Tiny Buddha

Tag: present

  • Planning Without Panic and Learning to Live in the Now

    Planning Without Panic and Learning to Live in the Now

    “You can plan for a hundred years. But you don’t know what will happen the next moment.” ~Tibetan proverb

    Some days it feels like a fog I can’t shake—this underlying fear that something painful or uncertain is just around the corner.

    I try to be responsible. I try to prepare, make good choices, take care of things now so the future won’t unravel later. But beneath that effort is something harder to face: I feel helpless. I can’t control what’s coming, and that terrifies me.

    Maybe you’ve felt this too—that tension between doing your best and still fearing it’s not enough. Worry becomes a habit, like you’re rehearsing bad outcomes in your head just in case they happen.

    That’s where I found myself when I turned to Buddhist teachings—not for comfort exactly, but for a different relationship with uncertainty.

    What Buddhism Taught Me About the Future

    One of the first things I learned is that Buddhism doesn’t tell us to stop caring about the future. It teaches us to stop living in it.

    The Buddha spoke of suffering as arising from two core causes: craving (wanting things to go a certain way) and aversion (pushing away what we don’t want). When I spin into worry or try to predict everything, I’m doing both—I’m grasping for control and resisting what I fear.

    But the future is always uncertain. That’s the part I don’t want to admit. I used to believe that if I thought hard enough, planned carefully enough, I could outmaneuver risk. But I’ve learned that worry isn’t preparation—it’s just suffering in advance. It doesn’t protect me. It only pulls me out of the life I’m actually living.

    The Real Conflict: Planning vs. Presence

    Here’s the real tension I struggle with—and maybe you do too: I believe in the power of presence. But I also know I have to plan.

    As a filmmaker, planning isn’t optional. Without preparation, things fall apart. A well-structured plan doesn’t just prevent chaos—it makes room for creativity. It allows me to focus, explore, and respond to the moment without losing direction. In that way, planning is part of my art.

    So when I first encountered teachings about letting go and trusting the moment, it felt contradictory. How could I live in the now when my work, and life, require thinking ahead?

    This was the real conflict—the push and pull between control and surrender, between structure and flow. One is necessary for functioning in the world. The other is necessary for actually feeling alive in it.

    A Real-Life Lesson in Letting Go

    Years ago, I received grants to make a 16mm documentary about Emanuel Wood, a traditional Ozarks fiddler with a rich musical heritage and a colorful presence. I had high-quality gear lined up—Nagra 4.2 audio, film stock, the works—and the project felt blessed. Emanuel was eager. I was hopeful. The plan was solid.

    It felt like everything was finally coming together.

    But over the years I’ve learned something the hard way: sometimes, when I feel euphoric about a plan, it’s also a signal—a subtle warning that life might have something else in mind.

    Sure enough, Emanuel died unexpectedly just a few months before I was scheduled to begin filming. Just like that, the film I had meticulously envisioned, built support for, and shaped my year around was gone.

    I was devastated. I couldn’t give the grant money back, and I didn’t want to abandon the deeper spirit of the project. So I did what I didn’t expect to do: I stayed present, and I listened.

    I made a different film. A new one. Something just as honest and grounded in the world Emanuel represented. It was shaped by the same love of music, the same longing to preserve meaning, and it emerged only because I stayed with the discomfort and uncertainty of not knowing what to do next.

    Planning had given me the structure. But presence—and trust—allowed the story to live on in a different form.

    The Middle Path: Flexible Readiness

    I think about that lesson often. The same conflict plays out across many fields. The military trains obsessively for what can’t be predicted. A jazz musician rehearses scales for hours, only to let them go once the song begins.

    We don’t have to abandon planning. We just have to make space for improvisation.

    This is how I’ve come to understand the Buddhist path in a practical world: Planning is necessary. But clinging is optional.

    Now, I try to plan the way a musician tunes their instrument. Prepare with care. Show up with intention. But when the moment comes, play—not from control, but from connection.

    What Helps Me Now

    These days, when fear about the future rises, I pause. I breathe. I ask myself: Am I trying to control something I can’t? Can I still act responsibly without gripping so tightly? Can I trust this moment, even briefly?

    I still make plans. I still take responsibility. But I no longer pretend I can outthink uncertainty. I try to meet it with curiosity, flexibility, and a little kindness toward myself.

    Sometimes I quietly repeat:

    May I be safe. May I meet whatever comes with courage and care. May I trust this moment.

    That doesn’t solve everything. But it brings me back to the only place I actually have any power: here.

    You don’t have to give up planning. Just stop making it your emotional insurance policy.

    You can build the structure, take the next right step, and still leave space for life to surprise you.

    Let your plans serve your life—not replace it.

  • How I Learned to Be Present—One Sound at a Time

    How I Learned to Be Present—One Sound at a Time

    “Time isn’t the main thing. It’s the only thing.” ~Miles Davis

    When I first read that quote, it hit me right in the chest. Not because it sounded profound—but because it was something I had been slowly, painfully learning over the course of a very quiet, very long year.

    Time used to feel like a race. Or maybe a shadow. Or a trickster. Some days, it slipped through my fingers like water. Other days, it dragged me along like a heavy cart. But always, it was something outside me—something I was chasing or trying to escape.

    I spent much of my life impatient. Not in the obvious, tapping-your-foot kind of way, but in the quiet, internal kind of way: the constant sense that something should be happening, or happening faster, or already have happened by now. I measured life by milestones—achievements, breakthroughs, arrivals. I told myself I was being productive, but really, I was just uncomfortable with stillness.

    The Turning Point: Time Isn’t Linear

    Before all this, I thought of sound as something external—music, noise, conversation. But Nada Yoga transformed that understanding. In the stillness of those long days, sound became an anchor. Even the hum of the heater or the ticking of the clock became companions. When I gave them my full attention, they stopped being background noise and became part of the present moment.

    This is when I began to understand that time isn’t as linear as I had always believed. The past and future were ideas playing out in my mind, but the sound of now—the tone, the breath, the subtle vibration in my chest—was undeniable. And every time I tuned into it, I found myself grounded again.

    Physics agrees in strange ways. Einstein called time a “stubbornly persistent illusion,” and in the language of relativity, time doesn’t pass in the way we feel it does. Some physicists believe that the past, present, and future all exist at once—that time isn’t a straight line, but more like a landscape we move through. What we experience as “now” depends on where we’re standing, so to speak—our frame of reference.

    It’s not that time isn’t real—it’s that our experience of it is shaped by attention, memory, and movement.

    This insight doesn’t make time feel less urgent, but it reframes it. If time is an illusion, it may be less about seconds ticking by and more about awareness itself. What we call “now” isn’t a slice between before and after—it’s a field we enter through presence. That’s why mindfulness and Nada Yoga matter here: they’re not just techniques for coping—they’re ways of seeing.

    In the teachings of the Eightfold Path, this felt most connected to Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. But instead of striving to perfect these steps, I simply allowed sound to lead me there. Following the thread of vibration was a practice in presence. It didn’t matter what time the clock said. The only real moment was the one I could hear, feel, and meet with openness.

    When Time Moves Too Fast

    Eventually, I began to feel better. My body regained strength, and my thinking was clearer. I started doing more, breathing more slowly, walking farther, making plans. But with that return came a different kind of challenge: the speed of life.

    It’s incredible how quickly we can forget stillness once momentum kicks back in. Emails. Errands. The endless list of things we should’ve already done. I was “back,” but I noticed something curious—I missed the slow time. Not the discomfort, but the spaciousness. The simplicity. The depth I had discovered when life wasn’t asking me to move so fast.

    I tried to hold onto what I’d learned. I’d remind myself that presence doesn’t need to be complicated—listening to a soft drone or resting in the inner hum I could still feel when I paid attention. That tiny ritual became a way to soften the edges of my days. It reminded me that even when life is loud and fast, there is still something quiet underneath, waiting.

    And once again, I turned to the Eightfold Path, this time to Right Effort. Not effort as in struggle, but the gentle discipline to return, to listen, to not forget myself in the rush. Patience, it turns out, isn’t something you master once and for all. It’s something you practice again and again in small, quiet ways.

    The Sound of Patience

    What surprised me most was realizing that patience has a sound. It’s not always silence.

    Sometimes, it’s the low hum of the fridge at midnight. Sometimes, it’s the steady beat of a distant drum in a piece of music. Sometimes, it’s just my own breath or heartbeat or pulse, reminding me that I am here.

    And presence has its own rhythm too. The more I tuned in, the more I saw how much time opens up when I stop resisting it. A few mindful minutes can feel full and rich. A rushed hour can feel like nothing at all.

    We say “time flies” when we’re enjoying ourselves—but I’ve found something deeper: time expands when we’re fully present. When I listen—really listen—to what is here, I don’t feel late. I don’t feel behind. I feel whole.

    This doesn’t mean I’ve figured it all out. I still lose patience. I still check the clock too much. But now, I have a practice to return to—a practice built not on perfection, but on sound, breath, and the quiet trust that everything unfolds in its own time.

    The longer I walk this path, the more I see that my suffering around time wasn’t really about minutes or hours. It was about resistance. It was about the belief that the present moment was never quite enough. That I had to get somewhere, become someone, achieve something before I could rest.

    But through mindfulness, and especially through the practice of listening—whether to the soft whispering tones of the wind in Nada Yoga or to the ordinary sounds of daily life—I’ve discovered a gentler truth:

    The present moment isn’t something we earn. It’s something we enter.

    And when we do, when we stop fighting time and start listening to it, we find something unexpected—not emptiness, but richness. Not waiting, but arrival.

    A Closing Reflection

    There’s a soft drone of reticulated sounds playing as I write this now. A deep tone that barely shifts but somehow holds me steady. It reminds me to breathe. It reminds me to slow down. It reminds me that I am not behind—I am here.

    I think that’s the real gift of both mindfulness and Nada Yoga. Not to help us “make the most of our time,” but to help us feel time differently—not as a pressure, but as a presence.

    And so I leave you with this:

    Next time you feel rushed or restless, stop. Close your eyes. Listen for the quietest sound in the room—or in you. It might not be music, or even beautiful, but it will be real. And in that sound, however small, you might find a doorway to now.

    And now, as Miles Davis said, time is not just the main thing—it’s the only thing.

  • Stop Chasing: Finding What You Need in the Here and Now

    Stop Chasing: Finding What You Need in the Here and Now

    “Life is what happens while we’re busy worrying about everything we need to change or accomplish. Slow down, get mindful, and try to enjoy the moment. This moment is your life.” ~Lori Deschene

    Are you living life in a constant pursuit—chasing happiness, freedom, comfort, or success? What if the thing you’re so desperately looking for isn’t at the finish line? What if life isn’t a race to be won? These were the questions I asked myself not long ago.

    I won’t lie; answering them didn’t completely change my life overnight. I didn’t have any major breakthrough when realizing what I’m about to tell you, but it was a starting point.

    The starting point was realizing I had spent most of my life waiting. Chasing the things I believed I lacked.

    In the pursuit of happiness, I was waiting for that moment in which all my dreams coming true would finally bring me everlasting joy.

    Aspiring to be a free spirit—as free as the wind—I created mental cages and rules that made me feel stuck and hopeless, like a bird that knows how liberating it is to fly but cannot spread its wings.

    Chasing comfort, I let possibilities for growth slip through my fingers and run away from me.

    Trying to reach success, I forgot to take care of what truly deserved my attention: my health, my relationships, and my spark.

    The major problem?

    When you chase something, you’re placing it far away from you. You’re increasing the distance between what you desire and what you believe you lack.

    But what you desire is already at your fingertips.

    I didn’t have to wait for happiness because happiness wasn’t a destination to reach. Achieving my goals and making my dreams come true wouldn’t have made me any happier unless I was ready to fully embrace happiness in the here and now.

    Happiness was already inside of me and all around. I just wasn’t looking.

    The freedom I was so desperately chasing could have never touched me if I first didn’t get rid of the mental blocks I’d created myself. If I first didn’t destroy the walls my own mind had built.

    I quickly realized that comfort wasn’t my friend—it just wanted to keep me safe, but not necessarily feeling alive.

    Chasing success had me run, run, and run without actually going anywhere, like a hamster on a wheel.

    If life isn’t a race, why are we always running?

    We jump from one goal to another, from one’s arms to another’s, from one dream to another. We’re always running, chasing something that ends up turning into nothing.

    If we allowed ourselves to take a moment, slow down, and hit the brake pedal, we’d soon realize that the chasing is what’s making us unhappy.

    It’s pushing all we ever wanted far away from us—within our eyesight, but out of our reach.

    How do you stop chasing the next big thing when you’ve spent your whole life in pursuit of something—anything?

    All You Want Is Already Within You

    The major change you must make is shifting your perspective about what you want.

    I wanted freedom, but I wasn’t allowing myself to feel it because I had created unbreakable rules for my life. Then, it hit me: How could I expect to experience freedom in other areas of my life (career, money, etc.) if I wasn’t even free from my own mind?

    Whether you want love, connection, happiness, or purpose, are you sure you’re not the one standing in your way?

    If you want love and connection, are you loving yourself and genuinely getting interested in others?

    If you want to be happier, are you filling your days with small things that can bring you more joy?

    If you want purpose, are you actively seeking and engaging in activities that can bring you a greater sense of purpose?

    Shift your perspective and start believing that everything you seek is already within you. Because it is.

    Live in the Here and Now

    Being more mindful means learning to be where your feet are. Embracing the here and now can put an end to what feels like an endless race.

    Because there can be no race if you learn not to place any expectations or hopes in the future.

    There’s just this moment—right here, right now. Nothing else matters. Nothing else really exists.

    If this moment is all that’s true and all that exists, it means you already hold in your hands what you’re chasing.

    Becoming more mindful means giving yourself the space to be, to exist—still, frozen, standing.

    Mindfulness is not an end state but a way of living.

    You don’t have to meditate for one hour every day to start being more mindful.

    There are practices other than meditation you can adopt to bring more mindfulness into your day.

    For example, you could start by changing how you do mundane tasks.

    It could be as simple as sipping your coffee slowly, noticing its warmth and flavor instead of chugging it down.

    Or listening to what your friend has to say instead of thinking how you’re going to respond.

    Or, why don’t you start doing one thing at a time instead of falling for the trap of multitasking?

    If your body is here, why do you let your mind be anywhere else?

    Celebrate the Journey

    Finally, if you want to stop chasing the next goal, mental state, or fleeting desire, you must recognize how far you’ve gone before you start looking at what’s ahead.

    Instead of not giving yourself the time to reflect and look at the progress you’ve made, why don’t you try to slow down for once?

    Celebrate your achievements, big or small. Praise yourself for the path you’ve walked before you start searching for the next finish line. Your results deserve recognition.

    What’s the purpose of setting big goals and milestones to reach if, once you get there, you don’t even allow yourself to feel it, to enjoy the experience?

    The pursuit of anything loses its meaning if it’s not celebrated.

    What’s the point of reaching the top of the mountain if you keep looking for the next one to hike instead of enjoying the view from above?

    Chasing everything—or anything—won’t give you what you hope to get until you start giving it to yourself. Reflect on what you’re chasing and ask yourself, “How can I embrace it in the here and now?”

    Stop wandering in life, on a never-ending pursuit of something that’s already within you. If you only started looking…

  • Why We All Need to Pause More Often and How to Do It

    Why We All Need to Pause More Often and How to Do It

    “Taking time to do nothing often brings everything into perspective.” ~Doe Zantamata

    I have always been that person who just cannot seem to slow down. An overachiever? That’s putting it mildly. In every aspect of my life—work, relationships, personal goals—I have always pushed myself to the absolute limit. It is like I have this internal drive that just won’t quit.

