I ride my bike several times a week for exercise. It’s also relaxing, because the path I take goes along a creek where I frequently see egrets, hawks, turtles, rabbits, and the occasional deer or two. It winds through a thick patch of trees and eventually ends in a public park containing an amphitheater dedicated to the writer Washington Irving (Rip Van Winkle, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow), with numerous plaques reciting information about his life and works. Toward the front of the park is a memorial to the victims of the World Trade Center, which includes a mangled steel beam that came from one of the Twin Towers. Quite often, people leave fresh flowers at the base.
It’s a wonderful ride full of sights, sounds, and engaging activity. The problem is, I sometimes make it without ever noticing what’s going on around me. If pressed on the issue, the only evidence I have that the ride took place is the sweat on my brow and the half-empty water bottle clipped to the bike. What happens?
I like to say “I forgot to remember.” Meaning, in order to be mindful we have to first remember to be mindful. If we don’t do that – if we forget to remember – we end up lost in our thoughts and dragged around by our minds. Here’s an example:
I’m on my bike, rolling down the driveway, commencing a 40-minute ride on the aforementioned path. My mind wanders to work I have to do when I get back. I have an article to complete, several emails to write, and a phone call to make. I start composing one of the emails in my head, and then think about something I read a few nights ago. It gives me an idea for an article I can write next week.
I don’t notice the storm clouds coming in from the West, and I don’t pay attention to the breeze on my face. It’s noticeably cooler than a few days ago, but I don’t process how the air feels against my skin. I pedal out of the neighborhood and onto the street for a short stretch until I reach the path’s entrance. I instinctively check for cars, and while I make sure I hug the edge of the road as two pass me, I couldn’t tell you anything about their make, model, or even color.
Thoughts about my grandmother arise. She’s 95 years old, and recently broke her pelvis. She lives by herself, even though she shouldn’t. She doesn’t want to move in with my Uncle, however, as she prefers her independence. She’s fond of saying “I like things the way I like them.” She manages to get around on a walker, but it’s a struggle. I worry she will exasperate the injury or, worse yet, fall and hurt herself.
I’m on the path now, the creek to my right. I don’t notice that it’s higher than usual due to rain from the past few days. I pass a tree with a hawk in it, scanning the ground below for its next meal. Or maybe it’s just watching me as I go by, even though I don’t see it. 
The breeze is rustling the leaves on the trees. In a few weeks, they will begin to change colors and – a few weeks after that – they will drop to the ground. Will I notice the transition as it happens, or just realize one day the trees are bare and Autumn is well under way?
There’s a rabbit off to the left – I actually see it from the corner of my eye and it jolts me out of thought. I smile, but don’t notice the second rabbit less than 10 feet away. And then my mind wanders to my Grandmother’s pet Cockatiel.
She loved that bird. She would take it out of the cage and it would perch on her shoulder as she did housework or watched television. I realize I don’t know what happened to it. It’s been gone for years, but I can’t remember if it died or if she gave it away. Did I ever talk to her about it? Did someone tell me what happened to the bird, and I just don’t remember?
I’m through the trees and entering the park. I pedal by the World Trade Center Memorial without noticing the floral arrangements lined neatly around it. I circle around the outdoor stage and the statue of Washington Irving sitting on a chair catches my eye. I don’t notice the pigeon roosting on his head, though, because I’m thinking about a conversation I had with a friend last week.
We had a misunderstanding, and I dug in on my side while she dug in on her side, each convinced we were right and the other was wrong. It led to tension between us for a few days. Finally, we each decided to let go of our frustration and the need to defend our own egos by proving we were right. We moved past it, but it still tugged at my mind.
The thoughts continue as I circle back and make my way home. I’m only a few minutes away from entering my neighborhood when the first drops of rain bring me back to the present moment. I didn’t know it was supposed to rain again today, even though I glance at the weather every morning while I’m drinking coffee. Regardless, it looks like I got lucky – I made it through most of my ride before it hit.
