Ice Cream Aftermath

from Unsplash

8/25/26:

A few weeks ago I wrote about an unexpected ice cream adventure. As it turns out, the ice cream was only part of the story.

READ BLOG:

https://www.luminousliving.net/post/a-sweet-detour

You'll remember that I stepped out of the taco line and into the ice cream line. Whether that was the wisest nutritional choice is certainly debatable.

What fascinated me came afterward.

A few days later, I noticed my mind had latched onto the experience. "Maybe I'll invite my next-door neighbor out for ice cream this week." Then another thought: "Maybe I'll ask Sweet Cow Creamery if they'd bring their ice cream truck to our community."

Off the mind went...

Now, to be fair, neither of those ideas was inherently bad. (In fact, I did end up taking my neighbor out for ice cream!) But I began to notice how quickly one spontaneous, joyful moment had become food for the thinking mind. What had simply arisen and passed was now being replayed, embellished, and expanded.

I'm not suggesting there's anything wrong with planning enjoyable things. We all need things to look forward to.

What struck me was how much of my attention had quietly drifted away from the life that was actually unfolding in front of me and into the ongoing narration in my head.

Then I noticed something even more interesting.

Beneath the pleasant thoughts was another, more subtle movement. It wasn't exactly words, but it carried the flavor of, "People would probably enjoy that... and maybe they'd think I'm doing something nice for the community."

There it was.

And in a banana split second, the ego had quietly slipped into the driver's seat and it all dripped to the ground.

It happened so quickly. One moment there was the simple joy of sharing ice cream, and the next there was a subtle story about me.

In the past, I might have criticized myself for noticing this. Instead, I found myself smiling. "Well, there you are again."

There's something wonderfully liberating about observing the mind without making it wrong.

The mind thinks. The ego tries to improve the story.

Neither is a problem.

The practice isn't to stop the narration, but to recognize it with kindness and gently return to what is actually here.

I've found that reality is surprisingly quiet. It's in the pause between one thought and the next. And somehow, those moments are always sweeter than the stories the mind tells about them.