    At work, I am always the first one in and the last to leave. Deadlines? I would meet them days early. Projects? I would volunteer for extra ones, even when my plate was already full. And don’t even get me started on my personal life. Whether it was fitness goals, learning new skills, or maintaining relationships, I approached everything with the same intensity.

    I set these incredibly high standards for myself, and I didn’t ever want to fall short. The thought of not meeting my own expectations was like this constant knot in my stomach, anxiety at its peak. I was relentless, always pushing, always striving, never giving myself a break.

    And as for motives, once I set my mind to something, there was no going back. I would make these strict plans and stick to them religiously. It didn’t matter if I was exhausted or if life threw a curveball my way. I would power through, even during the hardest burnouts I ever had in my life.

    Looking back, I realize I was incredibly hard on myself. It wasn’t just about avoiding certain behaviors or sticking to my goals. It was this rigid, almost punishing approach to everything. I had this idea that if I wasn’t constantly pushing forward, I would somehow fall behind.

    Being strict to the core might sound admirable, but let me tell you, it comes at a cost. There were times when I would lie awake at night, my mind racing with all the things I needed to do and all the goals I hadn’t yet achieved. Relaxation was a foreign concept. Taking a break felt like failure.

    It’s funny, you know. People would often tell me to take it easy, to give myself a break. But in my mind, that was just an excuse for mediocrity. I couldn’t fathom the idea of not giving 110% to everything I did.

    Little did I know, this relentless drive was setting me up for a major wake-up call. But that’s the thing about being an overachiever—you don’t realize you are burning the candle at both ends until, well, there’s no candle left to burn.

    It wasn’t until I forced myself to take a step back that I realized the toll this constant cycle of proving myself was taking on my mental health. I remember a particular moment when I felt completely overwhelmed by the endless to-do lists and expectations that I could not meet, no matter what. Instead of powering through like usual, I decided to pause.

    It is like the saying goes: We need to step back to see the bigger picture. We, as humans, have tunnel vision. The pause from the chaos of daily life hustle made me realize what I had been missing all along.

    I realized that my worth wasn’t defined by perfection but by my ability to be present, to find joy in the journey, and to extend kindness to myself. I had personified myself into these roles. Great friendship and good mentorship made me realize what taking a pause really meant.

    I have always gone above and beyond to prove to everyone around me that I am capable of doing great things too. But that stopped when I paused and thought about living up to their expectations of a great life more than mine.

    So, did I stop doing everything?

    No, definitely not; stopping doing everything in life and taking a pause is different. Pausing is not about grinding to a halt or procrastinating. It’s about creating space—to breathe, to reflect, and to gain perspective. And ironically, it’s in those moments of stillness that we often find the clarity and inspiration to move forward with greater purpose and fulfillment.

    What exactly happened when I took a pause?

    I realized a few things when I started taking pauses in my life:

    Clear picture: Taking a pause made me look at my life and perceive what was really going on with a clear perspective. It made me look at my problems from a different angle.

    Focus: Although I gave importance to all the things around me, the constant grind and cycle of work kept me from focusing on things that really needed to be looked into. Pausing changed my focus from being a people-pleaser to what I want myself to be.

    Health: How many times have we all eaten what we got our hands on whenever we were hungry and regretted our food choices later? A better focus on my life made me want to look at my food choices and exercise routine differently. This change made a good impact on my health.

    Stress: The amount of stress I was relieved from as soon as I started taking breaks was good; nah, it was great! Stress is something everyone has in their lives nowadays. I bet you can’t find anyone who is stress-free in life. (Even the rich are stressed about how to invest their money better.) Taking a little pause from the stress of what’s next is great for everyone in life, not just me.

    Energy levels: It is indeed true that energy levels are boosted after a much-deserved break from any routine. My positive energy was high in dopamine; I had clear goals for what to do. I was motivated to do certain things I would have postponed if I hadn’t realized I deserved the pause.

    Better work: There are two types of people: those who want a break before doing great work, and those who can only take a break after their good work. (This was an Instagram meme, by the way.) Whichever category you fit in, you need a break to perform at your best. I have observed that I work better after a good coffee break; my creativity is then at its peak.

    How did I incorporate pauses into my life?

    You might be thinking, “I don’t have the time to take a pause. My time is valuable.” A motto I have also suffered from, like most people in life. Pauses need not be as big as becoming unemployed, dropping all that you usually do, and starting new things.

    Meditation: It can be as simple as a ten-minute mindfulness meditation session. All you have to do is breathe and release that cortisol out of your body.

    Exercise: If you are someone who doesn’t like to sit still, you can go for a walk or run perhaps. A quick adrenaline pump can make you energized. Research suggests that your energy levels stay the same even an hour after exercise.

    Work break: If you are someone who works a lot, you can take five-minute breaks to maintain your workflow. You can also practice the Pomodoro technique, which a mentor of mine taught. It involves working for twenty-five minutes, followed by a five-minute break.

    How did I recognize the signs that I needed a pause?

    It’s funny how our bodies and minds have ways of telling us when we need to slow down. It’s like they’re waving red flags, trying to get our attention. I started noticing these little signs popping up more and more.

    There were days when I would wake up feeling like I had run a marathon in my sleep: totally exhausted, head pounding, and shoulders so tense. And I could not focus on any of my tasks. It was like my brain had decided to take an unscheduled vacation without bothering to inform me.

    Emotionally? Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly winning any “most cheerful person” awards. I found myself snapping at the smallest things, feeling anxious over stuff that normally wouldn’t faze me. People were constantly walking on eggshells around me. It was like my emotional fuse had shortened.

    And then there were the behavioral changes. Suddenly, I was the queen of procrastination, putting off tasks I usually tackled head-on. My coffee consumption skyrocketed. I mean, how else was I supposed to function?

    It took me a while to realize that these were all signs pointing to one thing: I desperately needed a pause.

    But here’s the thing: Taking a break isn’t just about flopping onto the couch and zoning out (though sometimes that’s exactly what we need). It’s about creating an environment that actually lets you recharge.

    I started by decluttering my space. You’d be amazed by how much mental clarity you can get just by tidying up a bit. I carved out a little corner of my home that became my ‘pause zone’—no work allowed, just pure relaxation.

    Setting boundaries was a game-changer. I had to train my family and friends to understand that when I was in my pause zone, it was like I had an invisible “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging over my head.

    I got a bit fancy with it, too. I started using some lavender essential oil (turns out, it really does help you chill out) and found this great playlist of nature sounds. There is nothing like the sound of gentle waves to make you forget about your overflowing inbox, right?

    The point is, creating a space that encourages you to pause doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s about finding what helps you unwind and making it a regular part of your routine. Because, let’s face it, we all need those moments to step back, take a breath, and remind ourselves that the world won’t fall apart if we take a little break now and then.

    I have also come to realize that taking a break doesn’t always mean jetting off to some exotic location or spending a fortune on a lavish vacation. Sometimes, the most effective pauses are the small ones we take in our daily lives.

    It could be as simple as changing up your morning routine, like maybe taking a different route to work or savoring your coffee on the porch instead of rushing out the door. Perhaps it’s dedicating ten minutes to mindfulness before bed or taking a quick walk around the block during your lunch break.

    These mini pauses, these tiny shifts in our day-to-day patterns, are like little reset buttons for our minds. They give us a chance to step back, even if just for a moment, and see our lives from a slightly different angle.

    And often, it’s these small, consistent breaks that make the biggest difference. They remind us that pausing isn’t about escaping our lives but about being more present in them. So next time you’re feeling overwhelmed, remember: A meaningful break doesn’t have to be big. Sometimes, the smallest pause can offer the greatest perspective.

  • The Beautiful Gift of Finding Presence in The Ordinary

    The Beautiful Gift of Finding Presence in The Ordinary

     

    “For a long time, it had seemed to me that life was about to begin—real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, or a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last, it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.”~Alfred D. Souza

    I recently came across an old photo album from when I was in my twenties. All these snippets of my life back then—going out clubbing, those harsh Canadian winters, walking in the back field with my dog, hanging out at my uni campus, watching live music at my favorite outdoor festival. I remember it all so well.

    It felt like that time of my life would never end. It just went on forever. I remember how I was always craving something bigger and better than little old Ottawa. Wasn’t life meant to be cooler and more exciting?

    Everyone told me my twenties would be the best years of my life. I felt so much pressure to live up to these expectations. And now here I am, staring at these photos with years of perspective.

    I’ve lived in two different countries since then and traveled to countless more. I’ve married and had two kids. Now it’s all just a memory, contained neatly inside a heavy photo album. It reminds me of this quote above and how, in those days, I was always waiting for something. That one thing to make life exciting. But that was it—life was happening, even in the waiting.

    It reminds me of where I am now. Deep in the trenches of motherhood and so incredibly sleep-deprived. I feel waves of guilt that I’m not enjoying every minute of it. Everyone tells me I must; it ends all too soon. Social media blares: Enjoy every minute! You only have X more summers left before your kids move out!

    I can already see myself many years from now, looking at photos from this moment. These days right now that pass like thick mud. When my baby learns to clap her hands, and sit up without support, and crawl around to locate every last crumb on the floor.

    The days when my toddler is piecing together the words to express how she feels more and more. Every day, something new.

    The days when a shower is a luxury. When I wake up feeling jet-lagged, like I’m on a perpetual flight, without ever arriving anywhere.

    The days when I’ve gone beyond my limit again. And again. These days when I find myself falling into this trap of wishing things were a bit easier, and then I could really enjoy myself.

    Then I remember that this is normal. It’s normal to yearn for things to be different when they feel hard. It’s normal to compare. It’s normal to feel so much in this highly saturated digital and addictive world.

    Not every day is amazing. Not for any human on this earth. Despite what social media shows us. Perhaps instead of being told we need to enjoy every minute of motherhood or our youth or whatever it is, maybe we should instead tell each other to be present as often as we can. To be a full participant in our lives. Whether it’s good or bad, or annoying or underwhelming, or not quite reaching our expectations in some way.

    Perhaps it’s better to make it a practice to show up and be fully engrossed in that moment. To practice accepting that this is your life right now. Even if just for a moment.

    I say practice because I don’t think it’s possible to be completely present all the time. Naturally, there will be times when we search for our phones in need of mindless distraction. Naturally, on tough days, we will long for weekends, or vacations, or some escape from the mundanity. In these moments, it’s just as important to practice forgiveness for not always enjoying everything. For being human.

    It’s important to remind ourselves from time to time of the blatant obviousness that there is no destination. That the only destination we’re heading toward is our death. Or old age, if we’re so lucky.

    For most of us, life is a series of ordinary moments strung together. The more time we spend chasing the extraordinary, the more we miss what’s in front of us.

    So, here’s your reminder to stop waiting for something to happen for you to enjoy your life. Wherever you may be on your journey, may you show up wholeheartedly.

  • Are You Paying Attention to the Beauty of this World?

    Are You Paying Attention to the Beauty of this World?

    “’I got saved by the beauty of the world,’ she said to me. And the beauty of the world was honored in the devotion of her attention. Nothing less than the beauty of the world has become more present, more redemptive, for more of us in the encounter with her poetry.” ~Krista Tippett, on interviewing poet Mary Oliver

    The act of paying attention seems rather simple. Simply being aware of life happening all around us. And yet most of us are what we might call asleep at the wheel. We perform daily tasks and engage ourselves in human interactions without a moment given to the here and now taking place in the present.

    Instead of enjoying the scenery while on a drive to finish the day’s errands or the conversation with a person directly in front of us, our bodies perform rote tasks while our minds ruminate over discussions that already took place or those that we feel we must mentally rehearse for future preparation.

    I can think of nothing worse than choosing to plan a future conversation that may or may not take place instead of deciding to be present for whatever the moment brings. Yet we are all guilty of this and other forms of past and future thinking, and we do them quite frequently.

    I really need to get more bottled water/pasta sauce/rolls of toilet paper from the basement.

    I wish she would call me back.

    How long before I need to start worrying about this? Can I do something to change it?

    What should I make for dinner tonight?

    This is just a sampling of the daily thoughts taking up precious space in my head. Our habit is to be lost in a trance. Thinking. Planning. Striving. Worrying. We forget why we’re here, and in the forgetting, there is suffering. Each day requires a gentle nudge back to our true nature. The nature that exists only in the here and now.

    “Before going to bed, I glance back over the day and ask myself: Did I stop and allow myself to be surprised? Or did I trudge on in a daze?” ~Br. David Steindl-Rast

    Our attention to the present moment is what helps us enjoy a life of meaning and purpose. It can keep us from feeling as if life is devoid of any significance. This is why remembering is so important.

    Caught in that state of nonstop thinking, believing we are alone and separate with our egos and internal chatter, we may wonder: Is this all there is? Am I anything more than a hamster running on a wheel of thoughts in some crude experiment?

    Because it doesn’t really appear all that special when our life seems to exist as a series of repeating thoughts between the ears (many of which seem punishing and unkind), rather than a kaleidoscope of sensations and experiences—along with moments of pure wonder, heartbreak, beauty, pain, and awe.

    So how can we find meaning in our lives when we are repeatedly lost in our own thinking? A beautiful place to start is with intention. Intentions help us to remember our true nature and keep us aligned with our higher selves.

    Tara Brach, renowned psychologist and teacher of Buddhist meditation, once gave a beautiful lecture on intention. She says that the more you focus on your intention, the more you pay attention. These two work together, back and forth, in a circular manner.

    The caring and compassion that comes from an increased attention to this world deepens your desire of intention, and the two feed each other in a beautiful reciprocation. What results is a habit of being more awake and alive in this world. We begin to think less, and to become more present in the here and now.

    Tara reminds us that having an intention alone is not enough. We must pay attention in order to manifest our intentions. We cannot just meander along and fail to pay attention to what is in front of us.

    “When you start setting your intention and pay attention, they actually allow your Heart and Spirit to manifest.”  ~Tara Brach

    The power of intention has helped me train my brain to be aware of my surroundings in a new and profound way. Since I know that my brain is hardwired for thought, I recognize that I must be intentional about paying attention to the world around me.

    And my intention should be to see the whole of my environment and the person or people around me, in all their messy and magnificent layers. Therefore, my intention is this: see people and my surroundings, in all their beautiful joy and struggle, and send my love and compassion to all.

    This increased awareness certainly didn’t happen overnight; it takes repeated training and subsequent brain rewiring. I still get lost in thought from time to time, but fortunately now I can catch myself falling into the trance of thought and return my attention to the here and now. This attention allows me to live from my intention, and the two dance together in a beautiful waltz, just as Tara suggested.

    When I was first getting started, I learned of a simple idea from Eckhart Tolle that resonated with me immediately. He said that when you get into your car to leave your home, take just thirty seconds to become aware of your immediate surroundings. No thinking, just observing.

    What do you see? Items in your garage, or on your driveway? Things inside your car? Or nature just outside your car window?

    Unless you are on your way to the hospital with an emergency, Eckhart says that each of us have thirty seconds to stop and take notice. I was glad he mentioned that, because most often we feel like we have no time to spare when all we are talking about is just half a minute of our day. This simple practice serves as a gentle reminder to be more present and aware as you leave your home and embark on your day. It also helps me set my intention. It was a great beginner lesson for me and one I still use today.