Just as quickly as the rain brought me back to the present, my attention slips back to my mind again. I remember a Facebook post from yesterday about “The X-Files” returning to television. I loved that show when I was a kid. I have fond memories of gathering around the television with my family – it was one of the few shows my father would watch with us. I’m excited about seeing it again.
I smile as I roll up the driveway, the rain pelting me harder. It’s been 40 minutes since I left, and I couldn’t give you an accounting of what I’d done except to say I took a bike ride. Does this ever happen to you?
Maybe you are driving to or from work, and reach your destination without remembering much of the journey. Perhaps you have conversations and, when they are over, realize you don’t know what the other person said. Maybe you’re reading a book, and you re-read the same page several times because you didn’t comprehend or retain anything.
This is our normal state. I’ve been meditating for 20 years, and it’s still easy to fall back into a state of distraction, following thoughts and emotions as they bounce from subject to subject. It’s easy to forget to remember to be mindful.
To newcomers, this may seem frustrating. You might ask “Don’t you get angry when you still get lost in thought after so many years of practice?”
The answer is “no,” because each time I notice I’m lost in thought is an opportunity to practice. It’s an opportunity to work on accepting what arises without judgement. It’s an opportunity to see that my mind does what my mind does – I’m not the creator of thoughts, I’m just the witness.
As Sam Harris says:
“Thoughts just emerge in consciousness. We are not authoring them – that would require that we think them before we think them.”
Quite often there’s no rhyme or reason for what arises: from thoughts about work to a sick relative to a childhood pet to an argument with a friend to memories of a television show 25 years ago. Our minds wander around like a puppy exploring a new house!
Being distracted is who we are, and it reminds us that if we view meditating as a chore or just another item on our to-do list, we won’t realize any benefits. The benefits only come when we apply the skill we develop while meditating to our “non-meditating” time.
So I realize I was distracted. I don’t beat myself up about it. I accept it – it’s just reality, not something I need to lament over endlessly. I simply return to the present moment until the next time I’m distracted. And then I notice again, and bring myself back again. That’s how you apply the skill – notice and return, over and over.
It does get easier as time goes on. You learn to notice before you get caught up in thoughts and emotions. You learn to notice before they give rise to more thoughts and emotions, burying you in a landslide of mental noise. You learn to notice before conditioned behavior kicks in and dictates your decisions, actions, and reactions.
Unless you reach some magical state of enlightenment, there will always be times when you get lost in your mind. But, through a consistent practice, you’ll find you don’t get caught up in it as often, and you don’t stay caught up in it as long. Which means struggles you face daily (stress, anxiety, a lack of focus, endless worry, and so on) lose their grip on you.
This is when it starts to sink in: mindfulness isn’t another task, it’s a way of being – one that we’re constantly cultivating and returning to.
Thanks for reading – you can find meditation instructions here: How to meditate – short and simple.
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Sometimes, I like to just follow my mind’s meanderings. I just dive headfirst into a daydream, oblivious to everything, and follow all the twists and turns until I feel done. I often find myself remembering things long forgotten, or trying out ideas or conversations in my head. I read Albert Einstein made daydreaming a regular practice, which is why I originally gave myself permission to do it. Daydreaming was frowned upon when I was young.
Does this pondering I so love keep me from acheiving the full benefits of mindfulness?
Just curious.
I like the simplicity behind mindfulness. Compared to so many complicated techniques that one might read about and feel inadequate or “not enlightened enough” to master…it’s simple, natural and accessible to all!
In my opinion, Jerri, seems like you have decided to purposefully give yourself time to daydream. To answer your question asking if this keeps you from achieving the full benefits of mindfulness, I would quote the text we have just read, “The answer is “no,” because each time I notice I’m lost in thought is an opportunity to practice. It’s an opportunity to work on accepting what arises without judgement. It’s an opportunity to see that my mind does what my mind does…”
I also believe that “daydreaming” can be mindful if you purposefully practice it in order to see where it can lead you…what it can inspire you! You don’t have to be mindful ALL THE TIME but the important thing is that you know that you CAN BE so that you are not a slave to the endless regrets about yesterday and worries about tomorrow.