A Self and a Coach On Track for the Here-and-Now

Mindfulness Myth #7: the Here-and-Now vs Whatever Feels Good

"Come on, put on your hiking boots, and let's break out before the heat sets in," the Self greets the Coach on an early Sunday morning.

The Coach rubs her sleepy eyes. "Erm… did we have a date?"

"No, but we have one now," the Self grins with sparkling eyes. "Hurry up, will you? It's such a gorgeous day, a shame to spend it indoors," the Self adds.

"Where are we going?" the Coach asks, turning around and shuffling her feet towards the bathroom.

"There's a wild waterfall in the middle of a forest. Quite a long distance, too, so one more reason to get going soon. It'll take a bit until we get there, so we should head back before the sun sets."

They head out in the morning shade with a steady pace. The Self walks silently, with a slight frown and a blank stare.

"Anything wrong?" the Coach asks.

"Sorry—oh," the Self tunes in, "nothing really—just thinking. I had a pretty unpleasant conversation with my landlady yesterday. She said my flat is too crammed, and I should take the larger one next door instead—which is, you know, just a way to push me to pay a higher rent. I don't think it's any of her business how much space I really need—"

"Hey," the Coach interrupts in a soothing tone. "Stay here with me, will you? Why are you taking this hike? Try to enjoy the beauty of this morning, and the fresh air here in the forest. The issue with your landlady can wait until the next opportunity to sort it out with her."

"Sure," the Self agrees. "Staying in the here and now, I get it."

The Self starts whistling a cheerful tune, and stops here and there to pick a berry. Soon, the trail goes steep uphill, with thick roots and weathered stones making the path slippery.

"You know, Coach, I thought I might join a book club they set up in town. It's on Saturday afternoons, so I can easily—" she stops short, out of breath.

The Coach stops, too. "Why are you chattering? This path isn't good for talking."

"I thought—huh," the Self sighs, "I thought it's easier if I think of something else to keep me going uphill."

"You might be better off focusing on your breath instead and keeping it in step," the Coach replies. "Like this," and she demonstrates, breathing audibly: in on the right foot, hold on the left, out on the right again.

"If I do that," the Self shakes her head, "it'll make it worse. I'll keep noticing all the strain in the legs and in my lungs, and it'll feel ten times tougher. I think I can't really afford to stay in the present moment when it’s this tough."

The Coach stops and turns around with a smile.

"If you want to save your breath and get to the top, it's best if you do as I say. Why are you climbing this path? I guess, to get up there first, and to enjoy it too. Doing that takes one step at a time, so you'd better put your mind to it. It might feel easier your way at first, but it drains you and you'll get up there out of breath and cursing the whole hike."

The Self surrenders with a nod. They carry on, minding their breath and their pace. Soon, they reach the peak, and the trail continues across a plateau. The Self is busy keeping the pace, counting the milestones, and checking the time.

"What a lovely view, isn't it!" the Coach stands still, gazing at the valley below them.

The Self glances sideways without stopping. "Yes, gorgeous," she says casually.

"You in a hurry?" the Coach asks.

"Me? No! But we need to move on, right? You'll ask me again why I'm doing the hike, so I can already answer to save you the bother: it's to get to that waterfall, remember? I'm fully in the present moment: hiking, and putting my mind to it."

The two of them stand a few yards apart, facing each other.

"Well, I'm not sure I see it the same way," the Coach replies. "Remember when you woke me up this morning? You said, let's get out for a hike—it's a gorgeous day, and a shame to spend it indoors. To me, the waterfall is just the pin on the map that gives us the reason to set out. I'm doing the hike to enjoy the summer day."

A hawk shrieks above their heads.

"So, if I just put my mind to reaching the waterfall, I might miss the point, you're saying," the Self nods thoughtfully. "Let me see that view! Is that where we started?" she asks, pointing in the distance.

They move on and soon reach the waterfall—a perfect goal for a gorgeous summer day. On their way back, they come across a self-service beverage cabin. They sit down on the bench and enjoy a bottle of fruity soda.

"But I think I'll also try the brandy," the Self winks at the Coach, dropping a coin into the tin box. "I'll start with—with the cherry." She picks the apricot next, followed by the blackberry, and then the quince.

The Coach finally says, "Don't you think it's time to move on?"

"Why, Coach, I'm fully immersed in the beauty of this gorgeous summer day," she replies, her words slightly tipsy. "Or do you have a problem with me trying the brandy?"

"No issue trying the brandy. Once. Twice. But now I have to ask you again—"

"I know, I know," the Self waves her arm and waggles her head, "you're going to ask me why I'm doing this hike, and the answer is: to ENJOY it, to enjoy myself, yay!"

"Exactly. To enjoy a summer day, lovely views, and the calls of the birds. If you want brandy, there are plenty of choices at the pub tonight," the Coach raises her eyebrows, smiling.

"And if I do decide to have more brandy? What then?"

"Well, then the hike would be wasted, and you'd likely have a hangover tomorrow."

They continue in silence.

On the doorstep, the Self turns around. "You know, I thought I understood what it means to live in the present moment. But today—it's not so easy to get it right."

"No, I suppose not. It takes practice to shake off the autopilot mode and be present."

The sunset still warms the door handle. "It'll be a question to keep asking myself in the future: why am I doing this, again?" the Self reflects.

The Coach nods, still smiling.

It's easy to think you're living in the present by going with the flow of whatever feels good.

What is the “present moment” to you? Which present?

What does it mean to you to live in the present moment? Is it disconnected from the learning of the past? Is it a way of dismissing the thought of the consequences?

Have you ever nudged yourself to remember to be present? Why did you do that?

• Were you lost in overthinking?

• Were you having a fantastic time, but already dreaded the end of it?

• Were you overwhelmed by fears of what might happen, or guilt about things of the past?

Do you have a specific anchor, or a method to check in with yourself and be present?

What do you gain each time? Joy? Emotional balance? Peace of mind? Problems being scaled back into less frightening proportions?

Was there any memorable occasion when checking back in with the real present made a difference in your life?

What bothers me most is when people misuse this teaching it as an excuse for being frivolous, or irresponsible. Is there another kind of misunderstanding that bothers you particularly?