I pour some lukewarm coffee into a thermos, put some cheese on my barely thawed bread slices and run out the door with my scarf, backpack and bicycle hemlet in a large mess. As I bicycle up the hill on my way to somewhere, I think about all the things that never went as planned, all the things that just might fail, all the things I should have done and the things I want to do. A machinery of planning and evaluating and judging is in work as I pant and sweat up the hill. Always identifying issues, always chasing a solution.

And then, suddenly, I feel the wind stroke my cheek as I reach the top of the hill. I slow down the pedalling and stop for a moment. Suddenly, I realize that I have not been breathing propely. I take a deep breath, down to the stomach, and feel how my chest untenses. It feels as if my vision expands. A couple is sitting at a café nearby, a little girl is learning to rollerscate, a man is walking his dog. The sunlight touches the leaves on a huge birch tree, creating elegant patterns on the pavement.

Those are precious moments of clarity. Suddenly, I realize that I have been lost. Once again, I had gotten too preoccupied with improvements to notice what it is I am actually dealing with.

This is it.

This is the present.

As I slide down the hill on my bicycle, I rewind and reboot the thinking machinery.