    Meditation and other mindfulness practices have also helped me increase my attention to this world. Study after study shows how meditation practice can not only increase focus and reduce distractions but allow us to bounce back from those inevitable distractions as well. Since the aim of many meditative practices is to help us sustain attention while letting thoughts pass through awareness, it seems logical that meditators would have an increased level of focus and attention.

    Meditation also teaches us to slow down. The tendency in our culture is to do everything at a rapid pace–whether that is driving, grocery shopping, cooking dinner, or any number of activities both inside and outside the home. When we slow down, however, we notice much more of the world that we failed to see while we were in overdrive.

    Slowing down our bodies slows down our brains. Once the brain is moving at a gentler, less frenetic pace, it removes the heavy charge of thinking and makes room for the present moment.

    “When I move half as fast, I take in twice as much.” ~Tara Brach

    Our brains are made for thinking. Lots of it. This fact makes mindfulness practices and setting intentions difficult. However, each of the practices above help us to rewire our neurons by doing a series of actions on purpose.

    Every second spent being mindful and living out our intentions helps our brains to internalize these actions by creating pathways in the brain. What begin as thin and barely recognizable trails you may see in an overgrown forest become deeply grooved track beds after repeated and daily rewiring. The key to maintaining mindful attention then, like most things, is practice.

    I desire a life of meaning. In order to have that, I know that I need to keep myself awake for all of life’s moments. There are some moments that I may not want to see. However, I must not shy away or tune out from anything I may be averse to. It is in the paying attention that I get to understand all of life in its richness and complexity. Its heartbreak and beauty.

    Some of us experience pain in the present moment that is just too great, and because of this we fall below consciousness in an attempt to ignore the deep and profound heartache that exists in the here and now.

    Anesthetics used to numb the pain, such as alcohol, drugs, food, or compulsive shopping, alleviate the feelings associated with grief, bullying, physical or emotional abuse, divorce, and many other forms of distress. However, though these feelings may temporarily subside, they return once again when we awaken from our unconscious state. And the negative feeling or emotion is often more intense each time it resurfaces. It’s begging for our undivided attention and care.

    Previously, I had no awareness of the fact that falling below consciousness was my go-to move. Perhaps because society has somewhat normalized this tendency, or because I did not want to sit with my act of ignoring what felt too difficult to face.

    Years of spiritual and mindfulness teachings slowly worked their way into my psyche, and I learned that beneath the illusions of daily life, both good and bad, there is an unshakeable inner peace that always endures.

    I didn’t need to develop this peace by hours of sitting meditation or any number of courses, retreats, or books on spiritualty; I only needed to uncover what had been there all along, waiting patiently to be discovered.

    Difficulties, both great and small, continue to present themselves. This, of course, is life. Though I have been tempted at times to return to a comforting salve, my awareness of these feelings and the nature of them (transitory and not part of my true being) allow me to sit and be with the experience, even when that experience is unpleasant.

    Author Parker Palmer once said: “My heart is stretched every time I’m able to take in life’s little deaths without an anesthetic.”

    Personal growth occurs not when we are warm and cozy and everything seems to be going all right, but when we are able to be present with the painful moments of our lives.

    We can take refuge in the fact that, no matter our situation or circumstance, our infinite beings of light cannot be harmed. They can only grow in the comforting surroundings of the great and eternal love that never leaves, lessens, or places conditions upon us. Let the storm rail on as we watch its cloud formations swirl and feel its thundering presence, patiently waiting for it to pass like all the others that came before..

    Like Mary Oliver, I want to honor the smiles, the kind gestures, the sweet surprises, the expressions of nature outside my window. I want to equally honor the catastrophes, the grief-stricken tears, and the everyday struggles in our lives—whether that is the loss of a loved one or a broken refrigerator.

    It has taken me a while to get there, but I now know there is beauty in the latter too. By remaining attentive to what is happening right in front of me, without needing to change it, I open myself up to a peace that is timeless and enduring.

    The year 2021 presented me with the most difficult experiences of my life to date. Personal injury, family hospitalizations, the loss of grandparents, crippling stress, and unimaginable anxiety filled most days of the calendar.In the final weeks of that year, I lost my mother-in-law to COVID, and the very next day I was scheduled to appear at my sibling’s court sentencing.

    Nearly two and a half years later, I only need to exercise some mental time travel to recall the still vivid scenes from that brief period—the toughest part of an already difficult year—and the corresponding emotions that came from this double whammy heartbreak.

    An anguished cry, muffled under someone’s fist. The cold and blinding snow squalls that froze my feet and stiffened my body in place; finding myself somehow unable to turn around and return inside to wade in further waves of grief. Anger being expressed as misplaced love with nowhere to go. The chains and handcuffs clinking with each step taken in the courtroom. The wad of tissues, wet and crumpled, in my free hand.

    And this. A long overdue embrace between estranged brothers. The offering of one’s home as a place of respite after burial. The gesture of love that presented itself in homemade casseroles and desserts. The joining of warm hands on a cold courtroom bench. The final look at my brother through the window of the courtroom door, our eyes meeting one another. The beautiful and bittersweet reminder that my love for both of them was greater than I’d ever imagined.

    The beauty of the world, as Mary Oliver describes it, includes everything. There are no exceptions or exclusions. When we remain aware, we are witnessing life as it unfolds and changes from one heartbreaking moment to the next jubilant occasion.

    It all belongs. And, though it may seem counterintuitive, it all needs to be celebrated. This is life, and we can experience joy and divine love in each moment of attention. Though some moments may appear too difficult to bear, we must always remember that beneath each tragedy is an inner spaciousness that gently carries the weight of it all.

    I don’t want to miss a thing. The beauty or the heartbreak—both of which make me feel alive and actively participating in life’s unfolding. For that reason, I’m striving to be awake for as much of it as I can.

  • 3 Simple Words to Help You Feel Present, Grounded, and Nourished

    3 Simple Words to Help You Feel Present, Grounded, and Nourished

    “The little things? They’re not little.” ~Jon Kabat-Zinn

    Remember Halloween, 2018? No? We wouldn’t, either, except that it happens to be the day our mindfulness journey—and our lives—changed forever.

    First, some background. We (Deborah and Willow) met when our boys played on the same fifth-grade soccer team. We connected quickly through our shared love of books, writing, dogs, hiking, and strong coffee.

    Something else we had in common: We were both failed meditators. To be honest, we were a bit embarrassed that we couldn’t make a mindfulness practice stick.

    Thank Goodness We WEREN’T Paying Attention 

    Now, back to the story. In 2018, October 31st landed on a Wednesday (an important detail, as you’ll soon discover). That morning, we drove to San Francisco to see a new exhibit at an art gallery.

    Parking spot secured, coffee in hand, we were first in line as we waited for the museum doors to open.

    We waited. And waited. And then it dawned on us.

    Was the museum closed on Wednesdays? Yep.

    Had we paid attention to the schedule beforehand? Nope.

    As usual, we’d been too distracted and busy—and now our plans were ruined.

    Before heading home, we decided to walk around and explore downtown San Francisco. As we set off, we decided to try an experiment: We would slow down and tune in to, well, anything and everything.

    We’d notice what was happening around us. We’d notice what was happening inside us. And we’d notice what happened when we intentionally paid attention.

    Oh, the things we noticed! Little pink flowers poking out through a crack in the sidewalk. A tiny dog in a pale blue sequined jacket. A sweet older couple holding hands as they shuffled across the street together, which instantly warmed our hearts.

    Two hours later, we realized that intentional noticing was making us feel present and grounded. Nourished and aware. We were totally engaged with our lives—and we loved it.

    A Three-Word Invitation to Slow Down and Be Present

    We decided—on the spot—to each start a daily journal based on the prompt “Today I noticed.” We’d write a sentence and draw something (anything!) about an observation. Nothing would be too small or mundane to be worth noticing.

    A few weeks later, we shared what we’d been recording. As we paged through our journals, we found ourselves saying things like, “I noticed that!” and “I feel the same way!” As we laughed and talked, we realized how much of everyday life we’d been missing out on because we were too distracted to notice.

    Here are just a few precious moments we might have missed if it wasn’t for our “Today I Noticed” mindfulness practice:

    Today I noticed that just two stalks of freesias make the whole room smell divine.

    Today I noticed how easy it is to practice “lovingkindness” on my dog.

    Today I noticed how happy it makes me to hear my husband unloading the dishes.  

    Today I noticed I love coffee so much that I imagine my second cup while still drinking my first cup.

    Our day-to-day lives were becoming richer and brighter simply because we were paying more attention.

    2000+ Days of Mindfulness—and Still Counting 

    Now, five-and-a-half years later, we’re still observing, writing, and drawing about some of the funny, surprising, sweet, and ordinary moments that we all see but rarely take the time to notice. This daily practice leaves us feeling tuned in, present, and connected—just like any other mindfulness practice.

    Unlike meditation, for us, this approach to mindfulness has stuck. Noticing and recording has become a way of life—and we don’t plan on ever stopping.

    Here are five reasons why we’re convinced that “Today I noticed” is the secret to lasting mindfulness.

    1. It’s 100% natural.

    We’re all noticing things, all the time. The key is noticing yourself noticing. Paying attention doesn’t require a meditation pillow, a yoga mat, or a mantra. It just takes a simple prompt—”Today I noticed”—to shift your mindset.

    2. It makes us feel present.

    As Jon Kabat-Zinn so wisely stated in the quote above, the little moments aren’t little because they’re what make up our lives. When we move too fast or feel too overwhelmed to notice them, we miss out on an essential part of daily life. Intentional noticing is a way to instantly feel grounded in the here and now.

    3. It sparks gratitude.

    When we slow down and pay attention, even for an instant, we stop taking things for granted. Today I Noticed reminds us how easy it is to find things to appreciate if we just slow down and look for them.

    4. It boosts compassion.

    As we discovered during our very first session of showing each other our observations, the little moments are evidence of our shared humanity. Whether we’re seeing a new bud blossom into a beautiful flower, hearing a beloved dog snoring, or appreciating a smile from a stranger, such “ordinary” experiences feel downright extraordinary when we realize they’re part of a bigger collective experience.

    5. It’s a creative outlet.

    If you’d like to have a creative practice but can’t find the time, “Today I Noticed” mindfulness is for you. You can spend as much or as little time as you’d like writing and drawing about an observation. This bite-sized break is an easy way to tap into a delicious right-brain experience and feel both completely focused and completely relaxed. And wonderfully creative!

    Here are some tips and ideas to keep in mind.

    6 Tips to Start a Noticing Practice Today 

    1. Start paying attention to little things—thoughts, feelings, observations—as you go through your day. Nothing is too “small” to notice and appreciate.

    2. On a piece of paper, starting with the words “Today I noticed,” write about your observation with a sentence or two.

    3. Create a sketch or some kind of visual to accompany or illustrate what you wrote. Remember, everyone is an artist in their own unique way.

    4. Find a buddy to share your observations with. Start a “Today I Noticed” club and host monthly sharing sessions. Or hold a weekly noticing session with your team at work.

    5. Instead of asking your kids, “How was school today?” (“BORING.”), ask them what they’ve noticed. It’s a guaranteed conversation starter!

    6. As you notice more and more things (and you will, we promise), keep track of your observations in your phone or a notebook. Then, when you’re ready for a creative break, you can dive right in and start writing and drawing.

    Go Forth and Notice!

    Have we convinced you to try noticing your way to mindfulness? We hope so!

    When you simply let three words, “Today I noticed,” inspire you to pay attention to the little things that usually slip away unnoticed, you feel present, grounded, and nourished. Small things become more interesting and memorable when we simply take the time to notice them.

    We’ll end with what may be the most powerful discovery of all: The more you notice, the more you notice. And that, friends, is where the real mindfulness magic happens.

  • How I Cherished Every Beautiful Moment of My Daughter’s Short Life

    How I Cherished Every Beautiful Moment of My Daughter’s Short Life

    In the spring of 2012, I heard this word, “rest.” I realized how horrible I was at it. I wasn’t even sure what it was. Was it extra sleep? Was it not working on Sundays? Shortly after I heard this word, my life began changing. For one reason or another, one by one, the things with which I occupied myself were stripped away until I found myself with nothing left to hold.

    A year later I was in a panic, wondering how we were going to make ends meet. Everything in me said to do what I had always done: get on email, get on the phone, make the next thing happen. Anyone who knew me knew I was someone who could make anything happen. If I didn’t know how, I bought a book and learned. Anything I ever wanted, I found a way to get.

    Then I heard the word again, “rest.”

    “What?! Now? No. My family is depending on me. My reputation is at stake. I don’t have time for rest. I will rest when things are okay.”

    “No. That is not what rest is.”

    Rest is not something you do. Rest is something you put on. It is something you are while you do what you are doing. Rest is a posture.

    I decided to do the exact opposite thing my insides were telling me to do. I went to the backyard, sat on a chair, and watched. I did not know what I was watching for. I listened. I did not know what I was listening for. Every time a thought or an idea came to my head, I wrote it down and then resumed sitting.

    It was horrible, like ignoring an itch for hours. I knew that if it was this hard for me to physically sit still, it was important for me to learn. If my body could not sit still, then how could my mind or my heart? So I decided to discipline myself to sit that way at least one day a week.

    Eventually, I sat this way more often. Meanwhile, my professional life continued to fall apart and the temptation to do something about it grew. I heard so many voices, some from friends and family but most from my own head:

    “You’re lazy.”

    “You’re being irresponsible.”

    “What are you doing??!!”

    “It’s up to you to provide for your family.”

    “Get up and make something happen, now!”

    Simultaneously I heard another voice:

    “Rest.”

    “How long do I wait?”

    “Rest.”

    This was the summer of 2013. A year later, we received the call about our soon-to-be-born baby’s condition. I had thought that the urge to get up and do something was strong before, but now this was on an entirely new level. Again, I heard the voice say, “Rest,” so we didn’t research Trisomy 18. We didn’t look for different doctors who would say something we wanted to hear.

    I continued to sit and stare at the fence, quieting my body, and eventually, at times, quieting my mind and my heart as well. I cannot even describe the amount of fear that was present. But this time it was different. It was as if in the past, fear had walked in the door and I was afraid; now fear stood in the doorway and waited to be invited in.

    More and more, fear gathered at the door, but it did not come in. It only waited. I could see it there. It was terrifying. But I wasn’t able to invite it in. Rest was occupying the space instead.

    Some moments in the hospital on January 7th, 2015 I thought my wife might die. I expected to hold our lifeless baby that morning. I knew I would speak at Olivia’s funeral and not know what to say. It was like a nightmare. But I remember it. I was there. If she would have lived only an hour, I would have been there for that one hour. Because fear was at the door, but rest was inside.

    My posture was rest, quiet, and trust. It was not about making things happen. It was about watching, listening, and being there and nowhere else. I was not going to miss it, as horrible as it could have been.

    During the first few months of Olivia’s life, fear kept congregating at the door. We thought we saw her last breath so many times. We were so sleep-deprived. I passed out one day just walking across the room.

    At this point, I felt pretty incapable of getting up and making something happen. The doctors were clear that there was nothing we could do. Hospice was at our house every few days. I was not tempted to get up and do something about Olivia. Now I was tempted to get up and work. To make sure the bills got paid. To make sure my career did not disappear any more than it already had.

