There was a time a few years back when the media was full of tales about how Mindfulness could change people’s lives. “That’s so Kings Heath!”, I remember scoffing to one of my friends as we sipped our skinny decaf americanos in a vegan-friendly café in, you guessed it, Kings Heath. The irony didn’t escape us but neither of us can afford Kings Heath so we do enjoy dissing it – never too loudly, though, seeing as half the West Midlands arts community seem to live there.
Imagine my surprise when, at our next rendez-vous, the same friend piped up about a Mindfulness class she’d attended at work during lunchtime. Worse, she claimed it had been well worth missing her chicken baguette. ‘It was quite relaxing’, she ploughed on, without a hint of shame. ‘We climbed up this massive mountain, and actually smelt the air!’ Hmm, I thought, mentally scrubbing out our next two caffeine dates. But we have been friends a long time and she does always insist on buying me cake, so perhaps there was another option. I could attend a Mindfulness class myself. I mean, why not? You probably shouldn’t slag off something you haven’t tried, although it’s never stopped me before. Eventually, following a brush with anxiety, I thought perhaps I’d better give it a go.
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Liz John 