The Presence of Mind: Escaping the Rushing Mindset

It begins, as these things often do, with shoes.

Frank, dialling in from France, wants to know how his size 44 translates into continental Europe. Janita—Fruitloop to the group—hazards a guess, immediately doubting herself. Somewhere between the UK size, the European size, and “that other mysterious number inside the shoe,” the conversation warms up. Laughter arrives before philosophy, which is usually a good sign.

This is Lunch with Janita & Frank: a table stretched across continents. The Mayor (Frank) in France. Rosii in Brazil. Nathalie in South Korea. Bruce in London. Fruitloop in South Africa. Different accents, different time zones, one shared habit—talking about life as it actually happens.

Before the big ideas, there is housekeeping. A reminder about the monthly poll. Five topics. Name. Email. Tick the box—because Europe, and because data protection matters. Frank delivers it with mock severity. Janita promises to “kill them with kindness.” It’s the familiar rhythm of the group: structure held lightly, authority softened with humour.

Then Rosii speaks.

She’s exhausted. Not the tidy kind of tired, but the heavy, sad kind. Government changes have turned teacher training into ten-hour days. People don’t know if they’ll have jobs. Classes stretch late into the night. Her voice carries something the group recognises instantly: life moving too fast, with no one asking if the body can keep up.

And just like that, the topic of the day finds its doorway.

“We’re going to talk about living in the now,” Frank says. Not as an announcement—more as a noticing. The theme has already arrived.

Janita calls it “returning to the body.” She immediately checks in with his knees and back, which are unhappy but unhelpfully vague. Nathalie suggests movement. Rain is blamed. Excuses are gently mocked. Somewhere in the background, South Korean mountains loom as a threat and a promise.

But presence, it turns out, isn’t about fitness plans or perfect mornings.

Nathalie, who optimises time the way others optimise spreadsheets, admits that rushing makes her careless—with objects, with words, with people. “When you answer too quickly,” she says, “you can regret what you say.” It’s a small sentence that lands heavily.

Rosii shares her ritual: showering in the dark, washing slowly, focusing on a single sentence. Fifteen minutes a day that belong only to her. Not mother, not teacher, not coordinator—just Rosii. The group pauses, as if collectively turning the lights down.

Bruce wonders aloud about the modern mind—hyperactive, overloaded with choice, endlessly stimulated. Is ADHD a diagnosis, a lifestyle, or a mirror held up to the age we live in? No one rushes to answer. This group has learned the value of letting questions breathe.

Frank, ever practical, goes to the root. Rushing, he says, is often a symptom, not the disease. Deadlines. Pressure. The quiet fear of getting it wrong. He speaks about launching a product where the margin for error is zero. The body, he reminds them, always rebels eventually—and relationships are usually the first casualties.

Janita brings it home, literally. Morning school runs with a child who moves at “African sloth time.” The faster she pushes, the clumsier she becomes. Keys dropped. Bags flung. Voices raised. Presence disappears, and conflict takes its place. When she changes the mindset—if we’re late, we’re late—the tension loosens its grip.

“The more you speed,” Nathalie adds, “the more problems you have.”

Someone asks what the body would say if it could send a WhatsApp voice note. Complaints range from posture to cushions to a plea for rest. Frank’s body is blunt: Why aren’t you listening? Why are you feeding me chaos instead of food?

Children drift into the conversation too, as they always do. Their essential vocabulary—why, no, it’s not fair, I’m hungry, I’m bored—a reminder that presence isn’t learned from productivity hacks but from paying attention to what’s right in front of us.

As the call winds down, people peel away to real life. Teacher training. School pick-ups. Vets and errands and weather and cities that never quite sync their clocks. No one pretends that presence means stopping life.

“Presence isn’t about stopping,” Janita says softly. “It’s about listening—and changing the mindset.”

The table empties, but the thought lingers.

Maybe rushing isn’t about time at all.
Maybe it’s about forgetting that we have bodies.
And maybe the quietest revolution we can make—between France and Brazil, London and Seoul, South Africa and everywhere else—is simply to slow down enough to notice we’re already here.