Tiny Buddha

Tag: present

  • Why My Boyfriend and I Play Like Kids and Are Happier for It

    Why My Boyfriend and I Play Like Kids and Are Happier for It

    “Play is the foundation of learning, creativity, self-expression, and constructive problem-solving. It’s how children wrestle with life to make it meaningful.” ~Susan Linn, Psychiatrist

    We met at a job interview for a summer camp. At the time, I was twenty-two years old and pursuing a bachelor’s degree in English literature and psychology at UBC. On the other hand, H was attending college in the hopes of one day becoming a high school history teacher. He also “liked to promote and support the development of children.”

    During our first date, we grabbed coffee and spent some time at Indigo Books & Music. I was impressed. I had not only found a boy who was willing to tolerate my endless browsing, but genuinely seemed to enjoy it.

    H was funny, dressed nicely, and most importantly, didn’t know much about me. Later, he would learn that I’d grown up a perfectionist, that I became overwhelmed easily, and that I always took life too seriously. I valued the art of productivity and felt self-conscious when acting silly.

    In our early days, we enjoyed sunbathing at the beach and went “playground hopping,” a term coined after spending an entire afternoon going from playground to playground, sitting on the swings, flirting. We climbed the various structures and found out we could no longer get across the monkey bars.

    We had a typical “summer romance.” We sent each other flirty texts at work, and I chased him around the jungle gym during one of our outings with the kids. We played Connect 4 instead of strip poker and went to the candy store to buy samples of all our favorite childhood treats. He loved to make blanket forts and was always to blame for the ensuing pillow fight. We put on music and danced in our underwear in my bedroom late at night.

    He brought out my inner child. We played handshake games while waiting for the bus without caring about the other commuters’ glances. We painted cheap wooden frames from the dollar store and bought a puzzle at Toys R Us. We went to the kid’s arcade and had a playful Skee-Ball competition.

    After a few months of dating, and as a result of my interest into Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), H and I sat down and made a list of what would become our Common Core Values. Out of sixty values, we picked about a dozen. Then, we talked about them.

    Connecting with our values adds meaning to our lives, but clarifying values can be challenging, because most values are words that are vague. Take, for example, the value of respect. Most people I know value respect. But what does it look like? And what does respect look like specifically in a romantic relationship? We recorded our choices in our newly bought couple’s journal.

    Our values included words such as connection (physical, emotional), equality, boundaries, safety, teamwork, gratitude, humility, and kindness, as well as trust, courage, and vulnerability.

    The value that stood out to me the most, though, was play.

    Play has been one of the core tenets of our relationship. When we first met, he had no idea that I was heavily involved in the mental health community.

    I worked at the hospital where I did peer support work and supported children as well as their families navigate the (highly complex) mental health system. I heard devastating stories of families trying to access care.

    I sat on the board of a non-profit organization that held support groups for students every week and spent a lot of my time holding space for others, while at the same time admiring their resilience. Outside of that, I was busy taking classes, and trying my best to care for my own mental health.

    A few years ago, when I fell in love with Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection, the chapter that stood out the most to me was: “Wholehearted Living Guidepost 7: Cultivating Rest and Play.”

    In the chapter, she introduced Dr. Stuart Brown, a psychiatrist who has studied play. He explained that play is time spent without purpose and can include a variety of “frivolous activities.”

    As a young adult, overachiever, and university student, I spend most of my time working hard, trying to achieve the definition of “success” society has defined for me. At times, there are sleepless nights, two cups of coffee, and skipped breakfasts.

    When H and I play, we lose track of time. We become immersed in our decorating of gratitude jars, tickle fights, and me chasing him down with an ice cream cone.

    My relationship with H has given me one of the greatest gifts: the ability to lose myself in laughter, and permission to focus on leisure without feeling guilt or anxiety. In the words of Brené Brown, it is all about “letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol and productivity as self-worth.”

    I like to refer to H as “Mr. Fun” because it’s the part I love most about him. If it wasn’t for him, I would rarely allow myself to play. I often feel self-conscious and judge myself harshly whenever I feel the urge to do something “childish,” like coloring. I tell myself, “Don’t be ridiculous. Grow up. You’re not a child anymore.”

    At the time of our discovering our common core values, we had only been dating for three months. Since then, we’ve grown enormously as a couple. The wonderful thing about our common core values is that we now have a silent agreement. We have both committed to living by those values, so we refer to them as needed, especially during a conflict. When we make mistakes, we refer to the value of forgiveness. It lessens the guilt and shame while still holding us accountable.

    Essentially, play encourages self-enquiry, social connection, and being curious about the world.

    Play has allowed us to cultivate a relationship that is based on vulnerability and helps us cope with the uncertainty of the world. It has enhanced our intimacy and helped us relax during stressful times. After all, we are realistic, and understand that our relationship will encounter many obstacles in the future, including having to cope with economic and political instability.

    From an outsider perspective, I am described as responsible, punctual, and can be found balancing my budget with an Excel sheet, every month. You are more likely to find me writing professional emails than singing in the shower or expressing my creativity.

