Returning to Now
Spontaneity, Anxiety, and the Courtroom
Every trial is lived in time. Lawyers prepare cases for months or years, only to perform them in the immediacy of a few days in court. Witnesses carry lifetimes of memory into a single hour of testimony. Jurors imagine the weight of their decision long before the final verdict is spoken. Time presses in on everyone. Yet, paradoxically, the moments of greatest freedom, connection, and truth in court happen only when participants are present in the now.
This is not just philosophy. Moreno, the founder of psychodrama, defined spontaneity as the capacity to meet the moment with freshness and adequacy. Spontaneity can only live in the present. Anxiety, by contrast, is the residue of the past or anticipation of the future. When a lawyer says, “I can perform in the courtroom but am flooded with anxiety when I think about the case beforehand,” they are describing a temporal split: spontaneity here, anxiety there.
Neuroscience confirms the divide. When attention is present-centered, the prefrontal cortex integrates emotional and rational systems, allowing clarity, adaptability, and connection. When attention drifts into past or future, the brain’s default mode network takes over—replaying old wounds or catastrophizing imagined outcomes. The amygdala floods the body with stress hormones, producing the very sensations of anxiety: racing heart, tight chest, restless thought.
Role theory helps us understand this more deeply. In the present, people can step into flexible roles: Storyteller, Teacher, Protector, Truth-Teller. In the past, frozen roles dominate: Victim, Shamed Child, Failed Advocate. In the future, distorted roles emerge: Catastrophizer, Doom Forecaster, Anxious Performer. These roles feel like identity, but they are roles rehearsed under stress. Spontaneity appears only when we step out of those rehearsals and into the living stage of now.
BTC reframes advocacy through this lens. Trials are not only about facts and law; they are about helping people inhabit the present. Lawyers who can anchor themselves in now can tell the story with authenticity. Witnesses who can return to now can testify with dignity. Jurors who can be guided into now can deliberate with clarity. Spontaneity, and thus justice, lives in the moment—not in the shadows of what was, or the fears of what might be.
Didactic Section
1. Spontaneity as Present-Centered Action
Spontaneity is not improvisation for its own sake. It is the fresh, adequate response to what is happening here and now. It cannot be rehearsed in the abstract or controlled in advance. When a lawyer speaks from now, the jury feels presence. When a witness testifies from now, their truth resonates.
2. Anxiety as Temporal Distortion
Anxiety flourishes when the mind lives in the past or future. In the past, the body relives trauma, shame, or failure. In the future, the mind rehearses catastrophe. Both are roles enacted outside the present. Anxiety is not weakness—it is misplaced role activity.
3. Role Theory of Time
Roles are time-bound. Past roles freeze (Victim, Shamed One). Future roles distort (Catastrophizer, Anxious Performer). Present roles expand (Storyteller, Survivor, Protector). The task is not to eliminate roles, but to recognize when they are out of time and return to now.
4. Neuroscience of Presence
When people anchor in now, the prefrontal cortex re-integrates the nervous system. Breath slows, heart rate regulates, mirror neurons engage, and connection deepens. Anxiety floods recede not by fighting them, but by shifting attention into present encounter.
5. BTC as Path to Liberation
BTC storytelling insists on rupture and transformation. Anxiety belongs to rupture: the past resurfaces, the future threatens. Transformation comes only when witnesses, lawyers, and jurors are returned to now, where new roles can emerge. BTC is a map back to presence.
The 5 W’s of Returning to Now
Who
The people most vulnerable to temporal splits are those who carry the heaviest roles in trial: the lawyer who fears the future verdict, the witness who relives past trauma, the juror who feels torn between imagined consequences. Each group experiences anxiety when cast outside of now. Lawyers imagine what could go wrong, witnesses replay what already went wrong, jurors anticipate the fallout of their decision. But the same people, in the immediacy of courtroom encounter, can step into roles of clarity, connection, and courage. The “who” is all of us, whenever we mistake time-bound roles for identity.
