Drifted, Not Drowned

I returned a call from a colleague and good friend. He calls every few days. I either see his missed call hours later, or I’m just not in the mood to pick up.

Today when we spoke, he had no complaints. No anger. He said, “I think you’re so busy writing on Thehrav that you didn’t find time.” I defended. I reasoned. He knows I do that often.

But then I confessed something I usually don’t: “I tend to hibernate. I just didn’t feel like taking calls.”

Thirty minutes later, I asked myself why I do this. My honest answer: “I don’t know.”

Here’s what led up to it.

Yesterday I watched a movie called Sutlej. Emotionally heavy. Nostalgic. This morning, riding my bike to office, I was lost in thoughts around the movie and my life.

In the last one kilometre, in heavy traffic, I instructed my mind:

A. Don’t talk about the movie at office.

B. You’ve started drawing comfort by talking about what you feel. It’s not helping.

C. Break your thinking pattern.

Within 15 minutes of reaching office, I failed. A colleague looked at me and asked, “Are you okay?” I said I’m fine. She offered a muffin she had baked. I loved it — and then I shared everything about the movie. She listened. She smiled.

By end of day, sitting to write this, three things I promise myself to remember:

A. I judged my mind and gave it instructions — but I forgot the context. I was riding a bike in heavy traffic after an emotionally heavy evening. The mind I was instructing was already loaded. Kahneman would say my System 2 — the deliberate, effortful mind — was depleted. And a depleted System 2 hands the wheel back to System 1: automatic, emotional, comfort-seeking. My instructions were rational. My fuel tank was empty.

B. I was aware, and still I drifted. I stayed with my mind, enjoying the fight, telling myself “I am the observer” even while being carried away.

C. Later I defended myself: you cannot be only an observer when dealing with the world. You need the brain to judge, think, and act. The observer is not a replacement for the mind. It is the supervisor who sometimes steps out for chai.

So here is my conclusion, for anyone practicing being an observer:

Drift will happen. Awareness does not prevent drift — it only shortens it and softens the landing. The difference between today and my past is simple: earlier I would drown in the feeling for days. Today I drifted for a morning and caught myself by evening.

You only drifted. You did not drown. That is the practice. Sabri waited a lifetime; you only have to wait till the drift passes.