    Sometimes H and I argue about the pros and cons of having carpet in our future dream home and sometimes we make lists of supplies to buy, like Play-Doh, or Legos. Sometimes we discuss Canadian politics while drinking apple juice in plastic cups. We eat Kraft Dinner as a snack and calculate the cost of a one-bedroom apartment. We are both children at heart and young adults trying to navigate the world.

    And not too long ago, H surprised me with a heart shape made of colourful melted beads.

  • What Carrots Are You Chasing, and Are They Worth the Sacrifice?

    What Carrots Are You Chasing, and Are They Worth the Sacrifice?

    “Not to arrive at a clear understanding of one’s own values is a tragic waste. You have missed the whole point of what life is for.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt

    I promise this essay isn’t an attempt to convince you that you’re living inside The Matrix. (Okay, maybe it is a bit.)

    But do you ever find that days, weeks, or even months have passed that you didn’t feel present for? I describe this odd sensation as feeling like you’re going through the motions like Bill Murray trapped in Groundhog Day.

    Every day bleeds into the next because you’re future-focused, and what you’re doing right now only feels valuable insofar as it’s laying the groundwork for something else; the next stage of your career, the renovation that means the house is “done,” a number in the bank account that means you’ll never have to worry about money again.

    I think it’s fair to say we both know this is total BS. We’ve climbed enough mountains in our lifetime to know that as soon as we get what we want, we’re already planning what’s next.

    The problem is not with the aim or the goal but with the belief that we can cross a finish line that will magically make these uncomfortable feelings disappear. In psychology, they call this the hedonic treadmill.

    You know that promotion that would change your life?

    You know that new kitchen you obsess over because it would make life much better?

    You know that extra cash that would mean all of life’s money troubles would disappear?

    Will they provide everlasting happiness?

    Doubtful.

    We can blame this on the hedonic treadmill.

    It’s in our human nature to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes.

    Put another way: No matter what we do, buy, or hope will change our life permanently, it’s a short-lived shot of happiness injected into our life.

    I understand why people don’t want to believe this. Because it forces us to question why we’re working so damn hard to change things and to be present with what is right now.

    When I realized this, I began to reflect on what it meant for my life in a way I couldn’t when I was lost in the chase. Accepting that we have a baseline is liberating. Most of what we’re chasing is nothing more than stupid carnival prizes in a game we didn’t know we were playing.

    If the $40,000 kitchen renovation will give you a flash-in-the-pan taste of happiness, is it worth the years of your life you need to sacrifice to pay that off?

    Is it worth more hours in the office?

    Is it worth less time with your family?

    Is it worth the crippling stress?

    You have no control over the hedonic treadmill. Still, you can control how much of your life you’re willing to trade for a future that won’t make you any happier in the present.

    It’s a hard habit to break because, as philosopher Alan Watts explains:

    “Take education. What a hoax. As a child, you are sent to nursery school. In nursery school, they say you are getting ready to go on to kindergarten. And then first grade is coming up and second grade and third grade… In high school, they tell you you’re getting ready for college. And in college you’re getting ready to go out into the business world… [People are] like donkeys running after carrots that are hanging in front of their faces from sticks attached to their own collars. They are never here. They never get there. They are never alive.”

    It’s drilled into us from the day we’re born to always think of what’s next.

    You end up chasing carrots to eat when you’re not even hungry. Hell, you probably don’t even like the taste of carrots.

    This lack of presence is toxic for our children. They end up repeating the same cycle we do when we role model the idea that we need to prioritize a future self (that may never come) over time spent with them.

    Life only feels short because we burn much of our alive time on shit that doesn’t matter.

    Do you want to experience a deep, rich, and fulfilling life?

    Start by asking, what carrots are you chasing? Are they worth the sacrifice? And what values would you honor in the present if you stopped living for the future?

    I can say family means everything to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to support and provide for them. But if I’m consumed by my phone when I’m with my ten-month-old daughter, what value am I reinforcing? To make more money in my business so I have the freedom to do exactly what I’m too busy to enjoy right now?

    To honor my values means putting the phone down, looking into her eyes, and giving her literally the only thing she wants and needs from me. My presence. And that right there—being present enough to enjoy our lives—is what will give us the happiness we crave.

  • 5 Meditation Retreat Practices to Try at Home for a More Mindful Life

    5 Meditation Retreat Practices to Try at Home for a More Mindful Life

    “Meditation is the ultimate mobile device; you can use it anywhere, anytime, unobtrusively.” ~Sharon Salzberg

    It was the fifth night of my first silent retreat, and 100 of us spilled out of the meditation hall into darkness, flashlights swinging as we made our way along the path to our dorms and sleep.

    Suddenly the wind picked up and quiet excitement rippled through the group as we looked up to see a bank of clouds move and reveal a full moon, beaming a bright white light from the night sky. We stopped and stood, some of us for hours, gazing upwards.

    This is a painfully obvious metaphor, I wanted to say to someone.

    Despite my natural cynicism, despite the sleepiness and agitated thinking that had haunted my meditation for days, as I looked up at the moon I thought: In a world this beautiful, how can I not pay attention?

