I was sitting with my knees tucked closely into my chest on the carpeted floor of my old office building while I asked my career coach, Jim, over the phone, “What happens if…? And in the event of…? What will I do when…?”
What actually prompted these questions doesn’t matter but Jim stopped me short into the fourth hypothetical to serve a quarter ounce of realness to the neurotic Jew on the other end of his landline: “Leandra,” he said with both conviction and compassion, “Your life isn’t good. It’s awesome. People care about what you’re building. But you approach this awesome life like you have 50-pound weights strapped to your legs.”
I was nodding. These are things I’m familiar with for the most part, but they never resonate profoundly enough for me to stop and do something about it.
Then he said, “Your problem is that you don’t know how to live right now. You’re playing out hypotheticals from the future.”
And that was that. Pow. Boom. Yeah.
I’m straight up living in a hypothetical reality where I’m trying to be ready to put out fires that may or may not actually burn, and guess what? Most don’t. When they do? I abandon the “rescue plans” I’ve instituted thus rendering all those hours upon days upon weeks I spent wondering “what if?” completely and utterly useless. Cue comment about laying on death bed up to the last strand of hair on my head in regret.
This is what they mean when they talk about mindfulness, isn’t it? Here we’ve spent the last two years listening to Ted Talkers and yoga teachers wax poetic on the notion of mindfulness — on being mindful, practicing the craft as a ritual and experiencing emotional awareness, and inner peace and calm as a result.
It sounds enticing, but what the fuck is mindfulness? I mean, really? Consulting Wikipedia, like any good journalist would, only brings you a single degree closer to an answer: it’s “the practice of bringing one’s attention to the internal and external experiences occurring in the present moment, which can be developed through the practice of meditation.” Google (another great journalist move), says it’s “awareness.”
Okay, cool. But what does that actually mean?
When we elected May as Mental Health Month on Man Repeller to coincide with the rest of America, “mindfulness” was thrown around a lot. So was meditation — what is it? How do I force myself to do it? Will it really change my life? And these concepts-as-goals often seem so lofty — like they’re impossible to achieve and even if you can figure it out for a period of time (I put aside 40 minutes a day to meditate for like, six months, but once you fall off the bandwagon, it’s a real challenge to climb back on), it’s not sustainable. We live in reality. Reality teaches us that external variables — wine, sweets, baths — are what’s going to relax us, quell our anxiety, reduce stress and so forth. But is that actually true? Of course not! They’re temporary levers we pull, Band-Aids on wounds that need stitching up.
Everyone in the office had a different idea of what it meant to be mindful. Haley thought it meant checking in with yourself. That’s definitely part of it, but not all of it. Amelia defined it as focus. Also true. I didn’t really know what I thought it meant, something above my understanding, but a teacher at the Transcendental Meditation Center of Beaver Street defined it as nowness. Being here now. Presence, I suppose.
I took that to mean monotasking. Focusing on a single project, a single concept, a single entity at a time. And for the duration of May, I resolved to be mindful.
Initially, I hoped that this story would function as a sort of, “I tried the mindfulness diet,” but the reality of being mindful is that the deduction is singular: hours and minutes go by much more slowly. You become more receptive. Brushing your teeth isn’t just a time to think about what you’re going to do later. It’s an arduous, long and sometimes painful-on-your-gums process. Eating food is less enticing when all you’re thinking about is that you’re chewing, that your fork is going into a plate then coming out and entering your mouth. You find yourself full much quicker. It’s not as fun. Ditto that for drinking, which presents you with the question: do I really want to do that tonight? But it’s also quite good, especially for someone who observes for a living.
Just last week, I noticed a man eating a container full of medium-raw beef at the Prince Street Dean & Deluca at 7:45 a.m. I never would have noticed that if I wasn’t forcing myself to acknowledge that I was standing at a coffee counter, among people, about to put a straw in my iced coffee. And the grand, sweeping, overarching takeaway? Unremarkably remarkable. We’re taught to seize the day and embrace the moment because life is short but thing of it is, if you’re actually doing any seizing and embracing the moment — the now — what you’ll find is that life can feel pretty long. And also, of course, that it’s awesome.