    But underneath was a stronger need: to run, to get the hell out of this situation. Work can be an easy place for a man to avoid the realities of his life. It was pretty obvious, though, that work was not to be my focus—that whatever time we had left with Olivia was to be cherished, every minute of it. Still, I felt the urge to run more than ever.

    “Rest.”

    I continued to hold the posture. To sit. To stare at the fence. To listen quietly. I was not going to miss it.

    I was there the whole time. All fourteen months of her life.

    I lost my posture at times. But I can say that the thirty-year-old Nathan (five years ago) would have occupied himself the entire time, trying to make things happen, running like crazy away from the pain.

    No. I had practiced for this all year. I knew how to allow the itch, the pain, to be there and not to move. I knew how to allow the voices in my head and the voices from others to be there without being influenced by them. I knew how to go deeper within my self, to the place where a still and quiet voice whispered the word “rest” over and over.

    I had practiced the posture; the time had come to use it. I was there the whole time. I did not miss my daughter’s life.

    In March of 2016, when I got the call that Olivia had stopped breathing, I was on a bike ride with our other three kids. Time stopped. Jude asked if Olivia was okay, and I was able to look at him and say, “Yes. Even if she does die, all of us are okay.”

    We rode our bikes so fast. Fear was now filling the doorway and had crowded around the house and the windows and as far as the eye could see. We rode our bikes. I didn’t feel much, but the tears streaming down my face told me, “Today is the day. It is finished.” We kept riding.

    I don’t remember getting off my bike. I’m guessing I had never run so fast. But I will never forget the feeling of walking through the back porch door and seeing Heather and Olivia there. The most sinking and unreal amount of pain I have ever felt mixed with an equal amount of peace, beauty, and a sense of victory.

    After a lot of crying, the only words I could say to Heather were, “We did it.” We won. Olivia won. Heather won. I won. Our family won. Our community won. Yes, Olivia died, but that was never the battle we were fighting. We had chosen to fight fear instead.

    I don’t think I have experienced the remainder of that day, or the next few days, or the funeral or the burial yet. I think I’m still back processing the day Olivia was born. It’s weird. I have never grieved like this before, but I think the body has a way of pacing how much pain it allows in at once.

    I’m realizing now that we will be experiencing the pain and the beauty of Olivia’s life and death for a long time. I don’t know if or when we will ever feel normal or even functional again. But I do remember one thing about the morning after Olivia died, vividly.

    I remember going for a run and the feeling of rest overwhelming me. Not happiness or excitement—I was very sad—but so much rest. And I remember noticing how little fear I sensed, like it was not even at the door anymore. It was as if the battle had ended, and fear had lost and just turned and went home. There was no temptation to run or to make anything happen. Olivia was dead, but I felt an amazing amount of rest. And trust. And quiet. And strength.

    Since that day, fear has returned to my door. I have struggled more than ever to rest. This battle is never-ending. But once you win one battle, every battle after is different. Now you know you can win. You know what it feels like to say, “We did it,” and you know you can do it again.

    I have a feeling the next year is going to be more difficult to rest than the previous two years were. That is a very overwhelming thought. But I have a wife and three living kids and one sleeping daughter who need a husband and a father who knows how to rest.

    That is what I will choose to do.

    Fear at the door, rest inside.

  • How to Find Peace When Your Mind Is Restless

    How to Find Peace When Your Mind Is Restless

    “Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.” ~Hermann Hesse

    When I work with people who are suffering from anxiety, fear, grief, or other challenging issues, I like to take them through a simple exercise I call “The Noticing Exercise.”

    It’s my first port of call when helping people break free from mind-created suffering.

    It’s amazing how quickly, and effortlessly, people can move from suffering to peace, simply through shifting their focus to being aware of the present moment—noticing the sensation of the body touching the chair, the ribs expanding on the in breath, or the sounds in the room.

    Even deeply troubled individuals can experience peace the very first time they try this simple meditation.

    How is this possible?

    It is because peace is already there inside all of us. It’s an integral part of who we are. When the mind’s activity subsides, even for a moment, peace is what remains.

    The ocean provides a good analogy.

    At the surface, the water is constantly in motion. It never stops, even for a moment. But when you drop down into the depths, there is stillness and peace.

    It’s exactly the same with the mind.

    On the surface level, the mind is always active but, in the depths of our being, there is a natural peace and stillness that is unchanging… always present, always available. Being part of our essential nature, it can never leave us.

    Although this inherent peace is always there, it goes unnoticed in most people through the deep-seated habit of giving our exclusive attention to the surface movements of the mind.

    We are so pre-occupied with what’s going on at the surface that we simply fail to notice what’s happening in the depths of our experience.

    And, of course, there is nothing ‘wrong’ with any of this.

    Spending our days lost in thinking is the human condition. It’s what we all do.

    Being swept away by the restless waters of the mind is perfectly normal, particularly when we are faced with intense patterns such as anxiety, trauma, or grief. And yet, the fact remains that, despite appearances, there is a peace inside every one of us that is untouched by what’s going on at the surface, however intense it may be.

    Withdraw your attention from the mind, even for a moment, and it’s there.

    You don’t have to create it; just recognize what has always been there.

    Peace doesn’t leave you. You leave peace.

    Stress, anxiety, and unhappiness exist primarily in the form of thoughts.

    If you are able to become fully present in the moment, thoughts subside, and stress and anxiety are replaced by peace and stillness.

    Of course, most people will pick up their painful stories again as soon as the meditation comes to an end, but the fact they were able to be free of their suffering, even temporarily, provides us with clues for finding a more permanent solution.

    With practice, anyone can learn to withdraw their attention from the mind for longer periods of time and thereby extend the periods of peace.

    Have You Been Barking Up the Wrong Tree?

    Most people are looking for peace where it can never be found—not lasting peace anyway.

    It’s a bit like losing your keys in the house and looking for them in the garden.

    You’re never going to find them… because they are not there.

    Most people I help have been searching for peace through the path of self-improvement, often for years.

    And it makes total sense.

    If my mind is causing me trouble, then the obvious solution is to try to fix it—to ‘work on myself’ and try to convert all my anxious and unhappy thoughts and feelings into pleasant, happy ones. Try to create a new, improved version of myself.

    But, if you’ve been down this path for any length of time, as I have, you’ll know that fundamentally changing the mind is not so easy.

    The problem with this approach is encapsulated in the following quote from the Indian spiritual teacher, Nisargadatta:

    “There is no such thing as peace of mind. Mind means disturbance; restlessness itself is mind.”

    Like the surface of the ocean, the mind is constantly in motion. It is restless by nature.

    And, although there may well be fleeting moments of peace here and there, they will inevitably be followed by moments of agitation and disturbance.

    Restlessness is the nature of the mind. Trying to make it calm and peaceful is like trying to iron the surface of the ocean. It’s simply never going to happen.

    Making Peace with The Mind Just as It Is

    To find a solution that actually works, we must first understand the true cause of suffering. It’s not what most folks think.

    People believe, as I did for years, that the anxious, stressful, or fearful thoughts themselves are the primary cause of suffering.

    They believe that:

    • the mind is broken and needs to be fixed.
    • anxiety, fear, confusion, etc. are inherently bad or wrong.
    • there’s something wrong with them for having these thoughts.
    • they can’t experience peace or happiness until they are gone.

    These beliefs are the main reason people suffer.

    As the Jesuit priest Anthony de Mello said:

    “There’s only one cause of unhappiness; the false beliefs you have in your head, beliefs so common, so widespread, that it never occurs to you to question them.”

    What if, instead of spending years trying to fix the content of the mind, we focused instead on making peace with the mind, just as it is?

    What if, rather than fighting and resisting fear, sadness, envy, or confusion, you were able to accept them as natural expressions of the human condition?

    What would happen to your anxiety if you didn’t see anything ‘wrong’ with it?

    Or your sadness if you didn’t mind it being there?

    They may still feel unpleasant but, in the absence of resistance, they’d lose their power to affect your peace.

    We can wrap our non-peace in the peace of acceptance.

    You Don’t Need to Have a Peaceful Mind to Experience Peace 

    On the path of self-improvement, the goal is to find peace of mind.

    But this approach is unlikely to succeed simply because the mind is restless by nature.

    Here’s the truth:

    You can’t stop bothersome thoughts from arising, but you can stop bothering about them.

    One of my teachers used to say, “You suffer because you are open for business.”

    You entertain your thoughts and invite them in for tea—engage with them, ruminate over them, wallow in them, play them over and over in your head—and create suffering for yourself as a result.

    You don’t need to have a peaceful mind to experience peace.

    You need to stop giving your thoughts so much attention and importance.

    If you are able to accept whatever appears in your head, whether pleasant or unpleasant, with an attitude of non-judgmental acceptance, you will always be at peace.

    Acceptance is like kryptonite to the mind. It loses its power to disturb your peace.

    The Two Types of Peace

    There are two types of peace.

    There is the feeling of peace, which is a temporary respite from feeling restless or agitated. Like all feelings, it comes and goes, like clouds passing across the sky.

    Then there is the peace that exists in the depths of your being; the backdrop of peace that is unchanging, ever-present, and has nothing to do with what is going on in your head.

    Even in the midst of the most turbulent storm at sea, in the depths, the ocean remains calm and unmoving.

    There is a peace inside every one of us that remains untouched by the movements on the surface, no matter how intense.

    And it’s not difficult to find. How could it be if it’s already who you are?

    You don’t need to fix or change anything about yourself to experience what is ever-present inside you.

    You just need to dive below the surface and discover what is always there.

    The peace you are looking for is with you always. But you’ll never find it on the level of the mind.

  • How to Free Yourself from Pain from the Past

    How to Free Yourself from Pain from the Past

    “There are two levels to your pain: the pain that you create now, and the pain from the past that still lives on in your mind and body.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    When I read this quote, it stopped me in my tracks. So much of our pain and suffering in the present is caused by us repeating cycles and dwelling on pain from the past. We want so badly to resolve our suffering. But our search for resolution often involves repeating the painful cycles we have already been through, in the hope that someone or something will change.

    How many of us have gone through a divorce and realized in the process that the whole relationship was a repeat of a painful relationship from our childhood? How many of us are realizing that we continue to attract the same kinds of people into our lives? People who take advantage of us, want to use us, or have some form of agenda that creates more pain and suffering.

    We live in our minds trying to think of all the ways we can protect ourselves and avoid more pain and suffering. The irony is that this inevitably creates more of what we are trying to avoid. This is because what we focus on, we create. The law of attraction is always at play.

    For years, I lived highly dependent on my mind. I thought that if I got all the psychology degrees, considered all possible future outcomes, and created a well-thought-out plan of action, I would be able to fix my pain and suffering and free myself for a life of meaning and purpose.

    It was devastating to realize after years of chasing a meaningful life that I could not create safety, joy, and purpose through the actions of my mind.

    Subconsciously, I stayed trapped in cycles of pain while trying to resolve my past by hoping the people around me would change. I kept my life small so I could stay in control. I never wanted to be around crowds of people. I never wanted to share and be vulnerable, and I never wanted to let anyone see my feelings. I stayed hidden away behind my mind, where I felt in control and safe.

    But I also felt miserable. Empty and purposeless. For a while, I was suicidal.

    Thankfully, I left those feelings behind years ago, but the emptiness of going through the motions of life without a true connection to what I was doing or why I was here remained, and it was maddening.

    I have found that more people feel this emptiness than anyone would ever think. Many of us keep it hidden in the silence of shame because we desperately want it to be fixed and go away. It’s embarrassing to admit that we feel broken and sad behind all the layers of achievement and pretty social media posts.

    We attempt to fill this emptiness with eating, drinking, scrolling, having sex, shopping, collecting things, and so on. So many of us are terrified at the thought of spending a whole day, much less a whole lifetime, being alone with ourselves. Being with ourselves with no distractions.

    The thoughts in our mind haunt us. We torture ourselves with memories from the past and worries for the future. We torture ourselves with thoughts of how disappointed we are in how our lives have turned out. We recreate pain from the past over and over again by dwelling on the twisted and tormented thoughts in our minds and feel that life is unfair.

    Many people will tell you the answer is praying, reading the bible, going to a therapist, reading self-help books, or doing something with your mind. None of these things are bad in and of themselves, but no amount of staying in your mind will fix or heal the pain of your past that you continue to repeat in the present.

    Unresolved emotions of the past are stored in our bodies, and they’re in the driver’s seat of our lives, causing chaos, disappointment, and frustration everywhere we go.

    I used to think I was really bad at making friends. I usually would wait until someone approached me before striking up a friendship. I isolated a lot because it just felt safer and easier. Over time, I got frustrated because I realized that I kept ending up in these friendships with people who never really saw me.

    My pain and fear of rejection was in the driver’s seat, so I protected myself by keeping the real me hidden away. If I caught anyone’s attention, I would play the role I thought I needed to play to be friends.

    The biggest problem here is that this attracted other people who also played roles instead of being their authentic selves. The role they played was “take care of me,” while I was playing the role of “I’ll take care of you.” This match worked well initially, but always left me in the same broken pattern of not being truly seen. That empty crater in my soul just kept getting bigger and bigger.

    The only way to stop the cycle of pain is to become fully present with yourself here and now. To connect to your body and the spirit within you that is ever present.

    When you drop into your body and feel your emotions, you are then free to just be. So many of us are terrified of the silence of being with ourselves because the pain of the past combined with our present actions to distract ourselves haunt us. The secrets we hold inside are killing us.

    You aren’t a bad person for the things you do to find some form of pain relief. Life isn’t about being a good or bad person. It is about being authentic, real, and connected, or disconnected and fragmented because of the cycles of pain on repeat.

    Are you tired of the constant disappointment? Are you tired of hating yourself and your life? Are you tired of feeling like you are always behind, not quite enough, and devastatingly empty inside? It is so painful, isn’t it? It is so painful to feel the destruction and pain of the disconnection to our true selves. It is painful to face the things we do to distract ourselves from the reality of our emptiness.

    Healing happens in the body. Pain is released from your body. Get out of your mind and into your body and you will be set free. You will experience peace and joy. You will stop the cycles of pain and be at peace with the present moment just as it is. 

    I know it feels impossibly hard. There is so much chaos swirling around in your body that it feels dangerous to actually feel your feelings. A great quote from my mentor, Colin Ross, helped set me free. “Feeling your feelings won’t kill you; it’s your attempt to not feel them that will.”

    It is uncomfortable, it is painful, it can be overwhelming at times, but feeling your feelings will set you free.

    Here is a place to start: Play some music that brings you comfort and close your eyes. Pretend you are getting in a glass elevator in your mind and ride it down into your body. Once the elevator has arrived in your body, identify the emotions you find. Write them down.

    Lower the elevator a little more and see if different emotions are in a different part of your body. Explore your whole body and write down everything you discover.

    For the days to come, spend some time with each of those emotions and ask them what they have to say. Give each emotion a name if it’s easier. Once you feel more comfortable with an emotion, you will feel safer to actually feel it. 

    For example, when I ride my elevator down into my chest, I can see anger. I named my anger Carrie. In my journaling time I ask Carrie, what do you have to say? She tells me all the reasons why she is angry and feels that life is unfair.

    She tells me about my former marriage and how much I was taken advantage of. She reminds me of all the times he silenced me when I tried to share my needs and shamed me when I tried to speak up for myself.

    She tells me about how enraged she feels that I never had a voice growing up. I was sexually abused and emotionally neglected, and if I expressed any emotion other than happiness, I was shamed and rejected by my family and culture. She is so angry for the “good girl” roles I had to play while never really being seen or valued.