    Days later, when my weeklong retreat ended and I came home, I was reminded that being on a retreat is a lot different from regular life.

    I can’t see the sky let alone the moon from my house, and my time is punctuated by the sound of email notifications instead of gongs. But is it possible to recapture some of the mindfulness you can cultivate on a meditation retreat? Here are five strategies I am trying, and you can try too.

    1. Enjoy a daily meditative meal (or snack).

    On the first day of our retreat one of the teachers gave an inspiring talk just before lunch. Every mealtime is an opportunity to practice, he said. Try smelling each spoonful of food before you put it in your mouth. Put your silverware down between each bite.

    Lunch that day was the longest meal I have ever experienced. We considered each bite of salad, noting the whiff of vinegar in the dressing and the crunch of the greens. I grew to know the subtle flavor of plain brown rice, and the multisensory experience of holding a mug of hot tea to my lips and inhaling the lightly scented steam before sipping.

    It was reinforcing to be in such a large group enjoying meals together so slowly and quietly, but everyday life presents multiple mindful eating opportunities as well.

    Post-retreat, I try for at least one meditative meal. Where I would once wolf down lunch while scrolling through Twitter, I create space to experience the flavor of the food and note the texture. It works for snacks too—you can really taste the salt on your lips from the first bite of a chip. An added bonus: All that chewing is great for digestion.

    2. Ground yourself by walking.

    Much of the retreat schedule can be summed up as “seated meditation followed by walking meditation.” The sitting-walking pattern helps break up the day and ideally prevents us from dozing off on the meditation cushion.

    Slow meditative walking, with its noting of the “lift, move, step” motions of our feet, felt like a close cousin of seated meditation. Normally paced walking in the hills of the retreat center was still more inspiring, as I tried to tune into each step connecting me to the earth.

    At home, where sitting at a desk dominates my awake time, I am incorporating periods of mindful walking—even if it is just down the hall. Between meetings or projects, I get up and feel the floor under my feet with each step, noting the swinging of my arms, and the way the fabric of my pants moves across my legs.

    Longer walks, taking in the sights of the neighborhood without a distracting podcast, is also part of my new routine. With or without the mental noting of “lift, move, step,” walking can effectively bring our minds back into our bodies.

    3. Befriend a tree.

    One retreat teacher encouraged us to select a tree from the surrounding forests and forge a connection with it. We each considered our tree’s solidity, the sap running through it, the wind in its branches bringing constant change, and the co-arising circumstances that led to its growth. It was common to round a path in the woods and come across someone standing looking up at a tree, seated at its roots, or even swaying in rhythm to its movements.

    Back in the city, I can simply sit on my front steps and contemplate the river birch in the yard without alarming my neighbors. I pay attention to the subtle grays and whites of its bark, the way its leaves almost shimmer in the breeze. I have lived with it for years, but this tree is now a brilliant object of meditation in my daily life. Cheesy as it sounds, the tree has become a friend I greet with a smile every morning.

    4. Embrace mindful chores.

    Just like the summer camp I attended as a kid, my retreat required us all to sign up for a job. My work meditation was to chop vegetables in the afternoon. It became a highlight of my day to carefully peel parsnips or work my way through a box of eggplants, guiding the knife into the flesh to create slices then cubes I would eventually see in the evening meal.

    In everyday life, chopping vegetables can feel like a boring imposition, something to rush through between more exciting activities. But when you have been meditating all day the subtle pleasures of chores become clearer.

    I try to invoke some of that mindfulness at home, feeling the weight of the knife in my hand as I chop, and taking the time to focus all my attention on removing the peel from a carrot. Using vegetables as my gateway I am now experimenting with mindful dishwashing. Soap bubbles can be a revelation if you really pay attention.

    5. Take a break from needing to “be” someone.

    When you are on silent retreat, you’re not just quiet, you’re existing anonymously within a large group of people. It was enormously relaxing not needing to “be” someone for a week—and eye-opening to recognize how much effort goes into conjuring up the ideal “me” to present in social situations.

    In not speaking to one another, or even looking each other in the eye, my fellow retreatants and I could co-exist, focusing on our experiences in the moment instead of mentally rehearsing what we would say at dinner.

    I admit to secretly pondering the backstories of my fellow retreatants, and I was certain that people were judging me whenever I forgot to take off my shoes inside or made other newbie mistakes. But overall, our shared silence created much more space to do what we were doing without extra mental labor.

    The relaxation of silent co-existence can be harder to achieve in the regular world, where our work and family lives can hinge on being visible and vocal.

    Taking “non-being” home for me has meant noticing the relaxing qualities of being alone, rather than looking for distractions, and recognizing the temptation to needlessly make an impression in passing interactions as I go about my day. That jokey comment to the barista might be less about being friendly and more about being noticed.

    I’ve also brought a new kind of attention to gathering places like the grocery store or library, asking myself: Can I navigate among people without comparing, judging, fixing, or asserting an ego that demands attention?”

