A family member underwent some health problems recently, and when I asked what I could do to help, the answer was "not much."

The only request was that I offer occasional reminders to stay in the moment, to try not to worry about that which cannot be controlled.

It's important work. But, how? How can we live in the present when everything around us — from the news about wildfire smoke polluting the air to the stress of a personal health crisis — tries so hard to pull us into the past or the future?

Often, the more you need to live in "The Now," the more difficult it can be to find.

But the path, in my experience, comes with what's commonly called "mindfulness" — the action of consciously experiencing the present.

First let's agree that there's a big-M "Mindfulness" and a small-M "mindfulness." The former is the kind of meditative activity so popular with therapists, religions and even, lately, academia. My son even gets instruction in big-M Mindfulness in elementary school — deep breathing, focusing on his body — and though that's wonderful, it's small-M mindfulness — finding the elusive "Now" — that's been more effective for me.

When I set out to remember the times it has helped me, I immediately think of my pregnancy with my oldest son.

It was my third pregnancy, the previous two having ended in miscarriage, and from the start, it was a troubled one. I bled, nonstop, more than I thought any pregnant woman could, and I went through months of bed rest — giving me plenty of time to worry about what had already gone wrong and fret about what was to come.

I tried to stop but could not help thinking that I was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable third miscarriage to come. I had been trying to get pregnant for years, and though there were many terrible steps on that journey, nothing I went through compared to the grief of a miscarriage — the end of hope.

So, during my third pregnancy, out of desperation, I began to pray to my long-dead grandmother — she who had loved me best and most fiercely of all.

I started and ended each day talking to her, and I fell into the habit of beginning our conversations by thanking her for another day of pregnancy. Sometimes, when things seemed particularly grim, I would send her a silent thanks for another minute, another second with a baby inside me.

"Right now, this very second, I am pregnant, and for that, I am grateful," I would think, and it brought me into the present like nothing else.

That's all I had to celebrate — all any of us have to celebrate: The Right Now.

Because everything's going to be OK until the moment that it isn't. There will be loss at the end, and this minute, this second, this instant is all that stands between us and that loss.

As my son has gotten older, he's been joined in our family by a younger brother. I've never felt their lives as imperiled as in the months before my oldest was born. But there have been worries and illnesses, and when I remember to, I deal with my fears the same way I did back then.

"Thank you for another day," I say to my grandmother, at night, when I'm tempted to look into the future or ruminate on the past.

It reminds me that "The Now" is all I have.

I'm not the Dalai Lama, though, and my skillfulness at finding the present changes from day to day. Often, I fail.

The good news, though, is that there's always another present, another "Now." It's here, always, in front of me.

"The Now" awaits me, forever. It awaits us all.

And we always have a new opportunity to claim it.

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

Photo credit: Ann Savchenko at Unsplash