There is a future, but it's coming up really fast and I've got to
do something about it now

An example:

Before I moved here, I imagined that I would be far too terrified
ever to ride my bike in New York City. I am not what’s called a thrill-seeking
personality: I am too scared to go on carnival rides and can only imagine that
if I were ever to go ziplining, bungee jumping or skydiving I would turn
instantly to stone with terror, a short-lived meteor. The actual danger of
biking is incidental; it’s only an external condition that forcibly focuses my
concentration, the same way that the violence of war can serve as an occasion
for valor. If you’re anything like me, you probably spend the majority of your
time either second-guessing the past or dreading the future, neither of which
actually exists; having to navigate those teeming streets narrows the beam of my
consciousness to the laser’s width of the instant I actually inhabit.

When I’m balanced on two thin wheels at 30 miles an hour, gauging distance,
adjusting course, making hundreds of unconscious calculations every second, that
idiot chatterbox in my head is kept too busy to get a word in. I’ve heard people
say the same thing about rock-climbing: how it shrinks your universe to the
half-inch of rock surface immediately in front of you, this crevice, that
toehold. Biking is split-second fast and rock-climbing painstakingly slow, but
both practices silence the noise of the mind and render self-consciousness
blissfully impossible. You become the anonymous hero of that old story, Man
versus the Universe. Your brain’s glad to finally have a real job to do, instead
of all that trivial busywork. You are all action, no deliberation. You are
forced, under pain of death, to quit all that silly ideation and pay attention.
It’s meditation at gunpoint.

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/05/07/fear-and-cycling/?hp

I assume that it is obvious how this applies to hang gliding.