The Next Thing
Warning: it's a thief.
Feet in the sand, it’s early in the morning. The sky is cloudy, the waves are grey, and my pup is running around in circles, drunk on the moment.
I am loving this moment with all my senses.
I am loving it so much that I barely notice when It sneaks in and robs me of it:
The Next Thing.
First, it mentions breakfast and whether I will add a mango or some pineapple to my smoothie.
Then, having made Its way in, The Next Thing decides to venture a little further, to bring me to this afternoon and to the CPR course for which I signed up. Will the schedule work with my plan to exercise? What about this van mural I am starting? do I have everything I need? Is the paint toxic? Will I need a mask? Should I have said yes to this? What if I mess it up? I have never painted a vehicle before… well, not a “nice” one. Flashback to the VW my kids and I painted with daisies twenty years ago. What a cute car she was…
As I smell less and less of the ocean, The Next Thing becomes emboldened and brings up tonight’s dinner.
It is 7:30 in the morning, the birds are caressing the crest of the waves, and The Next Thing has had me live my whole day. The Right Now has yielded to its skilled insistence.
I know better. I have read the books, I have taught the classes, I know better.
And yet, this morning, I let IT in.
The Next Right Thing is a thief. A skilled, relentless, sneaky thief. It steals in plain daylight, it does not leave us bleeding, sometimes we barely notice it was there. But it steals nonetheless, and what it steals is something deeply precious, unreplaceable. It stills our attention to the present moment. Yes, we’ve heard “the present is a gift.” It’s a cute statement, and its cuteness overshadows its importance.
The present moment is where our power lives. Whether the moment is blissful, complex, painful, or simply necessary. In fact, it is from my full attention to the present moment that I can best create The Next Thing. I am thinking the same might be true for you.
Because here’s a funny thing: as soon as we each The Next Thing, we find that there is another, newer Next Thing right behind it, asking for our attention, getting ready to steal our Right Now.
Such a sharp observation on how planning hijacks presence. The part about The Next Thing starting small with breakfast then snowballing into a full day anxiety spiral is lowkey something I notice constantly in my own mornings. I've startd setting a "no mental calendar" rule for the first 30 mins after waking and it helps alot. The recursive trap you mention at the end is what makes this pattern so hard to break.
The HAPPINESS feedback loop that the present brings…