What a mouse invasion in our RV reminded me about the difference between participating in life and thinking about it.

We’ve been camping for the past few weeks, settling into the slower rhythm that comes with mornings by the lake, campfires (propane fire pits), and fresh air.

Then one night I heard a sound no RVer wants to hear.

A mouse.

Actually… two.

I flicked on the flashlight just in time to see them darting across the floor. One even seemed to stop and pose in the beam before disappearing into the darkness.

The traps came out.

Within minutes…

Click.

One mouse.

A respectful trip to what my wife and I jokingly called “the station” (Yellowstone reference) for disposal, then the trap was reset.

Ten minutes later…

Click.

Another one.

Then another.

Then another.

By morning we’d caught eight of them and managed about two hours of sleep. The following night there were a few more, but thankfully the invasion was slowing.

It wasn’t exactly the peaceful camping experience we’d imagined.

Yet something else caught my attention.

Whenever the trap snapped, there was no room for unnecessary thinking.

There was simply something to do.

Reset the trap.

Dispose of the mouse.

Check the cupboards.

Look for signs of another.

In those moments, I wasn’t thinking about the situation.

I was participating in it.

It was only in the quiet moments between the clicks that my mind began creating stories.

“This sucks.”

“What if this keeps happening?”

“Maybe we should just pack up and leave.”

The thoughts arrived so quickly that they almost seemed reasonable.

But they were fleeting.

Small realities created by thought that disappeared just as quickly as they arrived.

Then…

Click.

The mission resumed.

And so did the clarity.

“There is life… and then there is our commentary about life.”

It reminded me of something I’ve noticed many times before.

There seems to be a profound difference between living life and thinking about life.

When life calls for us, we naturally show up.

We respond.

We adapt.

Even fear has a different quality because it belongs to the moment rather than to imagination.

Perhaps this is why I’ve often said that health is a function of participation.

Not because busyness is healthy.

Not because we should always be doing something.

But because participation draws us back into life itself.

The mind may continue offering commentary, predictions, complaints, and worst-case scenarios, but life keeps unfolding without asking us to believe any of them.

I imagine hunters know this feeling.

Athletes certainly do.

Emergency responders.

Parents.

Anyone who has ever been completely absorbed in responding to what’s in front of them.

For a while, there is no debate.

Only life happening.

It leaves me wondering whether much of our suffering isn’t found in life itself, but in the gap between life and our commentary about it.

Perhaps there are always two experiences available.

Life.

And what we think about life.

Only one of them is actually happening.

Have you ever noticed the same thing?

When was the last time life became so engaging that your thinking quietly stepped aside?

Love to hear from you. Please share a comment.

Much Love,