“Great, thanks!” I beam at her.
“What are you meditating on?”
“That bag.” I point. “It’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” The dark-haired girl smiles.
“A bag.” Mona blinks. “That’s different. Are you focusing on the texture of the bag … the buckles … the color?”
“The straps,” I say.
“The straps. Good. Perhaps you could share your meditation with us. Just … give us a stream of consciousness. Take us where your thoughts are going.”
“OK.” I take a deep breath. “Well, I’m thinking that those straps look really comfortable, but it depends how wide your shoulders are, doesn’t it? So then I’m wondering if I could try it after the class. And I’d prefer it in slate gray because I’ve already got a teal leather bag, but, actually, I might give that to my friend Suze because she’s always liked it, and she’s coming out to visit me. In fact, she’s arriving today! And then I’m wondering if they stock them in Barneys, because I’ve got a gift voucher for there, although I have also seen this really nice jacket for my daughter, Minnie, in the children’s department, which I want to get—”
“Rebecca, stop!” Mona holds up a hand, and I come to a halt in surprise. “Stop there!”
What’s wrong? I thought I was doing really well. I was much more interesting than Brian, with his boring old grainy wood.
“Yes?” I say politely.
“Rebecca—let’s remind ourselves of what mindfulness means. It means we bring our attention to the present experience on a moment-to-moment basis.”
“I know.” I nod. “My present experience is thinking about that bag,” I explain. “Is it by Alexander Wang?”
“No, it’s 3.1 Phillip Lim,” says the girl. “I got it online.”
“Oh, right!” I say eagerly. “Which site?”
“I don’t think you understand,” Mona cuts across me. “Rebecca, try to focus on just one aspect of the bag. As soon as you notice your mind wandering off, gently bring it back to the object of attention. OK?”
“But my mind didn’t wander off,” I protest. “I was thinking about the bag the whole time.”
“I can send you the link,” chimes in the dark-haired girl. “It’s a really great backpack. You can fit an iPad in it.”
“Oh, can I try it on?”
“Sure.” The girl reaches for the bag.
“People!” Mona’s voice sounds a little sharp, and she immediately smiles as though to compensate. “Put the bag down! OK! Let’s … focus. Rebecca, I’m going to recommend that you leave the bag meditation for now. Instead, try to concentrate on your breathing. Become aware of your breath going in and out of your body. Don’t judge it … don’t judge yourself … just observe your breath. Can you do that?”
“OK.” I shrug.
“Great! We’ll take five minutes’ meditation, all of us. Close your eyes if you’d like.”
The room lapses into silence, and I dutifully try to focus on my breath. In. Out. In. Out. In.
God, this is boring. What is there to think about breathing?
I know I’m not an expert on mindfulness, but surely meditation is supposed to make you feel good. Well, I’d feel much better if I was meditating on a lovely bag than on my breathing.
My eyes open and drift to the backpack. No one can tell what I’m meditating on. I’ll say it was my breath. They’ll never know.
Oh, I really do love it. The zips are so cool. And the point is, I should get it because backpacks are good for your posture. Suze will be delighted if I give her my Marc Jacobs. Surreptitiously, I glance at my watch. I wonder where she is. At the airport, hopefully. Her plane should have landed by now, and I’ve told her to come straight here for lunch. Thank God it isn’t all coconut water; they serve a decent decaf cappuccino and some quite yummy carob brownies, and Suze said she’d bring me out some Lion bars …
“And gradually bring your thoughts back to the group.” Mona’s voice interrupts my meditation. Around the room, people open their eyes and stretch their legs, and a couple yawn. Mona smiles at me. “How was that? Did you manage to keep your mind focused, Rebecca?”
“Er … yes!” I say brightly.
Which is sort of true. My thoughts were focused, just not on my breathing.
We end with a minute’s silent contemplation and then file out of the room, onto the grounds, blinking as we reenter the bright sunlight. At once, everyone who was in the class switches their phones back on and stares at them intently. That’s mindfulness, if you ask me. We should meditate on our phones. In fact, I might suggest it next week—
Yessss! A text bleeps in my phone, and I nearly whoop. It’s from Suze! She’s here!
OK, here’s the thing about Suze. She’s one of the most beautiful people I know, and I’m not being biased. She’s tall and slim and she has amazing clothes. She can totally shop for Britain and she once nearly modeled for Vogue. But she does tend to spend quite a lot of time in jodhpurs or jeans or some ancient old Barbour, especially now that she lives in the country all the time. So that’s what I’m expecting to see as I hurry toward the entrance gates. Suze in skinny jeans and ballet pumps, with maybe a nice linen jacket, and the children in their usual bumpy corduroy pinafores and shorts, handmade by Nanny.
What I’m not expecting to see is the vision before me. I have to blink to make sure it’s the Cleath-Stuarts. They look like some celebrity L.A. family. What’s happened?