Mind Your Mind
The Quiet Power of Choosing What Gets Your Attention.
Last week, we explored the quiet joy of minding our own business—of tending to what is ours to tend and releasing what isn't.
This week, I'd like to take that idea somewhere closer to home.
Much closer.
Inside our own heads.
Let's Mind our Mind.
The human brain weighs roughly three pounds. Three pounds of neurons, connections, memories, emotions, imagination, learned behaviors, questions, fears, possibilities, and extraordinary potential.
We carry it everywhere.
And yet, for something that influences virtually every moment of our lives, how often do we stop to consider how we're tending it?
I think about this every day.
Not because I have mastered my mind. Far from it.
I think about it because I've learned that I can influence the way I experience my day by becoming more aware of the thoughts I bring into it.
There is an important distinction there.
I cannot control everything that happens to me.
I cannot prevent an unwelcome thought from appearing.
I cannot think my way out of grief, disappointment, uncertainty, or the realities of being human.
But I can notice what is happening in my mind.
And once I notice it, I have choices.
I Used to Wait for the Answer
I grew up believing that when I needed direction, I should pray, trust God, and wait for an answer.
Prayer remains meaningful to me. But as I've grown older, I've come to understand guidance differently.
I began to wonder whether constantly looking outside myself for answers sometimes kept me from
using one of the extraordinary gifts I had already been given:
my own mind.
Not because I believe I possess all the answers.
I don't.
Sometimes we need another person's wisdom. Sometimes we need more information. Sometimes we're wrong. And sometimes life simply doesn't give us the clarity we want.
But I've discovered something else.
When I become quiet enough to notice my thoughts, question them, and listen beneath the noise, I often discover wisdom that was difficult to hear while I was busy searching for someone—or something—else to tell me what to do.
Perhaps wisdom isn't always waiting to be found.
Sometimes it is waiting for enough quiet to be heard.
Your Brain Is Listening
One of the things that changed the way I think about my mind was learning more about the brain itself.
For much of human history, we didn't understand just how adaptable the brain could be. Today we have a word for part of that ability:
Neuroplasticity.
Simply put, our brains can change and adapt in response to experience, learning, behavior, and repeated patterns of activity.
That doesn't mean we can simply "think happy thoughts" and magically create the life we want.
It means something far more interesting to me:
What we repeatedly practice matters.
Attention matters.
Learning matters.
Habits matter.
The stories we continually rehearse matter.
And that realization changed something for me.
I began paying closer attention not only to what I was thinking, but to whether a particular thought deserved the amount of attention I was giving it.
Because a thought can arrive without being invited.
That doesn't mean I have to offer it a permanent seat at the table.
We Can Think About Our Thinking
There is another scientific term I love: metacognition.
It sounds complicated.
The idea isn't.
It means, essentially, becoming aware of and thinking about our own thinking.
Consider the difference:
I'm going to fail.
versus:
I notice that I'm telling myself I'm going to fail.
Something changes in that small space.
The first statement places me inside the thought.
The second allows me to observe it.
And once I can observe a thought, I can become curious about it.
Why am I thinking this?
Is it true?
Is fear talking?
Is this an old story I've carried for years?
Is this even my voice—or something someone else taught me to believe about myself?
What do I actually know?
That doesn't guarantee I'll arrive at the perfect answer.
But I've moved from automatically believing my thought to thoughtfully examining it.
That is a very different way to live.
One Pitch at a Time
While writing The Inner Advantage, I explored this idea through the story of professional baseball player Kyle Schwarber.
Baseball provides an almost perfect laboratory for the mind.
Imagine standing at home plate while a baseball comes toward you at close to 100 miles per hour.
There isn't much time for overthinking.
And there certainly isn't time to replay every mistake you've ever made.
A batter can strike out in one inning and return to the plate later with another opportunity.
The last pitch is gone.
The last at-bat is gone.
The crowd may remember it.
The scoreboard may record it.
But the next pitch doesn't care.
It requires attention now.
That's what fascinates me about focus.
The goal isn't to never become distracted, discouraged, afraid, or frustrated.
We're human.
The goal is to become better at noticing when our attention has wandered—and bringing it back.
Most of us will never stand at home plate in a major-league stadium.
But we stand at our own versions of that plate every day.
A difficult conversation.
A new opportunity.
A mistake at work.
A relationship that needs attention.
A decision we've been avoiding.
A quiet morning when yesterday's disappointment tries to follow us into today.
Yesterday already had its turn at bat.
What deserves our attention now?
Become the Curator of Your Attention
I've come to think of this as becoming a Curator of Attention.
A curator doesn't pretend everything outside the gallery doesn't exist.
A curator chooses what belongs inside.
Perhaps we can learn to do something similar with our minds.
Not by policing every thought.
Not by demanding relentless positivity.
Not by pretending painful things aren't painful.
But by becoming more discerning about what we allow to occupy our mental space.
This is where The Mindful Muse Way has become deeply practical for me:
Notice
What am I thinking right now?
Not what should I be thinking.
What is actually happening in my mind?
Reflect
Where might this thought be coming from?
Fear? Experience? Habit? Wisdom? Someone else's expectations? An old story I've never stopped to question?
Understand
What is this thought trying to tell me?
Is it true?
Is it useful?
Does it require action—or simply acknowledgment?
Grow
Now that I see it more clearly, what do I choose?
Sometimes growth means changing the thought.
Sometimes it means accepting a difficult truth.
Sometimes it means asking for help.
Sometimes it means doing the brave thing.
And sometimes it means allowing a thought to pass without following it anywhere.
Notice. Reflect. Understand. Grow.
Not control.
Not perfection.
Awareness.
The Three Pounds We Carry Everywhere
We spend enormous amounts of energy tending our lives.
We tend our homes.
Our gardens.
Our bodies.
Our careers.
Our relationships.
Our calendars.
We organize, repair, improve, protect, nourish, and plan.
But all of those experiences pass through one remarkable three-pound place.
The mind.
Perhaps tending it deserves at least as much attention as everything else we're trying so hard to manage.
I still don't wake up every morning knowing what the day will bring.
None of us do.
But I have learned that I can meet the day with greater awareness of what I'm carrying into it.
I can notice the thought.
I can question the story.
I can redirect my attention.
I can become still.
I can listen.
And sometimes, in that quiet, I discover that I know more than I thought I did.
Not all the answers.
Just enough wisdom for the next pitch.
Last week, we talked about tending to what is ours to tend.
Perhaps nothing is more ours to tend than this.
Mind your mind.
🌿 Reflection
What thought has been occupying your attention lately?
Instead of trying to silence it or automatically believing it, become curious about it.
What might you discover if you simply sat quietly and listened?
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