One night recently, I “left” my kitchen while still standing in it.
My wife was telling me about some family vexations she’d happened upon during the day. As soon as I heard so-and-so’s name, my survival brain put on its cape. I felt the tiny jaw clench, the microwave hummed like a lie detector, and … poof … I was no longer in my kitchen. I was in the courtroom of my mind delivering a closing argument; and, embarrassingly, also drafting a grocery list. (Eggs. Muffins. Righteous zinger for later.)
If you know that move, you’ve met one of survival’s unruly children, “nexting”—the mind’s default habit of future-minding and scenario-spinning. It’s an evolutionary relic that once helped us evade predators and anticipate all manner of treats (and the rare, yet intensely desired ple…
One night recently, I “left” my kitchen while still standing in it.
My wife was telling me about some family vexations she’d happened upon during the day. As soon as I heard so-and-so’s name, my survival brain put on its cape. I felt the tiny jaw clench, the microwave hummed like a lie detector, and … poof … I was no longer in my kitchen. I was in the courtroom of my mind delivering a closing argument; and, embarrassingly, also drafting a grocery list. (Eggs. Muffins. Righteous zinger for later.)
If you know that move, you’ve met one of survival’s unruly children, “nexting”—the mind’s default habit of future-minding and scenario-spinning. It’s an evolutionary relic that once helped us evade predators and anticipate all manner of treats (and the rare, yet intensely desired pleasure). The modern “tiger” just arrives wearing your partner’s face, your boss’s email handle, or your teen’s eye-roll. The mind tries to protect, but it often disconnects.
Momentology reframes that reflex. Instead of muscling your way into better behavior, you own the moment you’re in—choosing how to meet it, instead of merely (and intensely) reacting to it. The practice is simple but not easy: (first you…) ***listen, (before you…) look, (before you…) leap. ***Listen to what’s here, look at what’s true, then leap with one resonant action that fits the moment (not your fear or ego). Done consistently, this shifts you out of autopilot and into resonance—connection, clarity, and unselfish impact.
Why your mind keeps bailing mid-conversation
Your nervous system loves certainty. In hot moments, it’ll trade real connection for the illusion of control. That’s nexting’s bargain: If I can just predict the next move, I’ll feel safer. But the “safety” is thin—more like bubble wrap than armor. Inside, a cue (tone, look, phrase, volume, your senses’ raw inputs) fires an affect surge of sensations, and rapid felt impressions (tight chest, heat, urgency), which pulls you into your go-to, habitual reactions (argue, fix, retreat, rehearse), which lead to effects (the pleasure and/or the pain). Short-term effects of nexting: usually a hit of relief or righteousness. Long-term effects: distancing from others, and clenched-up/stressed-out suffering.
We need to be listening in order to notice what’s cueing up the nexting mind, and then begin to take inventory of what we feel (affect) and end up doing (reactions). Then open our listening to what’s happening in and around us, which leads to looking clearly at our bad-habit nexting thoughts and how it’s sucking our energy and stifling our ability to go after moments that matter.
That’s momentology—caring enough about breaking free of less-than-skillful (e.g., nexting) to look with clarity at our CARE habit loop: cue, affect, reaction, effect. Naming it helps you unhook from it.
The sequence isn’t fluff—it’s how habits are wired. After a cue, the body flashes a quick affective signal, which then drives the routine toward a “reward” (relief or pleasure). With repetition, the loop strengthens and runs faster, often outside awareness. Recognizing the loop in real time gives you a way to step off the treadmill and step back into the moment you actually want to be in.
A compassionate science slap
If you think leaving the moment is harmless, here’s your gentle wake-up: in a large experience-sampling study (over 2,000 adults pinged at random times during the day), people’s minds wandered in 46.9% of samples, and they were less happy when their minds were wandering—even when they were thinking about pleasant topics. The strongest predictor of happiness wasn’t what people were doing, but whether their minds were with it. In other words, a wandering mind carries an emotional tax.
That finding underscores a core momentology claim: it’s not “self-improvement,” it’s full-contact moment ownership. Being here is not a moral virtue; it’s a nervous-system upgrade with measurable benefits.
Bringing your brain back (without shaming it)
Back to my kitchen: I caught myself nexting mid-rant rehearsal. Instead of “fixing” my mind or believing I could erase my wife’s work angst, I ran a tiny momentology protocol.
Listen. One breath. Feel feet on the floor. Hear the lulling hum of the dishwasher. Receive reality without flinching. (Often just a few seconds is enough.)
Look. Name three realities: “Tight jaw.” “She looks fried and fed-up.” “Staying put with what’s happening inside her matters more than my clever ideas.”
Leap. Take one resonant action: I asked, “I was going to offer my ideas for dealing with that, but I’m going to hold tight—you were just telling me what’s up, not asking me to fix stuff.” (Small, fitting, ego-light.)
Micro-practice: The “I’ve left the building” reset
When you notice you’ve left the moment: grocery-listing, rebuttal-writing, history drawer file-yanking, future-minding, try this three-step CARE-informed reset:
- Name the cue. Silently label the spark. (“Email tone.” “Eye-roll.” “My story about being disrespected.”) Just naming the cue starts to slow the loop.
- Feel one body sensation. Find a single felt marker (“Tight chest.” “Heat in face.” “Buzz in hands.”). Let it be data, not drama. This is the affect in CARE—the body’s early signal.
- Speak from awareness (not the story). One sentence that fits the moment. (“I want to understand before I offer ideas.” “I’m noticing I’m getting defensive; give me a breath.”)
Keep it tiny. The goal isn’t to win the moment; it’s to own it.
What might make this matter
- It honors how habits actually fire up in the brain. By spotting cue and affect first, you begin to siphon off the autopilot fuel of the habit (like nexting’s) reaction, and you change the downstream effect from quick relief to real, resonant action. Listening and Looking skills begin to weaken the neurochemical “cement” of the habit’s loop.
- Building awareness for bad mental habits like nexting prioritizes an empowering state over knee-jerk, deadening script. You don’t need the perfect words. You need enough regulation and clarity of purpose to compassionately and courageously truth-talk.
- It’s practice-sized. Ten seconds of Listen, three names for Look, one small Leap. It’s not Mount Everest, it’s this moment of noticing and doing, this moment to own.
Owners don’t possess
We don’t own outcomes, the past or the future. We own moments—how we meet them, how we land them inside ourselves and with each other, how we re-enter when we’ve wandered off. That’s enough to change a kitchen, a workday, a relationship—one small, resonant move at a time.
How did this land with you? What part of your own nexting loop did you notice as you read? (If the answer is “I doomscroll bad reels of my future self,” you’re in good company. To have read this far, you must have been listening a bit, looking a pinch also, such that … Hi there! It’s now—this moment. Welcome back!)
Consider giving momentology as an occasional off-ramp to your mind’s nexting-related doomscroll. See if more moments feel fully engaged, owned.