    As Sharon Salzberg so wisely says, we can use meditation anywhere. I had the privilege of dropping out of the daily grind for a weeklong retreat, and literally saw the clouds part for a moment of insight. In the time since returning, however, I see that many of the retreat’s greatest gifts were the less flashy moments—the practices that provide tools for the other fifty-one weeks of the year.

  • What Happiness Means and How I’m Boosting My Day-to-Day Joy

    What Happiness Means and How I’m Boosting My Day-to-Day Joy

    “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

    Three years ago, at the height of pandemic, I made many pitchers of lemonade from scratch. This newfound ritual was one of the better things about being on lockdown.

    I’d hand squeeze a big bag of lemons for about one-third cup of juice, and experiment by adding vanilla extract, mint, and tablespoons of honey. I’d bring my drink outside, where I sat for as long as I dared in a lawn chair, sipping the elixir and daydreaming. It made me oddly happy, and even after a return to normal, I still like to indulge myself this way.

    My family wanders outside to check on me when I burn up a Saturday—and sometimes dinner—doing this. I’m just as annoyed as they are by the intrusion, little decorated paper straw sticking out of my glass, open book from Target on my lap.

    Isn’t that kind of expensive, my mother asked me once, and I had to laugh because the answer to that question is both yes and no.

    Does self-care cost the same as going out to a really nice meal, a vacation, clothes shopping? No. Then again, sitting for long periods, with a cold drink in your hand and doing absolutely ‘f-ck all’ as my teenaged son would say, isn’t how you’re going to afford a full and active lifestyle.

    I began to wonder if having fun and happiness are the same thing.

    I interviewed about a half dozen people on the subject, from therapists to friends—most were of the opinion that having fun and being happy are not mutually exclusive.

    “We don’t talk about our happiness. When we’re happy we’re busy being happy, and the unimportant things fade away. I never could keep a journal outside of the bad periods, because I forgot to write it down when the good was happening,” wrote a friend on Twitter.

    Dr. Sigmund Freud boiled happiness down to instant gratification:

    “What we call happiness, in the strictest sense, comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree.”

    I think when I was a kid, I embodied Freud’s words. At age ten, I was the proverbial lab rat, pressing again and again on the same bar, hoping instant gratification would come out.

    Benny’s Oyster Bar in 1983 was that pellet. My family didn’t have much money at the time, so it was a real treat when we ate out.

    A hole in the wall, Benny’s was about two blocks from my Dad’s office, yet I can’t remember if we walked there or drove. In my unsophisticated mind, that restaurant—now a bike repair shop—was the best place on earth for hotdogs and crinkle cut fries drenched in ketchup that you squeezed from a bottle, while listening to a jukebox that competed (and lost) to noisy air-conditioning.

    We always chose to go there on a whim, and it only happened about four out of every ten times we were dragged to my dad’s place of business.

    He sold insurance, relying on my mom for clerical help. If we went to Benny’s, it usually meant my dad was having a good day.

    Thinking back on Benny’s makes me see that one of the main components to happiness is feeling safe and loved in equal measure.

    It didn’t have to be a trip to Benny’s Oyster Bar to make me practically swoon with happiness as a kid. Sometimes it was pretending to be mermaids in my friend’s pool, binge watching The Smurfs, or spending time with my cat.

    As an adult, my happiest moments remain just as uncomplicated.

    I’m a good guinea pig for this happiness experiment since I’ve never actually been depressed. That being said, I’ve only been “truly happy” a handful of times—my it doesn’t get any better than this moments slipping through my fingers before I’m aware they ever happened.

    I asked a psychologist, who works for a Florida county school board, how he’d define happiness.

    “Happiness can be one of the four core emotions. It involves dopamine hits to your hypothalamus. Easy. Then you have the cerebral cortex interpreting that which makes humans more of a pain in the ass to understand,” he said.

    What I took from this is that human happiness can be as unique as our thumbprints. It’s difficult to define, no matter who you are or where you come from.

    An artist I know put it this way:

    “Personally, I believe happiness is fleeting. I’m trying on using the idea of contentment instead. Am I content? Are there ways I can work on aspects to be more content in my life?”

    She may be on to something.

    I’m sure we’ve all heard expectation is the root of suffering, so maybe instead of expecting anything to make us happy all the time, we just need to prioritize the things that bring us joy—even if they look like “wasting time” to everyone else. Then we could visit our happy places more often and stay as long as we like when we get there.

  • How to Get Comfortable Being Alone and Get the Most Out of Solitude

    How to Get Comfortable Being Alone and Get the Most Out of Solitude

    “The act of sitting down is an act of revolution. By sitting down, you stop that state of being: losing yourself, not being yourself. And when you sit down, you connect to yourself. And you don’t need an iPhone or a computer to do that. You just need to sit down mindfully and breathe in mindfully.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    The day my ex-wife moved out was also the day when our dog moved out and when I was laid off from my bankrupt ex-company. It felt like everything around me had suddenly died. Many of our common friends and loved ones distanced themselves from me, and I felt abandoned.

    As I took my first few steps through the rubble, I felt the full force of this new solitude that was now forced upon me. And it wasn’t going anywhere soon.