    As I get to know her and hear all of these things she has to say, I feel compassion for her and also start to feel anger along with her myself. Each time I connect with her, I validate why she is angry. The intensity of her emotion gets smaller and smaller the more I connect with her and feel her.

    You can do this exercise with all emotions, and it can help you get to know yourself and not be so scared of what is contained inside. 

    When neither your past nor your emotions haunt you, you are free to love your life in the present moment just as it is. Flawed, imperfect, messy, and unpredictable.

    Now that I’m not scared of feeling my emotions, I am at peace. Sometimes I still need to grieve the truth of what has happened to me. I will never be okay with the abuse and neglect I experienced. However, I can feel those emotions when they come up, and they don’t overwhelm me. I feel them for that moment, and then I can move on to enjoy the life I have created now. A life that has people who really see me and care about me in it.

    Perhaps the biggest change for me is that I don’t feel I have to prove my worth to anyone. I am just me, and I feel at peace with that. This shift has allowed me to get out of my head and just be.

    We don’t need to dwell on the past or control how our life looks or what will happen next. We can just be here in the present, full of gratitude, hope, love, joy, and all the messiness from the past lives we have lived.

  • How You Can Have More with Less: The Magic and Joy of Being Present

    How You Can Have More with Less: The Magic and Joy of Being Present

    “Don’t let this silly world trick you into starving your soul for material things. Cause someday you’re gonna be sitting out under the sun and realize how little you actually need to be truly happy.” ~Brooke Hampton

    It was early morning. The birds were chirping, the street sweepers were methodically clearing debris off the sidewalk, and the coffee vendor was chattily filling his customers’ cups with fragrant java from the dispenser precariously balanced on the back of his bicycle. There I was, taking a pleasant and serene walk while on my recent visit to India.

    As I took a turn into a small sideroad, I noticed two little girls running around and playing. At first, I didn’t take much notice. But then something grabbed my attention.

    The gleeful duo was scampering around chasing each other, squealing with delight, clapping their hands, laughing hard, and just plain enjoying each other’s company. Again, nothing extraordinary. But something was drawing my attention to them, and then I saw it.

    They were pretty much absent of what we would define as typical material needs.

    No toys to play with. No playground to run around in. Old, worn-out clothing. Disheveled hair. Not even any footwear while running around the street.

    My first thought was, how could they be so happy? Do they not feel despondent or envious of other kids that have more? Do they not feel worried about their futures?

    But none of that really seemed to matter. They were living life in the moment, completely and joyfully absorbed into their natural sense of play.

    My next rationalization was “they are just kids,” ignorant to the social and economic structures and norms. Oblivious to how the world really works.

    But then, I figured, we see this same level of psychic energy and consciousness in adults too.

    A climber could spend hours on a rock face and be completely absorbed with the challenge, the interaction between her fingers and the next rock outcrop, the changing weather patterns, and the ultimate goal—the top of the cliff.

    A violinist in an orchestra becomes the violin, completely engrossed with the activity of playing his part, but also being in absolute synchrony with the broader group.

    A painter could spend hours honing her painting, unaware of her immediate surroundings.

    So does this experience only come to fruition when the skills required are more refined or complex? Not really.

    Take a factory assembly line, where two workers are next to each other doing the same repetitive task over and over again. One may be carrying out their task in a mechanical fashion, while the other may be immersed in their curiosity, with a sense of perseverance to continually improve their skills and quality of work.

    Imagine two individuals standing next to each other at an art museum staring at a Rodin statue. One may be passing through and merely throwing a glance at the marble figurine. The other may be swept into a different realm, admiring the intricate contours and appreciating the level of difficulty and complexity of the art in front of her.

    How does this happen? Why are the experiences for the exact same activity so different for two individuals?

    I truly believe this is due to what I call the power of play.

    And the beauty and simplicity of this is that it can work with anyone, in any activity, in any situation, or in any environment.

    There are a few criteria we need to keep in mind to make an activity an optimal experience. Ask yourself these questions before you start any activity.

    Can I actually do it?

    The activity has to be achievable. In other words, you have the needed skill to complete it, or the ability and resolve to learn the skill.

    Can I focus on it with my everything?

    The activity should require your full concentration, and that’s usually possible when we are applying effort toward a goal and getting immediate feedback as to whether it is working or not. If not, we can find our concentration starting to wane.

    Does it move me into a different mental axis?

    This concentration and effort take us away from our day-to-day reality, and any negative connotations that may be encumbered with it—away from the worry, stress, anxiety, or fear that we may experience in our daily lives.

    Will I “be present” in my being?

    Our level of self-awareness is acutely sharpened, taking in all the ebbs and flows of our thoughts, feelings, and energy levels. This allows us to feel in control of our consciousness, our emotions, our life flow.

    Can I alter time?

    And finally, it changes the perception of time. Sometimes, say when playing an exciting game of tennis, time can swiftly fly by. Sometimes, like when we are excitedly learning some new dance steps, time and motion can slow down, and we appreciate these micro-moments.

    When we leap off the diving board and plunge into this state of play, we experience a great sense of enjoyment—a feeling that the psychic energy we have consumed was worth it and has resulted in a great outcome, one that can be savored for a long time to come.

    And that is how we can have more with less.

    If we can make small, discrete changes to meet these criteria, it can make a transformational difference in whether we immerse ourselves into the experience or are “just in it for the ride.”

    We can make every day, every activity, every experience, fulfilling and nourishing to our soul by simply being more present with what we’re doing and bringing more enjoyment to what we do. Pause and think about how you can make any activity more enlightening, and you will see it lightening your life as the heaviness melts away.

    Just like the two little girls that were completely involved and enjoying the experience of play together, savoring life together.

    They didn’t need anything more.

    PS: The next day I bought those little kiddos some footwear, and the way their faces lit up was such a joy to see!

  • Anxiety Sucks, But It Taught Me These 7 Important Things

    Anxiety Sucks, But It Taught Me These 7 Important Things

    “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” ~Soren Kierkegaard

    Let’s be clear:

    This isn’t an article about positive thinking.

    This isn’t an article about how silver linings make everything okay.

    This isn’t an article about how your perspective on anxiety is all wrong.

    The kids call those things “toxic positivity.”

    No toxic positivity here.

    This is an article about my lifelong relationship with anxiety and what I’ve learned from something that won’t go away. At times the anxiety spikes and feels almost crippling. I have a hard time appreciating the learning at those times, but it’s still there.

    That is what this article is all about.

    Please do not confuse me learning things from something that won’t go away with me endorsing that thing or saying it’s a good thing. I would trade everything I’ve learned from anxiety for less anxiety. I don’t even like writing about it because focusing on it this much gives me anxiety. But I want to write things that help people.

    How a Bare Butt Sparked My Anxiety

    Stranger Things has shown how cool the eighties were. For the most part, this is true. I miss arcades and the music. I miss the freedom I had as a kid that I don’t see kids having these days. I miss some of the fashion. I don’t miss people not knowing anything about mental health.

    We used to play football every day after school at a baseball field/park in our little town. This was unsupervised tackle football with kids a lot older than me.

    I remember one time a guy broke his finger. It was pointing back at him at a ninety-degree angle. He took off sprinting toward his house. One of the older kids said, “He’s running home to mommy!” and we all went back to playing.

    Oddly enough, possibly breaking my finger didn’t worry me. What did worry me was one day when a kid was running for a touchdown, and another kid dove to stop him. He only caught the top of his pants, pulling them down and exposing his bare butt. He made the touchdown anyway, but while everyone else thought it was hilarious, it scared me to death.

    What if that happens to me?

    I started tying my pants up with a string every day, pulling it tight enough to make my stomach hurt (remember, this was the eighties—I was wearing those neon-colored pajama-pant-looking things). I started to feel sick before we played football, before school, and before everything.

    You would think it was obvious that I was dealing with anxiety, but you have to remember that in the eighties and nineties, we did not talk about mental health like we do now. We didn’t throw around terms like anxiety and depression. I was just the weird kid that threw up before he went to school.

    The anxiety has gotten a little more noticeable over the past few years. It seems to have gotten worse since having COVID in 2020 and 2021. I don’t know if that’s a thing, but it feels like it is. It has forced me to deal with it mindfully and with more intention. It’s never pleasant, but I’ve learned a few things.

    1. Anxiety has taught me to be present.

    The crushing presence of high anxiety forces me to be exactly where I am at that moment. I’m not able to read or write. I cannot play a video game or watch a movie with any kind of enjoyment. There’s nothing I can do.

    This roots me in the moment in a very intense, authentic way. That might seem bad since I’m anxious, but there’s another layer to it. When I can be completely present with the physiological sensations of anxiety, I recognize that they are energy in the body. When I’m super present, I can see how my mind is turning those sensations into the emotion we call anxiety, and that’s where my suffering comes from.

    2. Anxiety has taught me about control.

    I’ve been told that my hyper-independence and need to be prepared for anything is a trauma response. I was a therapist for ten years, and I still don’t know what to do with this information. I do know that anxiety gives me a crash course in what I can control and what I cannot control.

    The bad news is that I can’t control any of the things that I think are creating anxiety. The good news is that I can control my response to all those things. Anxiety forces me to do this in a very intentional way.

    Anxiety also puts my mind firmly on something bigger than myself. Maybe it’s that higher power we hear about in AA meetings and on award shows. It’s good for me to get outside my head and remember that I’m not in charge of anything. It’s helpful to only box within my weight class.

    3. Anxiety teaches me to have good habits and boundaries.

    I’m bad about allowing my habits and boundaries to slip when times are good. I start eating poorly, I stop exercising, I stay up too late, and I watch a bunch of shows and movies that beam darkness and distraction directly into my head.

    I also start to allow unhealthy and even toxic people to have a more prominent role in my life. This is all under the guise of helping them because people reach out to me a lot. Over the years, I’ve learned I have to limit how close I let the most toxic people get to me, no matter how much help they need.

    When I’m feeling good, I start thinking I can handle anything, and my boundaries slip. Anxiety is always a reminder that the unhealthiness in my life has consequences, and I clean house when it spikes.

    4. Anxiety reminds me how important growth is.

    Once I clean house, I start looking at new projects and things I can do to feel better. I start taking the next step in who I want to be. This has been difficult over the past three years because the waves of anxiety have been so intense, but I see the light at the end of the tunnel as the good habits I put in place and the new projects and things I started are beginning to come to fruition.

    I chose to let my counseling license go inactive and focus on life coaching because it’s less stressful, and I’m better at it. This would not have happened without anxiety. I have changed my diet and exercise in response to blood pressure and anxiety, and these are good habits to have whether I am anxious or not.

    5. Anxiety taught me to be gentle.

    I’ve written and spoken a lot about my desire to be gentler with people. I’m not unkind, and I have a lot of compassion for people, but this is often expressed gruffly or too directly. It’s how I was raised, and I often feel like I am patronizing people if I walk in verbal circles when I’m trying to help them with something.

    When I’m experiencing high anxiety I feel fragile, which helps me understand how other people might feel in the face of my bluntness. I started working on being gentler around 2018, and I was disappointed in my progress.

    It was also around that year that anxiety began to become a fixture in my life again. As I look back now, I can recognize that I am a lot gentler with everyone around me when I’m anxious. Being a little fragile helps me treat everybody else with a little more care.

    6. Anxiety taught me to slow down and ask for help.

    When I started experiencing increased anxiety, it led me to make quick decisions and change things to try to deal with it. This makes sense. Evolutionarily, anxiety is meant to prompt us to action.

    The problem was that these decisions rarely turned out to be my best ones and often led to other consequences I had to deal with down the line. Because of this, I’ve learned that an anxiety spike is not the time to make big decisions.

    If I have to make a decision about something, I slow down and try to be very intentional about it. I’ve also learned I need to talk it out with somebody else, something I’ve never been inclined to do. Asking for help is a good thing.

    7. Anxiety helps me speed up.

    Yeah, yeah, yeah, this is the opposite of what I just said.

    Let me clarify.

    One of the most important quotes I’ve ever read came from the folk singer Joan Baez: “Action is the antidote to anxiety.” (Years later, I learned she might have said despair instead of anxiety, but I heard it the first way).

    Some tasks bring anxiety that I do not want to deal with. These usually involve phone calls or emails to bureaucratic organizations or errands that I find unpleasant and anxiety-inducing (avoiding these also makes sense—our evolutionary legacy cannot understand why we would do something that may feel dangerous).

    Over the years, I’ve learned that anxiety diminishes if I take the steps I need to take to address these tasks. The cool thing is that this has translated over to many of my day-to-day tasks.

    By acting in the face of anxiety, I’ve gotten pretty good about doing things when they need to be done. I mow the lawn when it needs to be mowed, take out the trash when it needs to be taken out, put the laundry up when it needs to be put up, and get the oil changed in my truck when it needs to be changed.

    Once we start addressing tasks immediately, it becomes a habit. Anxiety helped me do this.

    Anxiety Still Sucks

    So there you go. Seven things anxiety has taught me. I’m grateful for these lessons, but they don’t make anxiety any less difficult in the moment.

    Anxiety is meant to suck. It’s meant to make things difficult and uncomfortable for us until we do something to address the problem. The problem, unfortunately, is often un-addressable these days.

    We worry about things like losing our job, not having enough money, divorce, and the general state of the world. Anxiety did not develop to address any of these things, so sometimes being comfortable with discomfort is the best we can offer ourselves.

    Maybe that’s the last thing anxiety is teaching me.

  • One Thing We Need to Survive Crisis, Loss, and Trauma

    One Thing We Need to Survive Crisis, Loss, and Trauma

    “What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.” ~Viktor Frankl

    A couple of years ago, I was sitting in my little mountain cottage, writing away on a new novel. It was a cold and dark February afternoon. So, first, I felt pleasantly surprised when I saw something bright lighting up behind me: I thought it was the sun coming out. But when I turned around, I noticed that my porch was on fire!

    Before I knew what was happening, I was standing out in the snow in my slippers, looking back at the entrance and facade completely engulfed by flames.

    It was like a near-death experience. My mind quickly took an inventory of all the things that were inside the cottage now burning down—pretty much all of my personal belongings. However, in that moment, I realized that nothing else mattered but the manuscript I’d been working on.

    Hours later, after the fire-brigade had left and I took one last look at the charcoaled ruins of what used to be my home, I finally got into the car with Marius, my border collie. (The car key survived by nothing short of a miracle.)

    I was on my way to my mother’s house, nearly 100 miles away, where I would, or so I thought, crash, cry, get drunk, whatever. Any sort of self-care—bathing in chocolate or drugs, massive allowance for self-pity— seemed justified under these circumstances.

    Luckily, it occurred to me that some meditation and self-hypnosis may be a good idea also. And as I tried, I immediately received some deeper intuition about what to do.

    A voice of inner wisdom (or Higher Self, if you want to call it, that has access to cosmic intelligence) gave me some rules to follow in order to remain in a high state of mind, despite the misfortune that had happened.

    These were the rules given to me:

    • Do not, under any circumstances, drink alcohol.
    • Eat a vegan, fresh fruits and vegetables-based diet. Cut all sugar. Your system is under shock and won’t be able to eliminate the toxins without further damage.
    • Go to the gym every day and work out for an hour, vigorously. That will flush out the stress hormones and make you stronger.
    • For now, forget about the house. Live as simply as you can and concentrate on the project that carries the highest energy and greatest hope for the future; i.e., writing your novel. Make it your highest priority, give it regular time and attention, and protect the space in which it is happening.

