainment, and social media distract us and lead us to believe that answers lie outside ourselves. We are taught that someone “out there” will fix our problems. This is not true. The person you need to listen to the most is yourself. When you slow down, sit still, and create silence, only then can you hear your own voice and the voice of the Divine. Only then can you connect with what your heart truly desires. Only then can you gain clarity on what you need. Only when all the outside voices are silenced can you genuinely discover who you are and who you are meant to be in this world.

This brings us back to the power of absence. Absence isn't merely a void but a form of rest and unseen holding. Stillness allows presence to mature, not only toward others but also toward ourselves.

The Ache of Longing

"Longing is the agony of the nearness of the distant."

—Martin Heidegger

When I reflect on my experience with my best friend who moved away, I realize that I was trapped in the pain of feeling the closeness of someone who was physically distant. The absence of that friendship weighed heavily on my heart, and at the time, I didn’t know how to cope with those feelings. This sensation of being close to someone yet far away can also manifest in our daily lives, especially when we hope to connect with others through text, email, or video chat. While these methods create a sense of connection, they often fall short of providing the true intimacy we seek.

Missing someone we cherish reveals what we truly value in life. For me, that relationship was the first time I genuinely felt seen, loved, and understood outside my immediate family. It was the first time someone who didn’t have to love me chose to. Perhaps that’s where the saying, “the first cut is the deepest,” originates. Experiencing this for the first time can be incredibly powerful and transformative. When I analyze what this longing signifies, I see a fundamental desire for love, belonging, and acceptance.

Throughout my life, I have consistently valued these connections and longed for them the most. However, how can we continue to feel this way even in absence? The answer lies in learning to give ourselves love, belonging, and acceptance. Absence presents an opportunity to turn inward repeatedly. We can embrace the ache of longing, acknowledge our desire for connection, and hold the immense love in our hearts, allowing ourselves to find comfort in that awareness.

Longing for someone or something is not a sign of lack; rather, it functions as a form of prayer. Absence expands the heart, deepens our connections, and enhances our appreciation of what we have. It is through experiencing absence that we can truly become grateful for what we cherish. This applies not just to relationships but also to our physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. It is when we face illness or injury that we learn to appreciate our health. Similarly, we gain clarity on what we truly long for only in the absence of what we love and desire.

Losing my best friend due to absence many years ago was painful, but now I can see the valuable lessons I learned from that experience. These lessons have helped me build meaningful relationships today, both in presence and in absence.

Closing Reflections

“We are so vulnerable to absence because we desire presence so deeply.”

—John O’Donohue

We all desire presence. As social creatures, we are built to live in close community with one another. We are designed for intimacy, and the absence of that intimacy can be painful. However, when we resist the feeling of absence, we suffer. We get caught up wishing our lives were different, resisting the reality of the moment, and naturally, we experience distress.

But what if we learned to honour absence just as much as we honour presence? What if we recognized that both of these states allow us to fully accept the moment and experience the depth of our longing and desire?

When we resist feelings of absence and believe there is something "wrong" with us for longing, we miss the chance to embrace the complete spectrum of what it means to be human. As with the silence in music, the stillness, and the longing, there is so much wisdom in the absence. Our vulnerability to absence is not a weakness; rather, it reflects the depth of our love. Far from being an adversary, absence serves as the threshold through which presence becomes sacred.

Being away from what we desire can be a beautiful invitation to be fully present with ourselves and to appreciate the closeness that comes with that distance. Absence carries its own presence, allowing us to finally come home to ourselves.

What does absence feel like in your life right now? Can you sit with it—breathe into it—and discover the music it might be making?

With warmth & gratitude,
Brooke.