You can spend an entire evening with someone you love and barely be there. You hear their voice, nod at the right moments, perhaps even answer, while your mind is still arguing with something that happened in the afternoon.
That everyday absence is a good place to begin understanding mindfulness.
As a clinical psychologist, what interests me is how easily a thought becomes something we obey. Someone makes a passing remark, and we carry it for the rest of the day. We anticipate a difficult conversation and experience the anxiety repeatedly before the conversation has even happened. The mind’s ability to remember, anticipate and interpret is useful. It can also keep us occupied with a life that is happening entirely inside our heads.
Mindfulness helps us notice this process while it is happening.
Suppose the thought comes, “I am going to fail.” It can feel like a verdict. Becoming aware that “I am having the thought that I might fail” creates a little room to examine it. The fear may still be there, but we have more freedom in deciding what to do next.
This is why I value mindfulness: it can make our responses more deliberate. We begin to recognise the tension before the angry reply, the insecurity behind the urge to seek reassurance, or the discomfort we keep escaping through our phones.
And yes, the mind will wander. Sometimes it will wander seconds after we decide to pay attention. Noticing that and returning is part of the practice. There is no need to turn mindfulness into another examination we are failing.
Its purpose also extends beyond managing distress. There is something quietly important about actually tasting your food, listening to someone without preparing your response, or enjoying a peaceful moment without immediately wondering how long it will last.
So much of life asks for our attention. Mindfulness helps us become more conscious of where we give it.