    For sure, these were words of tough love. Wouldn’t it be, in moments of a great crisis, loss, or trauma, only natural to seek comfort and distraction? However, I’ll remain forever grateful to have received this different kind of inspiration at the right time. Otherwise, it would have been too easy to fall into a dark pit of self-pity, victimhood, and destructive patterns.

    In Andersen’s fairy tale The Little Match Girl, the orphaned child is trying to make a livelihood by selling matches on the street. It’s winter and she’s suffering from the freezing cold, so eventually gives in to the temptation to light one of those matches to warm her hands.

    In the moment of ignition, she feels like being back in her late grandmother’s living room, cozy with a fireplace, roast dinner, and a luminous Christmas tree. Her short-term escape, however, has a price. She gets addicted to lighting the matches; eventually, she wastes all her merchandise and dies. So can we, if we give in to temporary temptations of relief, live up all our resources, and slowly waste away.

    There is, however, a high path out of a crisis. Etymologically, the word crisis goes back to the Ancient Greek κρίσις, which means decision. In moments of great danger, loss, or threat, we are forced to focus our attention and see what really matters

    To me, it was in the moment when I stood there out in the snow, watching my house burn, that I realized what was the most important thing. Even before that, I took writing seriously, but only in the crisis did I learn to prioritize my soul’s calling against all odds.

    The essential question of decision that arises from the crisis is:

    Do we let our lives be determined by the trauma of the past, or do we have a future vision strong enough to pull us forward?

    Once I was at a conference on consciousness where a very interesting idea was brought forward.

    Many of us have heard of entropy: the tendency of closed physical systems to move forward in time, toward increased levels of chaos. (For example, an ice cube being heated up to liquid water (increased entropy as molecules are freer to move) and then brought to a boil (as the molecules in the vapor move around even more randomly.)

    It is, however, less often discussed that—following from the mathematical equations—there also must be a counterforce to it.

    This counterforce is called syntropy. Being the symmetrical law, it moves backward in time toward increased levels of harmony.

    It has been suggested that if entropy governs physical (non-living) systems, syntropy must be true for consciousness (life), which hence, in some strange and mysterious way, must be (retro-) caused by the future.

    Although intriguing, first, this sounded very much like science-fiction to me…

    However, when I began to think about it deeper, I realized how much practical truth there was in this. Psychologically, the future indeed can have a tremendous harmonizing and organizing effect on our present lives.

    Think, for instance, of an athlete who spends several hours a day swimming up and down the pool. When you ask them why they do that, they say because they are training for the Olympics. The Olympics is in the future, but it causes the swimmer in the present to follow an organized and structured training regime instead of just fooling around all day long.

    The life-saving effect of having a worthwhile future goal has been documented ever since the early days of psychology.

    World famous psychotherapist Viktor Frankl observed his fellow sufferers while incarcerated in Nazi concentration camps. Later, he taught that those who had a purpose to keep on living (e.g., a study or manuscript to complete or a relationship to rekindle) were also the ones most likely to survive even under those horrendous circumstances.

    Having worked for years with battered women, I made similar observations. In hypnotherapy we have a set of techniques under the umbrella of future life progressions, which gives the subconscious mind a chance to explore alternative futures. In one exercise, the women were asked to just imagine that overnight a miracle happened, and they were now waking up in their best possible future.

    Shockingly, the individuals most resistant to change were the ones who could not imagine any future day different from their current reality. As it turned out, even more important than healing the trauma of their past, was to teach their brains to imagine a new future. 

    If we want to take the high path out of a crisis, we must learn that—to imagine our future in the best possible way. It begins by focusing not on the trauma, the pain, and the past, but on the single thing that feels most valuable and worthwhile to pursue in our lives. Once we have found that, our worthwhile goal will serve as a light tower for us to safely sail into the future, no matter how obscure our present circumstances are.

    And what is my most worthwhile goal, you may ask. Ultimately, as Viktor Frankl also said, that is not something we must ask, rather realize that in life it is we who are being asked: “In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible.”

    What will your best response be?

  • How Yoga Helped Heal My Anxiety and Quiet My Overactive Mind

    How Yoga Helped Heal My Anxiety and Quiet My Overactive Mind

    “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you really are” ~Carl Jung

    Yoga is often celebrated for its physical benefits: greater flexibility, increased strength, improved circulation, and so on. But nothing could have prepared me for the transformational effect that yoga has had on my mental health and well-being.

    I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression when I was fourteen, and I have struggled with both for most of my life. My mind was my worst enemy, constantly worrying and criticizing to the point where it became hard to do anything. Even the things I really wanted to do became too overwhelming.

    I knew about the positive impact of exercise and healthy living on mental health, and I had dabbled in yoga classes at the gym for years in an attempt to drag myself out of this hole I was in.

    I did notice some small changes in my mood and energy levels. I couldn’t explain it, but I would always feel a certain buzz after a great yoga class.

    So, in 2022, I decided to take this yoga thing seriously. I began practicing daily and even studied for a yoga teacher training qualification.

    Since then, I have noticed significant changes in not only my physical body and well-being but in my mental health too. Most notably, my anxiety levels have significantly decreased. Of course, I still have moments of anxiety, but I feel better equipped to cope with them and less likely to allow them to pull me into a downward spiral.

    Disclaimer: This is not medical health advice; it is simply my own experience. If you are struggling with your mental health, please seek a medical health professional.

    How Yoga Can Help with Anxiety

    Yoga helps you recognize your emotions and triggers.

    The first thing to know about yoga is that it is not a series of complicated poses used to make you look a certain way or increase your flexibility.

    Instead, it is an inner practice where we unite our body, mind, and spirit and become one with the universal life force energy that sustains all of life.

    Meditation and breathwork are just as important parts of yoga as the poses (known as asana).

    With this knowledge, yoga has the power to transform your mental state from a place of stress and anxiety to complete peace with yourself and the world around you.

    It allows you to notice how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking without judging yourself. It allows you to understand your body, how it works, and what messages it’s trying to communicate to you about your health and your needs.

    By learning to recognize when I felt anxious and why, yoga provided a safe space to release those triggers and emotions that I would ordinarily suppress.

    Yoga regulates your nervous system.

    When we experience high levels of anxiety, we are constantly living in fight-or-flight mode. The fight-or-flight response is designed to switch on in moments of danger and stress to protect you and then return to homeostasis once the threat has gone.

    However, in this day and age, many people are experiencing an overactive fight-or-flight response due to an increasingly stressful lifestyle. And many live in a constant state of hypervigilance as a result of trauma or abuse.

    Living in fight-or-flight mode takes up an enormous amount of energy, and our bodies cannot keep up with the demands long term. Over time, the body and mind begin to shut down and we get illness and disease as a result.

    This is what happened to me. My body could not cope with the pressure I was putting it under daily, so my mental health suffered.

    Practicing yoga allows you to calm your nervous system and creates a space where the mind and body feel safe to exit fight-or-flight mode and actually relax.

    One way to do this is through practicing breathwork, also known as pranayama.

    Yogic philosophy believes that the breath is how we can harness our energy and the energy of the universe. We can alter our emotions, energy levels, and even physiological responses, such as the fight-or-flight response, with just the breath.

    When I notice I am starting to feel anxious, I breathe deeply into my stomach for the count of four, hold it for four, and then slowly exhale for the count of four, also known as belly breathing.

    While this may sound trivial, it really helps me to feel calm in moments of stress and anxiety.

    Breathing slowly and deeply activates our parasympathetic nervous system. This sends signals to the brain that there is no danger here and the fight-or-flight response does not need to be activated.

    Yoga teaches you new coping mechanisms.

    Yoga taught me different techniques to cope with my anxiety and panic attacks.

    Firstly, yoga teaches that you are not your mind. You are not your thoughts, your beliefs, or even your body.

    When we study the five koshas (layers of the self) we can see our physical being is just a vehicle to navigate this world in; it is not who we are as a whole. For example, the koshas teach us that our essence cannot be entirely in our physical body because physical bodies are subject to change, yet who we are remains.

    This mindset applies to our thoughts too. Once I started acknowledging that my thoughts did not always come from me, they began to hold less weight. Most of our thoughts are just ‘re-runs’ of things we are told as a child or things we repeatedly hear from society that get internalized. They are not necessarily representative of who we truly are.

    This knowledge allowed me to distance myself from my anxious thoughts instead of letting them consume me.

    Secondly, through pranayama and meditation, both essential aspects of yoga, I learned to recognize how I was feeling and allow those feelings to exist within me, without trying to change them or distract myself from them.

    When we don’t allow our emotions space to be there, we are instead rejecting that aspect of ourselves. We push these feelings deeper and deeper down as a way to avoid dealing with them, without realizing we are actually ingraining them deeper into our psyche.

    By giving our emotions space to be felt, we can release them from our mind and body so we don’t have to carry them with us through our life.

    Yoga helps you be more present.

    To practice yoga, you need to be focused and in the present moment. To hold balance poses like tree pose or to get into the correct alignment of warrior 1, you need to be paying attention to what is happening around you right now.

    If your mind drifts while you’re holding a balance pose, you can bet your body will lose all balance too.

    Yoga forces you to be in the present moment, to be fully engaged in what you are doing, and doesn’t allow room to think about anything else.

    For me, this is exactly what I needed to get out of my anxiety-ridden head. One of my main struggles with anxiety was that I could not stop myself from thinking. The incessant noise of my own mind was exhausting to live with.

    However, when I am in a yoga flow, the noise stops. The mind chatter about future scenarios that will probably never happen is no longer there, as I am using all my focus to get into the proper alignment of the pose.

    The more you practice focusing, the easier it is to apply this in your daily life. I can now notice when my mind is overactive and instead re-direct it to the task at hand. By giving our full attention to the thing we are doing, we can quieten that anxious voice within and begin to enjoy the present moment.

    —

    Yoga has so many incredible benefits physically, mentally, and spiritually. Since sticking to a consistent yoga practice, I have noticed my anxiety decrease dramatically and I am able to live a full and happy life without my mind controlling me.

  • How I’m Accepting the Uncertain Future (with Less Worry and More Joy)

    How I’m Accepting the Uncertain Future (with Less Worry and More Joy)

    “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” ~Ferris Bueller

    For as long as I can remember, my life has consisted of change.

    I grew up moving around the world. I went from Canada to Pakistan, Egypt to Jamaica, Ghana to Ukraine, and then finally China to Australia.

    Moving to new countries and adapting to new cultures is like a cold plunge to your entire system and way of being. I felt I had no choice but to fit in as quickly as possible.

    By the age of six or seven years old, I pre-empted every move by being constantly prepared. I thought about every possible scenario and planned in detail how I would survive. This technique served me well as I bounced around the world, saying goodbye to my best friends and immersing myself in a whole new culture, time and time again.

    However, when I became an adult and had control over my life, I no longer needed to plan and prepare for my next move. I could live where I wanted. I could stay where I wanted. Yet my overthinking and planning continued.

    Even if I had no intention of moving to another country, my body prepared me for it anyway. It served me up a million scenarios; it prepared me for the heartbreaking goodbyes and the awkward hellos.

    I became addicted to thinking, and not the kind of thinking that earns you academic achievements. It was the kind of thinking that was built by years of worry. But the thing about worry is that it feels like productivity when in reality it’s a depleting sense of anxiety.

    It feels like I’m doing the right thing by planning ahead, and for many years I felt like this was a very good, honest way to spend my time. It seemed very normal to plan every little part of my life in infinite detail and would-be scenarios. I mean, doesn’t everyone do that?

    Apparently not. Apparently, some people deal with every situation as it comes. They don’t spend any time preemptively worrying about things before they happen or imagining all the possible scenarios that could unfold.

    Instead, these particular people go about their daily life, and once they encounter a challenge, they deal with it in the moment. They just handle the situation and then move on. I can’t even imagine how calm and pleasant it must feel to have a mind like that.

    Right now, we are in the middle of a crossroads, yet again. We are expats living in a country far away from any family and raising our young daughter on our own.

    We’re debating whether to move closer to my husband’s family or closer to mine. We’re trying to figure out what jobs we could get and how much they could pay and if we need to go back to school. We want to do what’s best for our daughter, but also for us. We want to stick to our values, but we know we can’t have it all. We’re aware we need to compromise and sacrifice something.

    My old self is rearing to plan, prepare, and organize my potential new life. It’s constantly on overdrive waiting to pounce and dive down a rabbit hole of overthinking. It hates living in uncertainty. But with this many potential scenarios, my head will explode if I sit down and think about every single one of them. Not to mention the life I will miss out on now by thinking about the life that awaits me.

    Right now, it’s summer in Australia. The days are long and warm and humid, just the way I like it. As much as I feel like I need to spend every single waking moment planning and worrying, I also want to enjoy my life now.

    The other day I went to the beach with my husband and one-year-old daughter. It was a sunny, hot day, and as we were getting ready to go, I began worrying if we’d ever find parking. “It’s okay. If there’s no parking, then we’ll just go home,” I told myself reassuringly.

    We drove to the beach, and miraculously we found parking extremely close to the water. I found a little, tiny spot under a rock with shade to ensure no one would get burned. My husband took my daughter, and off they went in the water.

    I stood back under the shade with my long-sleeved shirt and responsible hat, taking photos of them as I always do. A cheerful voice inside of me said, “Go swimming. Let’s enjoy the sun!” For the first time in a long time, I decided to go into the water.

    The water was a bit cold; I prefer when it’s very warm, but I paddled around anyway. I disregarded any fear of sharks, any fears of getting burned, and just enjoyed the water.

    My husband wanted to do a few laps, so I took my daughter and sat on the shore with her. Gentle waves crashed at our feet, and she looked up at me and smiled.

    I grabbed a fistful of wet sand, and my daughter stared in amazement as it formed into intricate blobs on my bare legs. I normally hate the feeling of sand on my body, but in that moment I didn’t even notice. She squealed in delight as I started to build little sandcastles on her legs.

    I remembered that I hadn’t put sunscreen on my back, and I’m very pedantic about sunscreen. I wondered if we should move to the little shady spot I found up on dry sand. But we were having so much fun there I didn’t want to leave. I could tell my daughter didn’t either. So we stayed.

    The waves came again and again, washing away the sandcastles we built. My husband came out of the water and joined us. I felt so much love and happiness in that moment. I wanted to run to my purse and get a photo of how happy we were. But instead, I sat there continuing to build sandcastles.

    When we finally got home, my back was burnt. Normally this would really concern me. I have known people who have died of skin cancer, and I do everything I possibly can to avoid a burn. But on this very day, I let myself be sunburnt. I let it be okay.

    I had so much fun at the beach that reflecting on it left me with tears in my eyes. I cannot remember the last time I was so fully present, alive, and engaged.

    So often the voice of anxiety is pulling me away from my life and trying to protect me by forcing me to think about all the things that could go wrong and how best to avoid them. For once, I didn’t let that voice win, and it wasn’t a battle. It was a natural feeling of allowing another voice, the one of calm, to take center stage.

    I know I can’t plan for everything. But I’m trying to take confident strides in the direction of what feels right, moment by moment. Believing that whatever comes, I can handle it. Life happens fast, and I don’t want to miss these many special moments building castles in the sand with my little family.

  • 30 Simple Mindfulness Practices to Help You Focus and Be Present

    30 Simple Mindfulness Practices to Help You Focus and Be Present

    “The present moment is filled with joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it.” ~Thích Nhất Hạnh, Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life

    Do you ever feel like you’re too busy for meditation?

