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Blog entries, thoughts, reflections, and practical tools on mindfulness, communication, nervous system awareness, community, and everyday presence.

Reminders for mindfulness in daily life

Japan, mindfulness, and learning to breathe underwater

by Adrián (2025 April)

During my PhD, finding time and resources to truly rest felt almost impossible. Between research, deadlines, and the pressure to always “move forward,” I often fell into the vicious cycle of not taking enough breaks, and then feeling stuck or sick because of exhaustion.

At some point, I realised I needed to draw a line – to step back, breathe, and create space for myself outside of the lab. So, while writing my dissertation, I took a leap and travelled to Japan – a lifelong dream shaped by anime and Pokémon. I went to visit my best friend, ready to explore both the country and myself. The last few days of the trip brought one of the most transformative experiences of all: diving in Okinawa.

It was a sunny day, but the wind made me shiver as I stood on the shore. The ocean stretched out endlessly – calm, blue, and inviting. I put on my wetsuit and diving gear, listening to the instructor’s explanations, trying to anchor myself in my breath. I wanted to stay open, curious, and present. Then came the moment to submerge.

As soon as I went underwater, panic took over. My breathing felt strange – mechanical, unnatural. “Am I going to suffocate down here?” my mind whispered. I could feel my old fears of heights and depths bubbling up, pressing against my chest. I surfaced a few times, trying to decompress my ears and calm my racing heart. Each time, I repeated a quiet mantra: Embrace openness. Those words became my anchor.

After a few rounds of surfacing, breathing, returning to the water and taking some small breaks, something shifted. I stopped fighting the fear and started to observe it. The panic was still there, but I could hold it – like holding a trembling bird in my hands without trying to make it stop shaking. Learning to swim as an adult, I carried old memories of fear in my body – the panic from childhood moments when I was suddenly dropped into the sea. Underwater, those memories returned through instinctive, jerky leg movements and an urgent need to escape. In my haste, I forgot to equalise the pressure, and pain filled my left ear – a small trauma that later turned into an ear infection (another story to be shared).

Yet, even through the discomfort, I stayed with it. With my instructor’s patient support, I went back under one more time – slower, more mindful. And finally, I found it: a moment of stillness. A moment where I was simply breathing underwater.

In that silence, surrounded by blue and underwater life, I wasn’t a scientist, a teacher, or a diver-in-the-making. I was just a human being – afraid, curious, alive – learning once again that mindfulness doesn’t mean the absence of fear. It means the courage to stay open, even when you’re 5-10 meters below the surface. It'll stay as a great reminder forever.

Planning Ahead or Staying in the Present

by Adrián (2025 October)

Lately, I’ve been enjoying my life more than ever. The source of this feeling comes from mindfulness – the ability to be present without judgment, to stay open to each moment as it unfolds.

A couple of years ago, I made a decision to explore new possibilities – things I once believed were beyond my reach. One of them was surfing. At the beginning of this year, I finally decided to face the waves.

As a former chubby boy who always found sports challenging, stepping onto the board came with the weight of old fears. Those ingrained thoughts rose from deep within me, and after each tumble into the water, I found myself exhausted – not just from the waves, but from battling my own mind.

Each time I reached the shore upside down, I paused, took a few deep mindful breaths, and reminded myself to approach the next wave with openness. And then, after a few tries, it happened – I stood up on the board, caught the wave, and rode it. The moment was liberating. For the first time, I started to believe in my ability.

Over time, I began to enjoy surfing, even on the bad days – when the wind was too strong, the waves unpredictable, my body too tired or my own thoughts too noisy. Staying present, simply aware of the next wave, helped me navigate those harder moments. Sometimes, though, when I felt too enthusiastic about the experience, I noticed how quickly my mind jumped ahead – planning the next surf camp, the next perfect wave.

On the last day of one camp, I asked another learner how they felt about the day’s waves, and whether they planned to join another one soon. Their answer was simple yet profound: “There’s a moment to ride the waves today. The future waves will be there when their time comes.”
That reminder stayed with me. With it, I caught the next wave – smiling as I reached the shore.

Real-life yoga – morning class with drilling

by Adrián (2026 May)

This morning’s yoga class began quietly, almost intimately. There were only four of us in the room, a small circle that made everything feel more present, more personal. We started with Kapalabhati, the sharp rhythm of breath waking up the body, stirring energy from within. It felt like a clear beginning – intentional, focused, alive. And then, reality entered.

Around 8:30, the drilling started below us. At first it was just a distraction, a distant irritation. But it didn’t fade. It grew louder, more persistent, vibrating through the floor, through our bodies. At moments, it even felt like a small earthquake – the ground unsteady beneath us, the air filled with this mechanical insistence. It was the opposite of the ideal yoga setting. Not a quiet retreat in nature, not a serene studio detached from the world. This was raw, unfiltered life interrupting practice. And yet, something shifted.

Instead of resisting the noise, instead of wishing it away, our practice deepened. It became real in a way that silence sometimes doesn’t demand. The challenge was no longer just about posture or breath – it was about attention. About choosing, again and again, to turn inward despite everything pulling outward. There were moments where the drilling almost dissolved into the background. Not because it stopped, but because awareness moved elsewhere. Into the breath. Into the body. Into that quiet space that isn’t dependent on external conditions. It felt like a different kind of yoga – less idealised, more honest. A practice not removed from life, but embedded in it. The kind where mindfulness isn’t supported by silence, but forged through disruption. And in that, there was growth.

Staying present wasn’t easy. It required effort, patience, and a kind of gentle discipline. But it also revealed something important: silence isn’t something we find around us. It’s something we uncover within us. Today’s class wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t peaceful in the way we often imagine yoga should be. But maybe that’s exactly why it mattered. Because it was real.