At the end of every busy season, I intentionally weave mindfulness back into my life. Usually, this takes the form of a retreat.

This summer, my landing spot was the Spirit Rock Meditation Center in Marin County. Located in the scenic San Geronimo village of Woodacre, the center is built on the traditional land of the Coast Miwok people. At Spirit Rock, retreat and solace are treated with utmost care, and the daily work is meditative silence, watching hummingbirds, turkeys, rabbits, quail and the other natural inhabitants move freely.

At the conclusion of each retreat I take, I realize that some part of living has become overly burdensome, and that the simple act of mindfulness, moment by moment, brings proper perspective back into focus. It’s always some deceptively simple message that lands hardest.

On the second day at Spirit Rock, our teacher said, “Mindfulness is not a story.” It felt hand-delivered just for me. I’d spent the first day rehearsing stories in my head, my experiences, my wishes for other outcomes, my expectations. All of it fueled my angst. I realized that as long as I stayed wrapped up in the story of the moment, adding to it in my mind, I was swept away.

Stories are the woven threads of our shared human experience. They connect past, present and future into a tapestry of meaning. Writing this is itself a story. My affinity for stories and their beauty has been part of my life. But stories can also harm us. They can build a false narrative and destroy a life. Words shape and shift everything.

Being aware of storytelling’s power over the mind is essential to building equanimity, that mind-state of neither pushing away nor pulling toward. Settling into “right now, it’s like this” is a personal proclamation to drop the story. Mindfulness is the moment, just as it presents itself.

Stories are best shared in community, over fire or tea, with those with whom we feel safe. That’s where authenticity flourishes. But in silence, alone with ourselves, the mind will surprisingly take over. With nothing to do, it has to spin a story. Pure mindfulness leads the mind back to neutrality, the way we’d gently lead a child back to safety.

Like the quail moving through the brush, each moment asks us only to be noticed, not narrated.

Jennifer Di Francesco is a wellness explorer and desert adventurist and can be reached at www.coachellabellaboho.com.