    You understand the benefits, and you’d really like to commit to it. But you’re a busy person. You have deadlines to meet, food to prepare, bills to pay, kids to raise, family members to call—and even that’s barely scratching the surface.

    We’ve all been there. I certainly have.

    Before I found mindfulness, I struggled with concentration for years. When I moved away from home to make a living as a freelance writer and travel the world, it only got worse.

    Suddenly I was the other side of the globe, with no family and often no friends.

    I should have been looking forward to the next exciting meal, going out and meeting interesting new people, or just appreciating the sights and sounds of an unfamiliar city. Instead, without the structure that I was accustomed to at home, I was stuck in a perpetual state of work-related anxiety.

    As the stress continued to build, I got the uncomfortable feeling that I was squandering the opportunity of a lifetime. I was never fully committed to either work or play, and as I result I wasn’t able to appreciate either.

    I knew I had to do something.

    So I tried to throw myself into meditation. But I could never keep it up. I’d do two or three days in a row, then I’d skip one, then two, then a week, and suddenly I’d give up.

    Then I read about mindfulness. I found that I didn’t need to take a big chunk out of my time out to practice it.

    I could be mindful at any time and just fit it into my normal day-to-day activities. A moment here, a moment there, and surprisingly quickly it became a habit. I was calmer, more focused, and my mental health was improving.

    And what happened next was a shock.

    One morning a few months later I sat down to meditate. I set my alarm for twenty minutes, focused on my breath, and followed through till my alarm buzzed. But it was different. It was a lot easier than I remembered.

    It felt normal—natural even. So I did the same the next day, and the next, till I’d gone a month meditating every single day. Small daily mindfulness practices had ended up being a perfect stepping stone to longer meditation sessions.

    A few months later a friend of mine was struggling with his work, much in the same way I had. I wanted to see how I could help, so I wrote him an email listing each and every way that I had tried to bring mindfulness into my life. The ideas below are an extension of our conversation.

    I hope they make as big a difference to your life as they have done mine.

    How to Use These Practices to Cultivate Laser-Sharp Focus

    Think of each situation as a trigger to bring you back to the present moment. You definitely don’t have to start with all of them; in fact, I’d start by choosing three or four to practice. Then try adding one a week until you can incorporate all of them into your life.

    1. Waking up.

    As soon as you wake up, before you get out of bed, take three deep breaths. This will have the double benefit of quietening your mind and giving your brain an oxygen boost to get you out of bed.

    2. Getting out of bed.

    Not all of us have time for yoga. But we all have time to stretch. When you first stand, take a deep breath in and stretch your hands as high as you can toward the ceiling, fingers pointing straight up. Then as you breathe out, relax, lean forward, and try to touch your toes. Make sure to focus on your breathing and the sensations of the stretch.

    3. Making your bed.

    Making your bed first thing in the morning is a great opportunity to practice mindfulness. Try to be completely engaged in the activity, putting all your attention into the folding of the sheets.

    4. Showering.

    As you take a shower, spend a minute or two just feeling the water on your skin; notice the temperature, the pressure, and the sounds as it falls.

    5. Getting dressed.

    Most of us rush to get our clothes on, but when you get dressed in the morning, take a second to pay attention to the way they feel on your skin, the texture of the material, and the warmth that they provide.

    6. Boiling the kettle.

    Instead of running around the house and trying to do everything before the kettle boils, sit quietly and listen intently to the water bubble or the kettle whistle.

    7. Drinking tea or coffee.

    When you drink tea of coffee, sip slowly and be mindful of the taste, temperature, and subtle effect it has on your body.

    8. Brushing your teeth.

    We all (hopefully) do this. So it’s a great place to start focusing on the present moment.

    9. Listen to music.

    Listening to some relaxing music before you leave the house in the morning is a great way to center yourself. Completely immerse yourself in the song. Be aware of the volume, cadence, tempo, the uniqueness of the sounds.

    10. Writing a to-do list by hand.

    Whether you do this first thing in the morning or last thing at night, creating a to-do list can quell anxieties and bring your attention to exactly what you have to do throughout the day. Using an old-fashioned pen and paper will help you be more mindful then will typing it in your phone or computer.

    11. Running.

    Leave your music at home and just pay attention to the sounds of whatever is around you as you run. You might want to focus on the rhythm of your feet as they hit the ground.

    12. Touching your hair.

    Next time you catch yourself running your hands through your hair, pay attention how it feels in your hands. Is it soft, spikey, curly, wavy?

    13. Stopping at a red light.

    A lot of us get angry, nervous or tense when we drive. Every time you stop at a red light, take a deep breath and try to relax any tension you might be holding in your jaw, neck or shoulders.

    14. When waiting.

    Whenever you find yourself waiting, whether it be for a meeting, at a bus stop, or an appointment, try to relax all the muscles in your face—your jaw, your brows, your eyelids.

    15. Walking.

    As you’re walking down the street, pay attention to how your legs and feet feel against the ground. Check your breathing. It’s common to breathe shallow when you’re in public, so make sure you’re still breathing through your diaphragm.

    16. Hugging or handshakes.

    No one likes a cold hug. Make sure the first person you hug or shake hands with today feels like you gave it your complete attention instead of feeling like your mind was somewhere else.

    17. Exercising.

    At the gym, be completely focused on whatever exercise you are doing. You can let your mind wander when you’re taking a break, but throughout the exercise itself, be focused entirely on the practice.

    18. Eating lunch.

    At lunchtime, take a bite out of your food and chew it slowly. Be mindful of the texture; is it crunchy or soft? Taste; is it spicy, bitter, sweet, or sour? Temperature; is it hot, cold, or just lukewarm?

    19. Talking to someone.

    Try to be completely present in conversation, making eye contact and listening to what they say without thinking about what you want to add next or where you’re going to be later.

    20. At your desk.

    If you work at a desk and catch yourself slouching, take a deep breath, sit up straight, and relax the muscles in your face, your neck, and finally your shoulders.

    21. Set a phone alarm.

    A lot of people see technology as a hindrance to mindfulness, and that’s true to an extent. But we can use things like phone alarms to remind us to spend a few seconds bringing our awareness back to our breath throughout the day.

    22. Follow an insect.

    Yep. You may feel like a child, but that’s a good thing—children live in the present. If you see an insect, forget everything else around you and watch how it moves for a few seconds. Be aware that it’s a living being just like you.

    23. Getting home at night.

    When you walk through the door to your house or apartment, pause and think about how grateful you are to be home. Whether it’s cold outside, and you’ve just walked into warmth, or you’re returning home to someone you love – there’s always something to appreciate.

    24. Taking off your shoes.

    We all like to take our shoes off after a long day. Pay attention to how your feet feel on the ground, try to move your toes around and feel each one individually.

    25. Cooking.

    Cooking offers a variety of ways to be mindful. You can hone your attention in on your own movements, the sounds in the kitchen, the taste of the food you are preparing, or the aromas of the different spices as they cook.

    26. Watching T.V.

    A lot of us work anxiously all day, and when we get some leisure time end up too distracted to truly enjoy it. If you’re watching T.V try to be fully present to what you’re watching, as opposed to half-heartedly talking to a loved one or browsing through your phone.

    27. Vacuuming.

    Counter-intuitive, I know—this isn’t for everyone. But focusing on the noise of the vacuum can be effective because it often drowns out any other sensory distractions.

    28. At dinner.

    Think about the ingredients that have gone into your meal—where have they come from? If it’s fish, for example, imagine the fisherman catching it at sea, bringing it to the docks, and selling it to local farmers markets.

    29. At least five minutes of Do Nothing Time (DNT).

    No checking your phone. No reading a newspaper. Don’t even try to meditate. Just sit there, and if any feelings come up—discomfort, restlessness, or even guilt that you’re not doing anything—just embrace them. Most of the time we’re so wrapped up in doing something ‘productive’ that it’s difficult to just sit still and do nothing.

    30. Lying in bed.

    Before you go to sleep, take a moment to think of one thing you were grateful for that day, no matter how big or small, or how difficult the day was. This will condition your mind for positivity, and help you sleep better.

    As you start to see the benefits of these daily practices, you’ll feel more focused, energized, and you can move on to longer focused meditation sessions. Start taking a few moments out of your day to practice mindfulness now, and you’ll enjoy the rewards for years to come.

    Do you have any experience with some of these practices? Let us know in the comments!

  • How to Show Up When Nothing About Your Life Is Perfect

    How to Show Up When Nothing About Your Life Is Perfect

    “I saw that you were perfect, and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect, and I loved you even more.” ~Angelita Lim

    I’m not a perfect parent. I’m not a perfect partner. I’m not in perfect health. I’m not a perfect friend. And I’m far from perfect with my finances.

    Hell, nothing about my life is perfect. And guess what? I’ll never be able to attain perfection in those areas. And I’m sorry to say it, but neither will you.

    Don’t be fooled by calling yourself a perfectionist. Perfection as a destination is what causes procrastination. And for most of us, it’s nothing more than an excuse to avoid putting in the work, because why try if we don’t have the skills to be perfect?

    Unfortunately, this belief that we can attain perfection is bullshit. It’s an idea adopted from the school system. Grades were meaningless because they had nothing to do with effort. They were a simple way of ticking boxes for the masses.

    Conversely, a meaningful life comes down to your effort when no one is watching.

    What did you do today? Did you show up? Did you make an effort to be a better parent, a better partner, be in better health, a better friend, and better your finances?

    No effort = No progress = No reward.

    We can’t put off living our lives hoping that someday these areas will magically be perfect.

    Yesterday is dead and gone. Tomorrow is nothing more than a dream. So focus on today.

    You’re living right now. This is your chance to be better.

    Want to be a better parent? Want to be a better partner? Want better health? Want to be a better friend? Want better finances?

    Start by putting your phone down and giving each area your undivided presence.

    Be with your kids. Be with your partner. Be with your health. Be with your friends. Be conscious with your money.

    Perfection is horribly discouraging because who the hell has time for their ideal two-hour morning routine? I sure as hell don’t. With a kid who isn’t in daycare, running a business, and paying bills, many days feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants.

    And that’s also why many of us fail to progress on what’s meaningful. If you get stuck in an all-or-nothing mentality, it almost always means you’re doing nothing.

    But suppose you did something radical and showed yourself empathy in these moments. In that case, you’ll change the entire trajectory of your life by simply showing up.

    Don’t have time to go to the gym? Don’t have time to do an at-home workout? Don’t have time to go for a walk? Don’t have time to do ten squats and a few pushups?

    Pick your kid up, throw on some Taylor Swift, and throw a dance party, you crazy fool.

    Change the scope of what you deem a win for the day.

    When you accept that perfection is impossible, you can get down to the actual work of making improvements because you’ve given yourself a way to show up every damn day.

    Every action you take (or don’t take) is a vote toward the person you’re becoming. Don’t discount the truth that small actions create colossal change.

    Think of a single vote: In a democracy, a single vote can be the deciding factor in an election, which can have significant consequences for the direction of a country.

    Think of a small spark: A small spark can ignite a large fire, which can have severe consequences for people and the environment.

    Think of a tiny seed: A tiny seed can grow into a large plant, providing food, oxygen, and habitat for various living things.

    Think of a simple idea: A simple idea can lead to development of a new technology or product that changes how people live and work.

    Think of a single word: One word or phrase can spark a movement, change public opinion, or inspire others to take action.

    Dedicate today to taking one small action on something that matters to you, even if it’s just five minutes and feels insignificant.

    This small, simple, single step you’ve been putting off could be the catalyst for the explosion that propels you forward and transforms your life (and the world) for the better.

    You got this.

    You deserve a better life.

  • How I Stopped Worrying About Running Out of Time to Achieve My Goals

    How I Stopped Worrying About Running Out of Time to Achieve My Goals

    “The only thing that is ultimately real about your journey is the step that you are taking at this moment. That’s all there ever is.” ~Alan Watts

    One thing that is promised to each one of us in life is death. No one will avoid dying or feeling the pain of losing others. From a young age I remember being aware of this fact, and it scared me.

    As I got older, I began to feel a sense of pressure that I was running out of time and loss was imminent. The thought of losing my loved ones and the uncertainty of what may happen worried me. I wanted to avoid the feelings of loss and limitation, so I unconsciously began to move faster.

    There was a deep fear that if things didn’t happen fast, they would not happen at all and that I wouldn’t have enough time.

    Faster became better, and I started the hamster race of working hard to achieve my dreams. Whether that was finishing school, starting a career, being in a healthy relationship, starting a family, being fit… even my spiritual journey became a race to happiness that only existed in the future!

    I realized later in life that this mindset was born out of fear—the fear of loss, the fear of the unknown—and protection from these fears was a quick accomplishment. It created an immense amount of stress and suffering because all goals and dreams take time to build.

    I believed sooner was better, and if it wasn’t fast then it wasn’t happening at all. I began to find reasons for why it wasn’t happening—that I was not good enough, life was unfair and hard, and it was not possible for me. Each time I repeated these limiting beliefs, I took one step away from my dreams and developed more anxiety.

    This led to a cycle of starting, quitting, and then searching for something different. I would garner the courage to start something new only to fall flat on my face when it didn’t happen. The cycle of shame would repeat, impacting my mental health and my ability to move forward.

    I wanted to see proof that I was achieving my goals and searched for tangible evidence to feel good while simultaneously ignoring all the wonderful things that were right before my eyes. Like living near the ocean, spending time with my loved ones, talking walks along the coast, having meaningful conversations with friends, and enjoying moments of quiet with my favorite cup of coffee. These mean so much to me now.

    I wanted the degree, the paycheck, the happy photo of me surrounded by friends, rather than the silence of uncertainty and the impatience I felt in the present. My fear of time took away the only real time that existed, the now.

    When I slowed down and paused, I realized that I had experienced so much growth and expansion in all the years I’d thought I was wasting time. Every roadblock had challenged me to change. In fact, my anxiety, fear, and disappointment around my slow progress led me inward to heal my relationship with time.

    Though many of my dreams did come true, I was only able to recognize them when I slowed down and let go of the “when.”

    I was able to achieve this by practicing meditation, breathwork, and awareness. With time and consistency, the present moment became filled with color, and its beauty swept me away from the ticking time bomb of the future. I began to enjoy each step of my journey, whether it was the beginning or end.

    With the gift of hindsight, I can see that it is not about the “when” but about the “what.” What I’m doing right now in the present. The number of negative and limiting beliefs I placed upon myself and the shame I felt were due to an emphasis on always “thinking forward,” and a lack of being with myself in the present.

    The truth is when we let go of our misconceptions of time and follow our dreams patiently, we see that time is not against us; the process is a necessary part of our journey.

    The time it takes to reach our goals is not empty; it is filled with learning and unlearning so that we find ourselves. In the end it is not the achievement that leads to freedom, but the wisdom that comes from living life.

    If we make the present moment our friend rather than our foe, we can experience and appreciate our present journey rather than focusing on our arrival.

  • You Have Just Five Minutes Left to Live – What Are Your Deathbed Regrets?

    You Have Just Five Minutes Left to Live – What Are Your Deathbed Regrets?

    “Yesterday was heavy—put it down.” ~Unknown

    Death is still taboo in many parts of the world, yet I must confess that I’ve become fascinated with the art of dying well.

