Marta has been practising yoga for five years. At first, she was very consistent. Later, a little less so.
When she decided to join a yoga retreat thousands of miles away, everything changed.
Practising yoga in front of paradise-like beaches, alongside elephants and among rice fields pushed yoga itself into the background. The extraordinary experience became the centre of attention.
When yoga ceased to be the protagonist, so too did the promise of yoga: balance, inner peace, and a serene life.
Marta tirelessly searches for special practices. In the mountains, in the park, at sunrise. And retreats; she spends hours online looking for the next unique retreat. Her morning practice at home has become bland, insufficient. It is no longer yoga that matters, but the experience itself.
Juan is incapable of spending a quiet weekend at home with his partner. From Monday onwards, he begins searching for activities for the coming weekend. One or two for Saturday and one or two for Sunday. The mere idea of staying at home, talking, resting, or going for a walk makes him anxious. The possibility of boredom feels unbearable.
He has attended a cheese-pairing event at a country estate, a wine tasting in complete darkness, a sunrise horseback ride, a vermouth on a sailboat, several fairs, and various concerts. All within just a few weeks.
He mistakes filling his life with activities for truly living it.
His partner, however, feels they are drifting apart. What initially seemed fun has begun to erode their intimacy. The experience has become more important than the company. And it always demands one more.
We have learned to value the extraordinary over the ordinary.
We have been taught to wait for great moments. Great journeys. Great loves. Great achievements. Great transformations. We wait for the experience that will change our lives, the revelation that will put all the pieces into place, or the event that will finally make us feel complete.
Meanwhile, life continues to happen.
It happens while we prepare a cup of tea. While we walk to work. While we listen to the rain gently tapping against a window. While we watch our daughter drawing in silence. While we fold the laundry, water a plant, or wait our turn in a café.
But we do not see it.
Most of our existence does not unfold in extraordinary events. It unfolds in seemingly insignificant moments. And yet it is precisely those moments that make up our lives.
We tend to believe that simple things have little value because they are ordinary and always available. In doing so, we lose sight of the extraordinary depth that dwells within simple things.
When we observe nature, we discover something revealing. Trees do not live waiting for a culminating experience. The seasons follow one another without hurry. Rain falls. Leaves emerge and fall. Dawn returns every morning without needing to reinvent itself.
Life seems perfectly comfortable being what it is.
Only human beings appear determined to turn every moment into something other than itself. We constantly seek the next destination, the next project, the next emotion, the next version of ourselves.
And when we finally obtain what we desired, the satisfaction rarely lasts. Soon a new goal appears, a new promise of fulfilment somewhere in the future.
It is an exhausting race.
Not because dreams are bad. Dreams are beautiful. They inspire us, guide us, and give shape to our steps. What is exhausting is living as though real life will begin only when something extraordinary happens.
Because then we stop inhabiting the only place where life is truly unfolding: this moment.
The constant need to find something more — bigger, better, more beautiful, more special, more remarkable, more exclusive — has become a common pattern in many people’s lives.
We invest time, effort, creativity, and money in finding it. In finding that thing which will finally make us feel special.
But no matter how extraordinary what we find may be, the satisfaction is short-lived. Before long, we need something new.
The obsessive pursuit of extraordinary experiences works much like an addiction: the more we get, the more we need.
Eventually, we are no longer searching for the pleasure of the experience itself, but out of fear of its absence. And with that absence come boredom, emptiness, and anxiety.
“Extraordinary experiences — whatever form they may take — are, in reality, ordinary experiences to which we are unaccustomed and which we live with intensity.”
Nothing more.
The constant pursuit of exceptional experiences reveals an alarming decline in our ability to appreciate simplicity. But it also exposes a deeper and more painful belief:
That we — and our lives — are not enough.
Perhaps part of maturity consists in making peace with the simplicity of existence. Accepting that most of our days will resemble one another. That there will be breakfasts, walks, conversations, work, rest, and silence.
And understanding that this is not a tragedy. It is life.
Perhaps we have confused intensity with depth.
Intensity is brief. It appears and disappears. Depth, on the other hand, can be found in any moment. It does not depend on what is happening, but on how we experience it.
Have you ever asked yourself where your life actually takes place?
Not in your travels. Not in special dinners. Not in concerts.
As wonderful as these things may be, they occupy only a tiny portion of our time. The rest unfolds in the ordinary. And more importantly, it unfolds alongside the people around us.
When someone we love is gone, we quickly realise how empty extraordinary experiences can feel without their presence. What once seemed exciting becomes secondary to the memory of the person with whom we shared it.
Life is not the sum of extraordinary moments. It is the accumulation of ordinary ones.
And those moments can be lived with presence, gratitude, and joy, or discarded with indifference.
From that choice depends something deeply paradoxical:
“If we live ordinary moments with presence, gratitude, and joy, our lives become extraordinary.”
The constant pursuit of extraordinary experiences hides a liberating truth: we long to live fully, but we do not know how.
And so we search and search and search. Without realising that we have lost nothing.
That the beauty of life has always been within reach.
It is not about adding anything. It is not about creating special experiences. It is about learning to look again. To listen again. And to feel again.
Waking in the morning to the sound of birdsong.
Listening to the rain.
Having breakfast without rushing.
Talking quietly while sitting on a park bench.
Shopping at a local market without haste.
Reading beneath the shade of an oak tree.
Walking at sunrise.
Playing cards with friends.
Watering the plants in the morning.
Cooking a Spanish omelette.
Writing a letter by hand.
Playing the piano with no one listening.
Sitting down when your legs are tired.
Drinking a glass of cold water on a summer afternoon.
Watching white clouds change shape.
Drinking a fine Japanese tea from a handmade cup.
Watching a leaf slowly fall.
Observing sunlight streaming through a window.
Listening to the church bells of a small village.
Noticing the silence that follows.
Sharing a meal with friends.
Looking through old photographs.
Walking barefoot.
Making the bed with care.
Taking a nap on a quiet afternoon.
Embracing someone you love.
Watching the moon on a clear night.
Observing the steam rising from a cup of tea.
Saying good morning while looking someone in the eyes.
Giving a goodnight kiss.
Perhaps life was never hidden within extraordinary experiences. Perhaps it was always here. In simple things. Patiently waiting for us to learn how to see it.
Would you like to reclaim your presence? Feel free to write to me.
Learning Reiki in Japan can bring the practice into a wider cultural context. Here is what to consider when choosing a course, and how we approach our Reiki Mastery journey at Kisetsu.
A clear guide to starting meditation from scratch: posture, breathing, duration, guided meditation, and how to build a consistent practice.
Discover what is taught in the three levels of Reiki, from Shoden and self-treatment to Okuden, the symbols, and Shinpiden Master training.
