A Lesson in Mindfulness

Letter From the Editor

There is something almost magical about the desert. Maybe it's the way the sun sets, casting long shadows over the red rocks, or the way the air cools in the evening, bringing a slight reprieve from the day's relentless heat. But for me, the magic was always in the adventures I shared with my dad. One particular escapade, however, stands out, not only for its heart-stopping surprise encounter but for the lesson it imparted.

My dad had an unwavering passion for the outdoors, a love that was deeply rooted in the rugged landscapes of southern Utah. He reveled in the beauty of the red rock canyons, the sprawling deserts, and the hidden springs that dotted the region. He had a rich appreciation for the area’s physical beauty and a profound respect for the rich heritage of the land. Southern Utah, with its ancient petroglyphs and remnants of ancestral Puebloan dwellings, was a living testament to the native peoples who once called this area home. My dad instilled in me the same love and respect for this area, and we would often go out together looking for what we considered the ultimate treasure: an arrowhead.

One spring morning, we set off with our gear: a couple of old army canteens and a pocket knife. The chill still lingered in the air, but the desert was alive with the promise of discovery. Dad led the way, his strides confident and purposeful, while I trailed behind, my eyes scanning the ground for any sign of ancient relics.

After a few hours, we found ourselves in a particularly rocky area. I was lost in conversation with my dad and was not paying much attention to the terrain when I stepped forward and heard the unmistakable sound—a rattling that sent chills down my spine. There, coiled and ready to strike, was a Mojave green rattlesnake. Its tongue flickered in and out as it locked its eyes on me, and for a moment, time stood still. My heart pounded in my chest; I could feel the blood drain from my face. Then Dad’s hand was on my shoulder, pulling me back gently but firmly.

“Easy, son,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Just move slowly.”

We backed away, giving the snake plenty of space. It watched us for a moment longer before it slithered away, disappearing into the rocky crevices. I stood there, my legs shaking, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Dad knelt beside me, his hand still on my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes searching mine. I nodded, but the fear and excitement of the encounter had left me shaken. Dad smiled that reassuring smile that always made me feel safe.

“Remember this, son,” he said. “In life, it’s important to watch where you’re going, but it’s just as important to be aware of where you are.” It was a lesson that went beyond avoiding rattlesnakes. It was about mindfulness, about being present in the moment.

In our fast-paced world, we often find ourselves rushing from one task to the next, our minds preoccupied with what’s ahead. But there’s a certain peace that comes from grounding ourselves in the present. That day, Dad and I continued our search for arrowheads but with a newfound appreciation for the desert and its hidden dangers. We didn’t find any relics, but we found something far more valuable: a deeper connection to each other and a lesson that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

As I navigate the complexities of life, I often think back to that day and the lesson my dad taught me. I strive to be mindful of my surroundings, to appreciate the present, and to find balance in the chaos. 

As each of you embark on your own journeys, remember to take a moment to look around, to be present, and to cherish the moments of connection with those you love. Here’s to the adventures that shape us and the lessons that guide us.