    I was thinking about the word “morbid” the other day, as I heard someone use it when berating her friend for his interest in better preparing for death. The word’s definition refers to “an unhealthy fixation on death and dying,” but who gets to define what’s healthy? And why are so many of us keen to avoid discussing the inevitable?

    We talk about death from time to time on our podcast, and it’s through this work that I’ve been contemplating the topic of regret.

    We all have a story, and they’re rarely fairy tales. As we doggedly plow through life’s box of chocolates, it’s not uncommon for us to say (or not say) and do (or not do) things that we later regret. However, if we motor on, never assessing or addressing the regretful moments from our past, could we hold onto remorse for years?

    In such cases, are we unconsciously retaining dis-ease in our bodies and minds? It’s a hefty weight, after all. Some of us spend our whole lives carrying shame and regret. Cumbersome, compounded emotions clouding our hearts and minds, we take these dark passengers to the end.

    So, there you are—about to die—still living in the past or an unattainable future. Even then, you’re incapable of forgiveness. Even then, you cannot let go or express your true feelings.

    Is this the ending you want for yourself? To spend the last moments of your life incapacitated, surrounded by loved ones (if you’re lucky), yet unable to be present, all thanks to the train of regrets chug-chugging through your failing, fearful mind? Now there’s a positively joy-filled thought.

    And what of my regrets and motivation to write these words? Well, now, there’s a question.

    Like you, my life to date was not without incident. I’ve lived with childhood abuse, high-functioning addiction, self-harm, depression, and emotional immaturity. There’s nothing particularly unique about my story of suffering; I’m just another Samsaric citizen doing the rounds.

    As is traditional, I bore the shame and regret of my actions for a long time, and the weight of my co-created drama nearly drove me to suicide. My rampage lasted almost two decades, and I made quite a mess during that time. However, after a fair whack of internal work, I’m grateful to report that I no longer feel like that. 

    In recent years, I discovered a new way to live—a life of sobriety, self-love, forgiveness, acceptance, awareness, gratitude, and presence.

    Through this beautiful transformation, I saw that to live a life within a life had already been a gift, but two was an outright miracle. One might say that I died before I died. This experience drove me to review, reinvent, and begin learning the art of living and dying well. And I’ll continue learning until my last day here at Earth School.

    So I now find myself in an incredible position. If you told me I only had five minutes left to live, I’d wave my goodbyes and then spend my last few minutes contemplating how unequivocally grateful I am for the lessons and gifts I’ve received during my stay.

    But this isn’t about me—far from it. You see, presently, I’m on a mission to understand how others feel about shame and regret. Do you long to let go of grudges? Do you wish you’d said “I love you more,” or that you spent less time at work and more with family and friends? Or are you deferring such inconsequential concerns until you’ve achieved this goal or that milestone?

    But what if you suddenly ran out of time?

    In her book On Death and Dying (what the dying have to teach doctors, nurses, clergy, and their own family), Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, MD, occasionally touches on the regrets of the dying. Some of the remorse described includes failures, lost opportunities, and sadness at being unable to provide more for those left behind.

    The book features excerpts from many interviews with folks with terminal illnesses and, to this day, remains an excellent guide for people working with those near death.

    A few ideas circulate about the many regrets of the dying. We might suppose that in the final transitional phase, folks often lament the lives they didn’t live, which culminates in a significant degree of regret. But there’s been very little research done to prove this idea.

    In The Top Five Regrets of the Dying, Bronnie Ware interweaves her memoirs with five deathbed regrets gleaned during her stint working as a palliative care worker. It would appear that there’s no science to support the anecdotal regrets listed in her book, but they’re interesting, not least because they feel entirely likely.

    Digging into the subject further, on top of Ware’s list, I found more information discussing the top deathbed regrets. My entirely unscientific internet search coughed up some common themes as follows:

    1. I wish I had taken better care of my body.
    2. I wish I’d dared to live more truthfully.
    3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
    4. I should’ve said “I love you” more.
    5. I wish I’d let go of grudges.
    6. I wish I’d left work at work and made more time for family.
    7. I wish I had stayed in touch with friends.
    8. I wish I’d been the better person in conflicts.
    9. I wish I’d realized that happiness was a choice much sooner.
    10. I wish I’d pursued my dreams.

    Heartbreaking if true, right? 

    So while I found little to no research on deathbed regrets, I did find a 2005 American paper titled What We Regret Most… and Why by Neal J. Roese and Amy Summerville.

    The report collates and analyzes several studies surrounding the regret phenomenon. Nine of these papers were published between 1989 and 2003 and contain some highly insightful metadata on life regrets. That said, one wonders how attitudes have changed in all that time.

    The research required participants to review their lives and consider what three (from a list of eight) aspects they would change if they could reset the clock and start again. Other studies asked what parts of life they would alter, and another inquired about people’s most significant life regrets.

    Interestingly, the studies showed a correlation between advancing age, diminishing opportunity, and gradual regret reduction. As older individuals’ life opportunities faded, so did their most painful regrets. Perhaps this meant they simply gave up, feeling there’s no point in regretting something one no longer has the power to change.

    While not specific, there were clear categories for Americans’ biggest regrets as follows:

    • Education 32%
    • Career 22%
    • Romance 15%
    • Parenting 10%
    • Self 5.47%
    • Leisure 2.55%
    • Finance 2.52%
    • Family 2.25%
    • Health 1.47%
    • Friends 1.44%
    • Spirituality 1.33%
    • Community 0.95%

    The paper summarizes, “Based on these previous demonstrations, we suggest that the domains in life that contain people’s biggest regrets are marked by the greatest opportunity for corrective action.” Indeed, this makes perfect sense. Perhaps it is not surprising that people regret career and education decisions in adulthood (with time left to change their course).

    I suspect, however, that such thoughts change entirely the moment one comes face-to-face with their mortality. At this point, one surely cares less about education and a successful career—about the stuff one has or has not accrued.

    I imagine that when one reaches the inevitable moments before death, we consider the true beauty of life, love, experience, family, friends, and living in peace, free from hatred, envy, or resentment toward one another. But then, I’m a bit of a hippie like that, and perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. 

    So how about we create a study of our own? I invite you to grab a pen and paper (or keyboard) and spend a few minutes imagining that you’ve got five minutes left to live—not in the future, but right now at this point in your life. You have five minutes left.

    Consider your deathbed regrets. Close your eyes if it helps (you’re dying, after all). Take a little time to breathe into these reflections consciously. When finished, perhaps you might share some or all of your list in the comments section of this post. Regardless, maybe this offers a chance to address one’s would-be deathbed regrets by considering them now, with a little breathing room.

    Perhaps it’s a timely invitation to stop and take stock. By contemplating life and death in such a way, we are learning that the secret to the art of dying well is right under our noses in how we live our lives.

  • 5 Life Lessons from a Brain Tumor That Could Have Killed Me

    5 Life Lessons from a Brain Tumor That Could Have Killed Me

    “Life is a balance between what we can control and what we cannot. I am learning to live between effort and surrender.” ~Danielle Orner

    I was slumped against a wall at Oxford Circus Station early one Sunday evening when an irritated male voice suddenly barked, “MOVE!”

    Moments beforehand, I had lost my vision.

    Without conscious thought, I muttered, “RUDE!” and staggered off without clearly seeing where I was going.

    It was only months later, on retracing my steps at Oxford Circus, that I realized I’d been blocking his view of some street art.

    I’d allowed a guy to bully me out of the way while in a vulnerable state so that he could take a picture for social media.

    Lesson 1: Not all disabilities are visible.

    We can never fully know what someone else is experiencing. Mental health, chronic pain, and disabilities are not always apparent. So, when we come from a place of not knowing and are patient with others by default, we open up a window of possibility that exists outside of our judgment.

    Minutes prior, I’d stepped off an underground train and onto an upward escalator. A pain hit my right temple like a bullet. It took my breath away, everything went black, and I felt I might faint.

    Desperately, I clung to the railing. And as the top of the escalator approached, my right foot went floppy, and my vision disappeared. I could see light and color, but the world was blurry, lacking definition.

    I used what little vision I had to follow the distinctive white curve of Regent Street down to a spot where I’d arranged to meet a friend

    Panic finally set in when I realized that my friend was walking toward me, and I could recognize his voice but I could not see his face at all.

    We sat down in a restaurant, and a concerned waitress brought a sugary drink.

    My mind went into overdrive: “Had I cycled too much? Was my blood sugar low? Had I eaten/drank enough? Given myself a stroke? Was I just stressed?”

    Twenty minutes later, my vision slowly returned.

    Relieved but freaked out, I asked my friend if he thought I should go to A&E (ER). He said, “Only if you think you need to.” I felt silly. Scared to take up space. Afraid of being a drama queen. I didn’t trust myself or my experience.

    LESSON 2: Don’t seek external validation.

    The opinions of others are helpful, but only you see and experience life from your own unique perspective. Learning to trust and validate our own experience first and foremost is how we step in our power.

    Later I went back home but couldn’t shake it off.

    The next morning, I visited my doctor, who sent me straight to A&E (ER). The hospital admitted me overnight, concerned it was a mini stroke or aneurysm. But the following morning they discharged me, citing dehydration as the cause.

    One week later, I was back in A&E. More dizziness, more foot numbness, more blurred vision. A doctor described it as “classic Migraine Aura.”

    My gut leapt; that didn’t feel right. “I don’t get headaches,” I protested. “I rarely take painkillers. Why so many all of a sudden?”

    They seemed confident it wasn’t serious, but booked an MRI scan, just to be certain.

    Twenty-five minutes of buzzing, clanking, and humming later, I glided out of an MRI scanner.

    I thanked the technician. “All good?” I asked.

    “It’s very clear,” she replied.

    LESSON 3: Listen to your gut.

    If your gut says that something is off, listen to it. A gut feeling is typically a lurch from your stomach rather than chatter from the mind.

    My gut knew it wasn’t migraines; it told me so, and if I hadn’t strongly advocated for myself, then I may not have got that MRI scan.

    A week later, I was back with my local doctor, experiencing vertigo and earache.

    Did I have an ear infection? Was that the issue all along, some sort of horrible virus affecting my sight and balance?

    The GP opened my records up on his computer and his face immediately dropped.

    “Do you mind if I take a moment to read this?”

    “Of course,” I said.

    He composed himself but his face was ashen.

    “Has anyone spoken to you about your MRI result?” he ventured at last.

    I found myself detaching from reality, like I was watching a movie.

    He told me that they’d found a lesion on my brain and there was a possibility of brain cancer. “I’m so sorry,” he offered finally.

    I left and immediately burst into tears.

    Six days I lived with the idea of having brain cancer.

    Had it spread? How would they treat it? Could they treat it?

    More dizziness, more vertigo ensued, and a wise friend firmly told me to go back to the emergency room and refuse to leave until I got answers.

    Reluctantly, I entered A&E (ER) for the third time.

    After a long wait, a neurologist sprang from nowhere, took me to a room, and showed me my MRI scan. I was shocked by the large white circle in the middle of it.

    “How big is that?” I gasped.

    “About the size of a pea,” the doctor said casually. “I believe it’s a colloid cyst, a rare, benign, non-cancerous tumor. It can be removed by operation, using a minimally invasive, endoscopic camera.”

    Relief flowed through me. “It’s not cancer?”

    After reassuring me it was not, the doctor sent me away, telling me to await further news.

    Outside the hospital I hung around updating loved ones by phone. Suddenly a withheld number rang.

    It was the neurologist: “I’ve spoken with neurosurgeons, and they think you should be admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. If the cyst bursts you have one to two hours max, or that’s it.”

    “Okay,” I stammered. “I’m actually still at the hospital.”

    “Not this hospital,” he said. “A different one.”

    A taxi ride later, it was 5 p.m., and I was in an emergency room for the second time that day and fourth time that month. Despite the chaos around me, I eventually curled up and got a little sleep.

    Suddenly it was 3.30 a.m. and I was still in A&E. Staff rushed in, grabbed my bed, and hurtled me through corridors. Bright lights from London’s skyscrapers flashed past windows, everything surreal and movie-like again

    The next day, surgeons explained that they wouldn’t be sure that they could reach the tumor until they operated, and there were four different options for surgery, ranging from a minimal endoscopic camera through to opening my skull up with major surgery.

    I hoped and prayed for endoscopy but wouldn’t know the outcome until I woke up.

    The operation was planned for 8 a.m. the following morning. I said an emotional goodnight to my sister. Suddenly a lady interrupted us and said, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I saw you earlier and you don’t look sick enough to be on this ward.”

    And there it was—the trigger again, the gift, the insight, the lightbulb moment:

    “Despite how bad I feel on the inside, I don’t look ill enough to have a brain tumor.”

    I didn’t look ill enough to the guy at Oxford Circus taking a selfie.

    I didn’t look ill enough to my friend.

    I didn’t look ill enough to the doctors who turned me away initially.

    And now I didn’t look ill enough for this lady’s expectations of who should be in a head trauma ward.

    I breathed into that pain. Into the feeling of not being seen. Of not being heard.  Of not being validated. Of feeling like a fraud, an imposter. Of not deserving to take up space. Of not trusting my experience.

    And when I found my center, I quietly replied, “Actually, I’m having surgery to remove a brain tumor tomorrow morning.”

    Her face fell, then she wished me luck and moved on.

    LESSON 4: Our triggers are our gifts.

    When we are triggered, it shows us what needs to heal.

    It was me who felt unworthy of taking up space. It was me who felt like a fraud. She was simply my mirror. It’s up to me to heal those aspects within myself and to believe that I’m worthy of taking up space—and to then take it.

    The next morning, my operation got pushed back. It was a major trauma hospital, and bigger emergencies took precedent. I engaged in mindfulness to stay centered.

    I did an hour of breathwork to calm my nervous system. I listened to uplifting music to raise my vibration. I watched emotionally safe movies to collect warm, fuzzy vibes. I drew on my iPad and alchemized my head tumor into a cute pea cartoon character—benign, polite, and cute, not threatening at all.

    A porter arrived at 5.30 p.m. and whisked me away for surgery. After weeks of surrendering to the unknown, it was now time for the ultimate surrender of any illusion of control. I took a deep breath as anesthetic filled my veins.

    LESSON 5: Surrender.

    We can’t always control what happens to us or the outcome. We can only control what happens inside of us and how we choose to show up. We take our power back when we lean into the unknown and surrender. When we resist our current reality, we suffer more.

    I woke up two hours later and got sick.

    My brain was rebalancing after months of increased head pressure. Clutching a blue plastic bag, I looked up to see one of London’s best neurosurgeons waving cheerfully at me. “Your operation is over. We used an endoscope. Minimal invasion. We think we got it all, and it’s not likely to come back.”

    Relief, nausea, and gratitude flowed in abundance.

    I dozed a little while morphine played tricks on my mind. Delicious little dreams filled my head, and I saw the world as one big, animated garden with flowers as cartoon characters.

    I giggled at the thought of plants acting as humans do and imagined an aggressive rose bush declaring war on all of the other plants and throwing bombs. It seemed ridiculous. Humans should be more like flowers, I thought—less ego, just growing, flourishing, blooming.

    I enjoyed this magical trip a little longer, a welcome respite from the hell of the last month, and eventually they wheeled me back to the ward.

    I arrived in time to see the sun setting across London from the twelfth floor.

    It was magnificent. Its beauty, color, and intensity moved my weary body to tears.

    A nurse came to check that I was okay, and I assured her that I was crying happy tears.

    I silently watched the sun as it made its final slip over the horizon, safe in the knowledge that I’d survived another day.