    I immediately lost my appetite and my desire to cook. I started taking irresponsibly long hot showers and baths till my skin burned. I decluttered. I threw away pictures and memorabilia, love notes and cutlery, teabags and cushion covers. I stopped vacuuming.

    But I continued running. I started reading. I read anything that looked like it held a secret to end my suffering.

    I lost interest in my job. I’d wake up every morning with dread, sometimes not sleeping entire nights.

    I kept running. I got faster and stronger. I also got injured and had to stop. The darkness stayed even as the days started to get longer. While I lived abroad, the second wave of covid had just hit back home. One of my best friends from childhood died. Also a cousin. A friend lost his father and never saw the body. My dad got very sick and almost died. I sank further.

    But I kept meditating in solitude. Every time the void of existence hit me with boredom, anxiety, and restlessness, something deep within forced me to continue sitting through it. It started feeling familiar. And I slowly started to come back to life. My sense of taste returned. I started cooking again. I started having friends over.

    Still, some days I would collapse on the floor and cry till I got thirsty. Then I’d hydrate and go back to my laptop to run the next zoom meeting, smiling through it.

    I realized what a shell of a person I was now that my ex-wife had left me. At the same time, I continued to befriend the solitude and get comfortable with my aching heart—to sit with it, have a conversation with it, and see what it had to say and what it had learned.

    I was starting to get to know myself from a brand new perspective. It was almost like getting to know this new person who had been living in the basement all these years and I had no idea! And this person sure was interesting!

    The solitude soaked in all my tears so I could laugh again with people. It became my duvet in the winters, my picnic blanket in the summer. The solitude and I would often do karaoke at 7:00 on a Sunday morning till the neighbors started complaining. We went on bike trips together, dipped in cold lakes, went to eat at buffets, and sat through boring dates.

    It became my best friend when there was no one around. It taught me to write, to read, to think, to philosophize, to know what’s good for me, to love everyone unconditionally, and to be kind.

    It showed me things as they truly are and caught me when I was being judgmental. It took away my anger and my desperation. It carried my dreams and filled me with hope.

    Solitude has the power to teach us about ourselves. It is the gym where we must go to train.

    A century ago, people would look forward to solitary periods of relaxation on their porch after a long day of work. But today, we devote most of our conscious time to the pursuit of feeling connected with other people, either offline or online. A simple notification instantly pulls us away from the present moment. We are constantly everywhere but here and now. But our true self lives in the here and now, though we seem to spend less and less time with it.

    In the raw moments of loneliness that succeed a breakup or a bereavement, when we have nowhere to run, we encounter our true self. Like I did. And it was scary. It felt like sitting in the corner of a dungeon with a chain locked around my ankle as a stranger towered over me. I wanted to run away, but there was nowhere good enough to run to. I went scuba diving in the tropics, but my broken, ghost-of-a-self found me under water too.

    The key to cultivating fearlessness in these moments is getting to know yourself through solitude. It means deliberately taking time out to sit alone so you feel comfortable with yourself, connected to yourself, and at peace with yourself.

    To practice solitude, try this.

    1. Think of your favorite meditative activity.

    Ideally, it should involve interaction with physical objects, not digital ones. And definitely not a phone or something with a screen. It should be mundane and not involve rational thinking. This provides the ideal setting for your true self to emerge. An example is doing the dishes, focusing on your breath, or just sitting out in the garden, hearing and seeing what’s around you.

    2. Set aside a fixed time during the day.

    This is especially important if you are just starting out, because a strict regime is helpful to cultivate a habit. A good time is early in the morning. A recent study showed that early morning is the ideal time for alpha wave activity in the brain, which is associated with restful attentiveness. But depending on your schedule or your routine, any other time of the day is good enough to start with. Start with ten minutes and slowly make your way up to an hour. There’s no right or wrong duration, but the more the better.

    3. Start with an intention.

    Make a decision to consciously choose solitude. Embrace it like it’s your best friend. Know that it is good for you, that it is the right thing for you. That there is nothing better you’d rather do right now, and no one more important to talk to than yourself.

    Most importantly, don’t get too serious. Develop a sense of joy, a sense of humor about the whole thing.

    Sometimes it all may seem impossible, especially when painful memories and a sense of loss come back with profound pain. It may feel hopeless as the thoughts and feelings overwhelm you. But believe that those thoughts and feelings are like a movie playing in your head. They do not define your reality in the present moment. Do not let them consume you.

    Believe you are the mountain in the storm. And when the thoughts and feelings eventually pass, which they will, come back to your practice. Develop almost a blind devotion to it in the beginning, because it may take many sittings to feel the first signs of solidity and bliss coming back.

    If you are finding it tough to start by yourself, go to a local yoga or meditation class and work on your basic form. Then come back and try it again.

    4. Start enjoying your company whenever the opportunity arises.

    As you start building a regiment for solitude, you will start to appreciate moments to yourself. While you wait for your friend at the subway before you head to that party together. While you wait for your favorite burger to arrive after deciding to eat out by yourself.

