There’s a beautiful Zen parable that goes something like this:

A man is walking across a field when a tiger leaps out from the trees and runs toward him.

Fearing for his life, the man sprints away but quickly halts at a steep cliff. Facing a terrifying drop, with the tiger bearing down on him, he grabs hold of a single vine and lowers himself over the cliff’s edge.

Looking up, he sees the tiger above. Looking down, he notices another tiger pacing on the ground below. And to make matters worse, a small mouse begins gnawing at the vine that holds him in place.

Beginning to feel hopeless, with certain demise above and below, the man sees a single wild strawberry growing on the cliffside in front of him.

He reaches out, plucks the fruit, and eats it. He smiles.

How incredibly sweet it tasted.

I just found myself rereading that parable at 30,000 feet.

Let me explain why...

I'm on a flight home from Mexico City, where I hosted a life design workshop coordinated by a few dear friends for a group of 200+ entrepreneurs and their partners.

My goal for the workshop was simple:

To make every single person in the room think deeply about what they want their life to look like. And then, to arm them with the questions and tools to build that life.

The first exercise I walked through was about seasons.

Your life has seasons. It's not a singular, static experience. The seasons create a natural flow to your journey. Each one is unique. Characterized by its own distinct desires, struggles, opportunities, and identity.

Quoting from ​my book​:

There’s no predetermined guide for this journey. Everyone’s seasons are unique. Everyone’s definition of balance is unique. There are no fixed timelines on which you change, fail, learn, grow, and adapt. There are no requirements; there is no right or wrong...You may have a season of professional growth, a season of divorce, a season of readjustment after a family tragedy, a season of inner health, or a season of new love.

But one reflection I've had recently is just how easy it is to completely disassociate with the present season.

To give all your time and energy toward a longing for some nostalgic memory of a prior season or an anticipation for some beautiful state of a future season.

You look back at the past and all you see is sunshine. Because it all worked out. You forget (or glaze over) the struggle you endured. You're here today. You made it. You're alive. You're doing fine.

You look forward at the future and dream on what could be. You'll have so much more. More freedom. More purpose. More health. More deep connection. More everything.

The past is beautiful and the future feels limitless. So, logically, you slowly start to treat everything about the present as the bridge. A dash connecting your past and your future. A gap to be crossed as quickly as possible.

Everything you do today is in anticipation of some eventual end state.

I'm doing this now, so that I can have that later.

Unfortunately, the danger of that dissociation with the present is significant. You may spend your entire life living for a future that has a decidedly mirage-like property. You inch closer, but when it's right in front of you, it disappears and reappears on the horizon.

You may spend your entire life skipping through the present, deferring your presence, your joy, and your very humanity to a future that never comes.

In a classic French fable, a young boy is gifted with a magic ball of golden thread. He's told that if he simply pulls on the thread, time will leap forward. The catch, of course, is that once it's pulled, it can never be put back.

The young boy takes advantage of the newfound powers. Each time he's faced with a boring day at school, a frustrating set of chores, or a scolding from his parents, he pulls the thread, skipping through to the good parts.

As an adult, he continues, leaping through mundane struggles in his marriage, the friction of having a newborn, and the boredom at work. He finds himself pulling on the thread more and more, avoiding even the most minor inconveniences of his life.

But when he wakes up one day and sees an old man looking back at him in the mirror, he's filled with regret. He realizes in that moment that as he chose to skip through the boredom, struggles, and friction, so too did he miss the real texture of being alive.

How often do we all do the same? How easily do we default into this disassociation? Disconnecting from the present in anticipation of some future.

I found myself confronted head on with this reality during the workshop.

In an individual reflection, I had asked people to name their current season.

If it was a chapter in the book of your life, what would it be called?

As I reflected on the question myself, I realized that I was falling victim to that exact trap.

I've been treating my present as something of a valley, in between two natural peaks. The excitement of my first book launch long gone, the anticipation of the next book launch far in the future. I've felt a slower pace coming over my life and I feel myself resisting it. Fighting the feeling of not doing enough professionally. Not pushing. Needing to take on more.

In an intimate group dinner conversation following the event, I opened up about my realization, which was quickly echoed by several of the attendees.

After a long silence, the founder of a multi-billion dollar global spirits brand, a man I deeply admire for his clarity and wisdom, asked a poignant question:

"Where are you going and why are you in such a rush?"

It hit me hard.

And to be honest, I haven't stopped replaying those words since he said them.

Why are you in such a rush?

The world wants you to rush into everything. Rushed decisions. Rushed conversations. Rushed relationships. Rushed timelines.

In doing so, you slowly relinquish your agency. You give up your claim on your own life. Surrender authorship to a pen that was never even yours.

In a world that wants you to rush, the ultimate act of rebellion is presence.

Be in the season you're in. Don't romanticize the past, don't fantasize the future. Be here. Be now. Be in this. All of its texture, depth, and struggle. All of its joy, tension, and pain. Sit with the uncertainty. Become friends with it. Fall in love with it.

Because every single thing you do today is something your younger self dreamed of and something your older self will wish they could go back and do.

The good old days are happening, right now.

So, grab that strawberry in front of you and enjoy the sweetness.

And the next time you find yourself skipping through the present, remember these words:

Where are you going and why are you in such a rush?