Embodied Awareness: Living in the Now (and Sometimes in History Class)

If the present moment had a knock, it wouldn’t be loud. It would tap you gently on the shoulder and say: “Hey. You’re here. Try not to think about the next moment.”

That’s basically the conclusion of a wide-ranging, funny, sometimes candy-floss-scented conversation between Sarah, a teenager navigating school, friendships, and her phone battery, and Fruitloop, a teacher with a talent for asking questions that suddenly make you notice your shoulders are tense.

Welcome to embodied awareness: the radical idea that life is happening… right now. Not in your math exam from this morning. Not in the future when you can finally drive a car. Right. Here.

From Dead Poets to Polar Bears

The conversation starts innocently enough. School check-in. Films in English class (Dead Poets Society, not bad, not hard). A very, very hard math exam (fingers crossed). Two hours of geography talking about CO₂, renewable energy, Trump, Venezuela, polar bears, and the end of the world—interesting topics, but delivered by a teacher who is, unfortunately, “not very cool.”

And that’s when the problem appears.

Sarah is there. She’s writing. She’s physically present.
But her mind? Already in bed. Already in the weekend. Already somewhere between TikTok and the Caribbean.

Living “From the Neck Up”

Fruitloop introduces the core idea: most people live from the neck up.

We think. We plan. We worry. We replay the past (“We grew up too fast”) or fast-forward the future (“I want to drive now”). Meanwhile, the body is quietly sending messages we ignore—tight shoulders, shallow breathing, that weird jaw clench that means stress.

Embodied awareness is about listening to those messages.
Are you slouching? Holding your breath? Scrolling like a robot?

Sarah gets it immediately.

“I’m here when my body and my mind are together,” she says.
“I’m not here when I’m just in my head.”

History class? Head only.
Friends? Full body, full attention, full gossip.

Phones, Robots, and the Scrolling Trap

Attention, it turns out, is under attack.

Short videos. Endless scrolling. Friends sending clips even when you’re sick at home. You can be “anywhere” on your phone—beaches, parties, other lives—but somehow nowhere at the same time.

Sarah doesn’t sugarcoat it:

“Staying on the phone like that makes us like robots.”

During COVID, stuck inside with only screens, something important went missing: real interaction. Presence isn’t just about focus—it’s about feeling alive with other people.

Nostalgia, Stress, and Time Moving Too Fast

How do you know you’ve left the present moment?

For Sarah, the past shows up as nostalgia. Seeing a childhood friend taller, older, with a mustache, and thinking: Oh no.

The future arrives as impatience. Wanting to be older. Wanting more control. Wanting time to hurry up.

Fruitloop reframes it: the body always knows.
Sadness pulls you backward.
Tension pushes you forward.

The present is the only place without warning signals.

Why We Miss the Best Parts

When you rush through life, you don’t just miss big milestones.
You miss the third round of laser tag—the one that turns out to be the funniest.

You miss jokes, smells, awkward moments, tiny connections. You fast-forward like the guy in Click and only realize too late that the “boring parts” were actually the whole thing.

Presence Isn’t Always Calm (Sorry)

Being present doesn’t mean everything is peaceful. Sometimes it’s embarrassing. Sometimes it rains on your barbecue for no reason. Sometimes you’re stuck in the last hour of class on a Friday, physically there, spiritually under a blanket.

Presence isn’t comfort.
It’s acceptance.

As Sarah puts it, in her own very clear philosophy:

“You can’t change the time. You just have to accept it and try to change the conversation.”

Candy Floss, Lemon Cleaner, and Balloons

If the present moment were a TV channel, Sarah says it would be… her English class.
If today had a smell? Candy floss. Sweet. Light. Homework already done. Raclette party coming.

Fruitloop’s day smells like lemon cleaning products—less poetic, but honest.

And thoughts? They’re balloons. Some days they float everywhere. Some days, if you’re lucky, you don’t feel a heavy charge on your back and you can just breathe.

Later Land, But Not Forever

At the end, Sarah admits something important: she’s living a bit in Later Land.
Last years of school were amazing. This year is quieter. Some friends are gone. That hurts.

But she doesn’t stay stuck there.

“I think I have a lot of time to make new friends,” she says.
“It’s better to lose them now than to have more problems later.”

That’s embodied awareness too—not forcing happiness, not denying sadness, just noticing where you are and staying long enough to learn from it.

The Takeaway (Before Your Mind Scrolls Away)

The present moment is not loud.
It doesn’t compete.
It doesn’t send notifications.

It just waits.

And when it finally taps you on the shoulder, it only asks one thing:

“Can you stay?”