What
What emerges under stress is the confusion between role and time. Past roles masquerade as permanent identity: “I am weak, I always fail.” Future roles masquerade as destiny: “I will lose, I will be humiliated.” What is actually happening is that the nervous system is rehearsing old patterns or projecting future catastrophes. What dissolves anxiety is the recognition that these are roles—functional but not permanent—and that spontaneity is only possible when we occupy the present stage.
When
Anxiety asserts itself most forcefully in moments of rupture, especially outside of immediate action. A lawyer may feel fine while delivering an opening, but be paralyzed with anxiety the night before. A witness may speak truthfully when answering jurors, but collapse with dread in preparation. A juror may deliberate clearly in dialogue but feel overwhelmed when imagining the weight of the verdict in advance. The “when” of anxiety is often before and after, not during. The courtroom magnifies this: past trauma is relived, future judgment is anticipated. Recognizing these “whens” gives advocates the tools to intervene.
Where
The “where” is both embodied and institutional. Anxiety lives in the body: in the throat that tightens, the stomach that churns, the restless hands. It also lives in the structures of the courtroom: in the weight of law, the gaze of authority, the rituals of procedure. The body carries the past and fears the future, while the courtroom amplifies both through its staging of judgment. The task of advocacy is to locate this “where” and gently return people to the present stage of encounter, where roles can breathe again.
Why
The “why” is liberation. If people are trapped in roles of past or future, they cannot meet the jury, the judge, or each other authentically. They remain possessed by ghosts or forecasts. But when they are returned to now, spontaneity re-emerges. The lawyer speaks with authority, not anxiety. The witness testifies with dignity, not collapse. The juror deliberates with clarity, not distortion. The why is not just therapeutic—it is legal. Justice depends on presence. Without it, stories are hijacked. With it, stories transform.
Demo-Action
Exercise: Returning to Now
Place three chairs: Past, Future, Now.
Invite a participant (lawyer, witness, or juror in training) to sit in the Past chair. Ask: “What does this role say to you?” Example: “You will always fail.”
Move them to the Future chair. Ask: “What does this role say?” Example: “Tomorrow you will be humiliated.”
Place them in the Now chair. Prompt: “Notice your breath, your body, this room. Speak one line about what is true right now.” Example: “I am here. I am breathing. I am safe.”
Role reverse: Let Now speak back to Past and Future.
Anchor: Invite the participant to name a constructive present role—Storyteller, Survivor, Protector—and rehearse a short line from trial in that role.
Debrief: How did past and future feel in the body? How did now feel? What shifted in voice, posture, connection?
Conclusion
Anxiety is not identity. It is role—misplaced in time. The past rehearses shame, the future rehearses catastrophe, but neither is the present. Spontaneity, the force that gives advocacy its power and storytelling its truth, lives only in the now. By helping lawyers, witnesses, and jurors return to now, BTC restores freedom of role, clarity of mind, and authenticity of story.
Trials are about more than facts. They are about time. The law may judge the past, but justice can only be made in the present. When anxiety floods, it is a signal that the mind has left now. The task is not to argue with it, but to return: to breathe, to ground, to speak as Storyteller, Survivor, Protector.
“Spontaneity can only live in the moment. The past is memory, the future is imagination. The courtroom demands presence—because justice lives in now.”
References
Moreno, J. L. (1946). Who Shall Survive? Beacon House.
Moreno, J. L. (1953). Psychodrama: Volume 1. Beacon House.
Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory. Norton.
Siegel, D. J. (2012). The Developing Mind. Guilford Press.
Johnson, L. E. (2025). Building The Case: Storytelling When Facts Are Fixed and Stakes Are High. Trial Whisperer Press.
Brilliant explanation of the value and credibility of the present moment!
There’s something really striking about how you frame anxiety as a temporal split instead of a personal flaw. The idea that clarity only shows up when someone is anchored in the present — and that both past and future roles can hijack a case — feels incredibly true clinically and in high-stakes work. It’s a clean, useful way to explain why people perform well in the moment but unravel before or after.