Issue No. 75

Let's imagine for a moment, just this moment, that we have no problems. Let's imagine that what happened in the past cannot affect us now, and what's going to happen is still in the future, outside of our body. Just for a moment, dissociate yourself from anything that troubles your mind—your insecurities, your worries, your anxiety, even your memories.

What is left of us then? Without our memories of the past, we don't have a history. We are born today. Without the imagination of a future, we have no direction; we are being carried by the wind. Right now, you feel your body, your mind, your heartbeat, and the objects around you. What does it feel like?

What does it feel like to surrender control? What does it feel like to not react to anything? To be carried by time like an infant, pushed by events like a leaf in the wind. It must feel revealing to you, doesn't it? You may have felt that it's possible to surrender control. You don't have to react to everything that happens in your life. You can just sit still and watch it fly by, like an observer from afar.

I've always imagined my mind as a person playing tug of war between the past and the future. On the left side, it’s being pulled by my past—my mistakes, lost opportunities, and failures. On the right side, I’m pulled toward the future, toward where I want to be and who I want to become. The two sides pull in opposite directions, creating tension in the present moment, where I stand pulling these temporal ropes.

The only way to own our minds is not to control them, for the mind is like a dog on a leash. Tugging and pulling only makes it more eager to run away. Let it be. Let it run and fly. Observe where it goes. On its own, it has no power. Without you following it, it will eventually lose its essence, and you'll fall back into your default mind—the mind capable of peace.

Recently, I’ve become interested in the teachings of Zen Buddhism. It’s a school of Mahayana Buddhism that spread from China in the 6th century and later to Japan. Zen emphasizes living simply, being present, and performing everyday tasks with mindfulness. The idea is to find enlightenment in the present moment and in ordinary activities.

Imagine tending to your plants, with the only thoughts in your head being the act itself—the sound of water cascading onto the leaves, the warmth of sunlight on your skin, or the scent of morning dew. Nothing more, nothing less. That is mindfulness. That is peace. However, peace comes with a price, and that price can be high. What peace requires is losing control over many things in life, and sometimes that literally costs money—you need to be stable enough to have the privilege to think beyond survival. Despite this, I believe it is still possible to experience Zen, as we often loosely associate it with peace. The simplest way, really, is to do one thing at a time.

One thing at a time.

That means thinking and doing one thing at a time. When you're washing dishes, don’t put your phone on a tripod to watch a YouTube video. When you're cooking, don’t listen to podcasts. When you're walking, just walk. Why listen to your phone instead of the wind or the birds? How is that different from walking on a treadmill? When you work, focus on work. Don’t open distractions like YouTube or Netflix. When you write, just write. Think clearly. Think of one thing at a time. Be with yourself, just for once.

I’ve been practicing this more often lately, particularly while eating. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always watched TV or used my phone while eating. Everyone around me did the same. Go to any restaurant or cafeteria and watch someone eating alone—they’re always on their phone. I’m guilty of this too. But when I tried for the first time to leave my phone behind and just eat by myself in silence, it was uncomfortable at first, but then I became grateful. I started appreciating the food I was eating and how much effort went into getting it on my plate. I could think about how delicious the salmon was (and how expensive!). I started smiling. Life really is this simple. It’s about appreciating the little things and noticing what usually goes unnoticed because we rush through them.

Maybe we want to keep playing this tug of war. Maybe we really want to waste our lives with haste because we’re afraid of what happens when we’re still—when we see ourselves clearly and realize that, in reality, we’re not that important. Go up high in a building and watch the people walk. Do any of them resemble any sign of importance? No, they are just passersby. Go higher, maybe to the top of a skyscraper. Can you see anyone important now?

From that distance, everyone seems small and insignificant. And perhaps that’s the point: the further we distance ourselves from the rush of life, the clearer we see how fleeting everything is. We’re all just moving through it, and the only thing that matters is how present we are in each moment—moments that will never come again.

Until next week,