    Think of those fleeting minutes as a gift, as an opportunity to see if you can appreciate the world around you. Wait before you flip out your phone or put on your music. Can you see how solid and calm you feel now, compared to before? How rich the world around you is? Give yourself a high-five for putting in all those hours of solitude practice.

    And if by chance that solitude is forced upon you by a tragedy or unforeseen event, even better! Because when your heart is broken it’s the most open, and ripe for new wisdom and the richness of the world to take root. Acclaimed author and Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön says, “To stay with that shakiness—to stay with a broken heart, with a rumbling stomach, with the feeling of hopelessness and wanting to get revenge—that is the path of true awakening,”

    Be deliberate. Be disciplined. And you will soon get to know the most interesting person you have ever met! One who will always be with you, no matter what else you lose.

  • Why I Broke Down Mentally While Striving for Work/Life Balance

    Why I Broke Down Mentally While Striving for Work/Life Balance

    “Maybe it’s time for the fighter to be fought for, the holder to be held, and the lover to be loved.” ~Unknown

    I was breastfeeding my infant son when he bit me. That bite set the stage for a deeper unraveling then I could have ever imagined.

    I unlatched him, handed him to my husband, and got in my car. As I was driving I began to lose the feeling in my hands and feet. My vision started to blur, and my breathing was fast and shallow. I was terrified I was not going to make it back home. I pleaded with the powers that be to allow me to safely pull over to the side of the road.

    I was about a mile away from our house, but that mile felt like eternity. My vision continued to blur and my whole body was starting to tingle.

    When I got home, a miracle not lost on me, I couldn’t shake this fear. I couldn’t be left alone. I was afraid if I was alone, I would take my life.

    I couldn’t reconcile this. How could I so badly want to live and be afraid I’d end my life at the same time? What an interesting, terrifying place to be in: a place where you can no longer trust yourself to keep you safe and alive.

    Turns out what I had in the car was a panic attack, and what I was feeling at home was suicidal ideation.

    My sister and brother-in-law drove down to Southern California in the middle of the night to be with me and insisted I seek help that next morning. I was incredibly reluctant because I had a huge project due at work and didn’t want to let my team down. They didn’t care.

    I went to see a doctor the next day, and that landed me in a treatment center for mental illness. I reluctantly admitted myself into an inpatient program.

    I had to go on medical leave, just three weeks after returning to work from maternity leave. I was so afraid of how that would impact my career. What would people think? Would my boss resent me?  Would I ever be able to get promoted? Even though this was truly a choice of life or death, it was still one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. I was terrified of the outcome.

    What I received in treatment, albeit begrudgingly, was more than just mental health support. I also gained a healthy dose of perspective and clarity. This wasn’t just postpartum anxiety. This was trying to balance work and life and leaving myself out of the mix. Not only that, but I didn’t feel worthy of taking time for myself.

    I realized I no longer knew who I was. I had become everything to everyone and there was no space for me. I felt empty and defeated. I had exchanged every last piece of me to fulfill the roles that were prescribed to a woman of my age. 

    This was a shocking realization, as I’m a self-proclaimed feminist. I spent most of my life keenly aware of the loss of identity that mothers often face once they have children. I didn’t want kids for that exact reason. When I met my partner, that piece changed, but I was dead set on making sure I didn’t lose myself in the process.

    It’s funny how that works. You can be acutely aware of what you don’t want in life and still end up smack dab in the middle of the exact situation you swore would never happen to you.

    When I thought of work/life balance I always thought of it as making sure I was showing up as a career woman and mother in the most balanced way possible. But where was the room for me in that?  Where did my needs and desires come into play?

    After treatment, I began working with a life coach in addition to continuing to take care of my mental health (it’s important to note that life coaches are not medical professionals). In working with my coach, I was able to integrate more of myself into my day and reconnect with my needs and desires.

    I was held, supported, and cared for, and that empowered me to care for myself and feel worthy of taking up more space in my life.

    I took the time to reconnect with who I was before I became a parent, and I brought that version of me into the fold.

    I created a list of non-negotiables that I would implement in my daily life. For instance, I go for a walk daily. No matter what. Movement is a literal life saver for my mental wellness. It doesn’t matter what is going on at home. It’s happening. And, I do it guilt-free!

    I also keep a journal by my bedside. Every night, before I lay my head down on the pillow, I write out what I got “right” that day. It’s so easy to focus on all the ways I came up short that day. For me, my mind defaults on the negative, so having to come up with a list of at least three ways I showed up for myself is a powerful way to end my night thinking of the positive.

    Do I think that we can do all of the things all of the time? Absolutely not. I feel work/life balance is a bit misleading. I don’t think we can evenly split work, life, and self-care. One will constantly outweigh the other, even if just by a small margin.

    But what we can do is try our best to fulfill our needs and desires so that we can show up for each aspect of our life as grounded in our authenticity as possible. If we can remain grounded, we can remain fully present. And for me, being fully present is balance.

