You walk into the kitchen and arrive with no idea why you came. A moment earlier the mind had locked onto something it wanted, mapped the route, and set you moving — then got pulled toward something else on the way.

That's projection: whatever thought is in front of you, the mind fixes on its object and works backward to the steps that reach it. We feel it as tunnel vision — depending on intent, sharp focus one moment, autopilot the next. It evolved to help us plan, rehearse, and learn in short bursts: the mind's one and only useful step away from the present.

The cost comes when we don't stop — projecting further out, looping through what if I lived there, were with them, had that job. Like texting while walking, it lays a second layer over the now. Give it your focus long enough to send, and it's done — a thought fades when you complete it, not when you push it away. Let the present moment set the pace.