Helmet and Backpack
When I was in my early 20s, I’d been fully integrated into army life. Everything was new to me but I didn’t mind being treated like dirt, obeying nonsensical orders and walking long treks through rainy Galician forests with a full combat load and a 20kg backpack. I was excited and eager to learn more and prove I could hang out with the roughest, toughest people around.
We marched a lot and often; we would set out in the evening and reach our destination next morning. For many civilians who are not used to this, this sounds overkill. The first time I was told about these marches I just couldn’t fathom how they would ever be possible. Surely we would stop to sleep at some point, right? Wrong. Oh, how wrong I was. My first real march was, in fact, on a rainy Galician night, in the dark depths of a forest in Lugo. We finished getting soaked, dehydrated (ironically enough) and completely exhausted as we emerged from the forest’s dark mouth back into the military camp we had set up. Walking for long hours can get quite boring (and painful) at points, especially if your body aches and you get blisters on your feet so, over time, your head comes up with weird ideas to cope.
On one of these marches, I began thinking about all the weight I had on me: my helmet and my backpack. If I could only get rid of them! My walk would be so much pleasanter. And that’s when my head began a magical chant: “helmet… and backpack. Helmet… and backpack. HELMET… AND BACKPACK.” The words grew louder in my head and, oddly, had an anesthetic effect: I forgot about the pain, I forgot about the steep uphill we were climbing, and I forgot about my raspy, dry throat. All I could think about was “helmet and backpack.”
The chant kept going on, but I was completely aware of this strange psychological behaviour. It wasn’t mental degradation caused by the lack of water, it was just a natural shielding of my brain against all the negative sensations. I would “wake up” at different intervals and see that 1 hour had passed. Then maybe another hour and then another and another. Time was flying with my magical “helmet and backpack” mantra. Eventually, we arrived at our destination and it seemed like half the time had actually passed.
Now, I am aware this isn’t some kind of magic power. This is a real technique that is used in meditation to help focus your mind and, eventually, enter a state of just “being” — It’s just that at that moment, I wasn’t even aware some people actually used this.
It showed me how much we can shape experience by controlling attention. At the end of the day, we experience life through our senses which, in turn, is processed in the brain. Whatever our brain interprets, that is what we feel. Pain and suffering are inevitable in life and can come in different forms, but, ultimately, a lot of that pain can be mitigated or avoided just with our mental state.
Think about how many times you worry about what dumb thing you said in yesterday’s meeting, about how stressed you are because you can’t catch a break or how the children don’t seem to run out of stories to tell you about their Minecraft survival server. In the end, our brain (and by extension, yourself) is the one who chooses how to interpret these annoyances. Even physical pain can be mitigated to a point. How bothered will I be by the cut I just did to myself while cooking? The less you think about it, the less it hurts. The less you let things occupy space in your head, the less they bother you.
The relief is instant. Suddenly it feels like life is easier, we are just here for the ride, whatever happens. This sensation of letting go is what empowers us to keep going because we are not focused on what is hurting us. We are focused on keeping on and getting things done.
What those rainy army nights taught me was so simple but powerful: we can choose to drown in our sorrows and pain, or clear that mind fog and do something about it. The helmet and backpack weighed the same, but I refused to allow them to ruin my day.