  • Feeling Burnt Out? How to Slow Down and Reclaim Your Peace

    Feeling Burnt Out? How to Slow Down and Reclaim Your Peace

    “Burnout is a sign that something needs to change.” ~Sarah Forgrave

    Fifteen years ago, my doctor informed me I was in the early stages of adrenal exhaustion. In no uncertain terms, she warned that if I failed to address the stress I was under, my adrenals might not recover. This was hard to hear, but it forced me to face the fact that eating well, exercising religiously, and keeping up with the latest research on wellness was not enough.

    I had to ask myself a defining question that day: Am I ready to go down with the ship?

    At the time, I was teaching an average of fourteen classes a week at my wellness studio. I had been exceeding my threshold for so long that I had pain in every joint and muscle in my body. I was completely exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally, but slowing down or cutting back was just not an option.

    Or so I believed.

    The problem was that every time I would even begin to consider addressing the reality of my situation, my head would instantly fill with all the reasons I couldn’t possibly stop.

    There was the dream for a business I couldn’t imagine giving up. The huge amounts of time and money I had invested in realizing that dream. And most of all, there were the clients I was serving, a community of amazing women I loved working with and didn’t want to let go.

    Meanwhile, my thirty-year marriage to a man struggling with an opioid addiction was falling apart. My kids were distressed. My body was completely breaking down, and my life had become a tangled mess of fears, conflicted feelings, and obligations I just didn’t have the heart for anymore.

    As the growing pressure to do something about my situation increased, my anxiety increased right along with it. Talk about a pressure cooker!

    I couldn’t even imagine the courage I would need to tell my husband I wanted a divorce. And whenever I got anywhere close to that courage, my mind would flood with anxiety over the uncertainty.

    How would he react?

    How would it affect my children?

    Where would I live?

    How would I ever rebuild my life?

    It felt as if I was being buried alive under a growing mountain of complexity with no way out. So, the pain continued to get worse, and I kept trudging forward, blindly hoping against hope that somehow it would all work itself out (without changing anything about the way I was living).

    Growing up, I had learned to take the offensive and power through obstacles. I had always seen myself as someone who could do anything she put her mind to. Now I found myself stuck between the person who thought she was responsible for everyone’s experience but her own and the person I might actually become if I started making self-valuing, authentic choices.

    Then one morning, the dam broke.

    I was walking up to the door of my studio to teach the 6:00 a.m. class, asking myself (like I did every morning) how I was going to get through the day with all the pain I was in.

    As I turned the key in the lock of the business I had dreamed of creating for over a decade—the business I had built out of everything I believed in and everything I knew I wanted to offer to the world—I could see the consequences of my resistance to change about to swallow me whole. I could see that my fear of change was completely blocking my ability to see anything past that.

    And suddenly… everything went quiet. All the reasons for not stopping that typically flooded my mind just fell away.

    The only thought I had in that moment was, The way you stop… is you stop.

    I didn’t just hear these words; I felt an absolute acceptance of them. One minute it was impossible to stop; the next, it felt like the simplest thing in the world.

    In the quiet of this moment, I became so aware of my own breath that I felt it everywhere in my body. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I stopped. And when I did, I found the courage to listen to my aching heart.

    I felt a depth of longing for peace I had never allowed myself to experience before. I stood there breathing and felt an acceptance of the reality of everything that was happening wash over me. The pressure to control it all was gone!

    My mind was clear, and my body felt relaxed even as I faced the same facts of my situation, but without all the usual stories and justifications overwhelming me. It felt like a miracle.

    Suddenly the door to my studio, which I had been walking through for years, felt like the door to an entirely new way. Standing there with my key in my hand, in the profound quiet of that moment, I was flooded with a new sense of possibility.

    As I set up for the 6:00 a.m. class, I stayed focused on my breathing and continued to listen to my body. It became clear to me that when I wasn’t being honest with myself, my body responded by restricting my breath. And I was able to see how all the years of unaddressed tension were expressing themselves as escalating physical pain.

    A New Direction

    That morning, I didn’t just take a first step toward interrupting the old way. I began heading in a new direction.

    But it still took me a year and a half to wind down my commitments and extricate myself from the studio. This was a massive transformation involving every aspect of my life, but it began with just one step—accepting that the old way was broken. Once I accepted this wholeheartedly, I moved to the next step.

    I had a friend who had moved back to town to take care of her aging mother. She was looking for a place to establish her yoga school and had already been teaching a couple of classes a week at my studio while she looked for a more permanent place. On that pivotal morning, after I taught the 6:00 a.m. class, I called my friend and told her that I was stepping down and that she could hold all her classes there.

    I continued to pull back, one step at a time, constantly asking myself, “What can I let go of today?” (One day, the answer to this question was “my hair”!) Eventually my friend bought out my lease and took over completely.

    This is not to say I did not continue to wrestle with self-doubt. But my intention to slow down and to stop ignoring my tension became my guiding compass point.

    In the years that followed, I relied on this compass to dive more deeply into the mind-body connection and what it truly means to take care of myself and be happy. My primary tool was the simple mindfulness practice of paying attention to my posture (whether it was tense or at ease) and my breath (restricted or free). I found strong community for this priority in the study and practice of Qigong, Tai Chi, and Continuum.

    In the process, it became clear to me that to access the wisdom within, the first thing I had to do was slow down and calm down. This priority allowed me to be honest about the pressure I was putting on myself to keep doing things I no longer had the heart for and to recognize the emotional reasons I was hanging onto them.

    We all come to thresholds in our lives, times when we’re faced with tremendous pressure to change (or go down with the ship). When we refuse to change, the only other option is to increase our tolerance for suffering while convincing ourselves that it’s not affecting us as much as it really is. In this fantasy we tell ourselves we’ll make it (somehow) if we just keep powering through.

    I’ve come to realize that it’s not about avoiding stress. It’s about increasing your ability to remain present and functional while stressful events are happening. The calmer you can be in the face of stress, the more resilient you’ll be and the less likely you’ll be to end up teetering on the edge of complete burnout like I was.

    When we practice being present, we’re able to make more accurate moment-to-moment choices. We’re able to slow down and take an honest look at what needs to change. Which isn’t to say that it’s going to change in a minute, or a day, or a week, or even a year. The truth is that lasting change can often be a very gradual process.

    How to Stop

    I was able to stop by establishing new priorities. I made it a point to slow down, calm down, and really be honest about what I could eliminate. My process was essentially as follows:

    1. Stop. (For the moment, anyway.) Acknowledge that before a new way can show itself, you have to find a way to stop the old way.

    2. Acknowledge the pain you are in—emotional and physical.

    3. Ask what you can let go of now and in the near future. (If the answer is “nothing,” then ask again.)

    4. With “something has to give” as your mantra, what can you let go of next?

    • Consider what you are physically and mentally capable of doing right now. (If the answer is “everything, if I push myself,” then ask again.)
    • Consider your life priorities and what you need to make room for.
    • Consider what you no longer have a heart for.
    • Consider that what you are holding on to tightest might be what really needs to go. Letting go of smaller things first often helps to relax your grip on even your strongest (and often unhealthy) attachments.

    5. When the “yes, but…” voice shows up, be aware of it and do your best not to listen or take action based on what this voice says. This is the voice of your attachment to keeping an unsustainable system on life support. It’s fueled by your fear of uncertainty because if you stop what you’re doing, you’re not sure what will happen (and your “yes, but…” voice is certain it will be awful!).

    6. Gather tools to help yourself detach enough from this voice to move toward accepting reality and make the changes needed to live a more authentic and satisfying life. (The Serenity Prayer is a good one.)

    7. Remember that change is a process, not a single event. Start small, then graduate to bigger things that need to go.

    —

    I hope you’ll continue to play with the concept of stopping (the old way) to start (a better way). Every meaningful change hinges on your ability to interrupt the old pattern. You’ll learn to rely on this ability the more you practice using it.

    Also keep in mind that you won’t necessarily know anything about the new way when you stop the old one. Change usually happens very slowly, and patience can be the hardest thing.

    Good luck, and feel free to reach out with questions or comments!

  • 3 Things I Realized When I Stopped People-Pleasing and Let Myself Receive

    3 Things I Realized When I Stopped People-Pleasing and Let Myself Receive

    “Until we can receive with an open heart, we are never really giving with an open heart.” ~Brene Brown

    The honest truth about needing to please is that we do it to make other people happy. We will sacrifice everything and anything to put a smile on another’s face and lighten their load, while ours keeps building.

    The only problem is that while helping others makes us feel good, it’s almost addictive until we are burnt out. And giving and pleasing others starts to come from a place of resentment.

    I’ve been there!

    There was a time when I used to come up with a thousand reasons why I couldn’t leave the house. I was desperate to get to a yoga class and claim an hour away from being a mum, wife, friend, and entrepreneur.

    But instead, I prioritized keeping my kids happy and did everything I could to avoid the onset of a tantrum and also made sure my husband sat down to a delicious, home-cooked meal each night. And when the kids were napping, I would use that time to do a little work.

    The routine started to get boring. I complained daily. I was grumpy and irritable.

    Yet the days kept coming and I started to drag my feet. The tasks were mundane and never-ending, and they started to get on my nerves. I’d lash out at the washing machine or slap together a half-assed attempt at dinner. And I wasn’t just overextended and resentful in my home life. My clients were taking advantage of me, and my friends sucked my energy dry.

    I kept showing up for everyone around me—striving to keep the peace, to keep them happy, while I was worried that I might let them down or wasn’t living up to their expectations. Yet with a whole lot of hindsight, I discovered that I had placed all this pressure on my shoulders myself.

    Denying myself a sixty-minute yin yoga class was the stupidest thing I had ever done. It still sounds ridiculous now. But at the time, I couldn’t see any solutions. I had tunnel vision and it didn’t revolve around me.

    I felt like I didn’t deserve the break.

    I felt responsible for everyone around me.

    I was unsure what would happen if I left our house for an hour and what I would walk back into after leaving my two young kids alone with my husband.

    Each afternoon, I was an emotional wreck by the time my husband came home. Being the problem solver that he is, he encouraged me to go and find a class—as if it was that simple. I thought, “What does he know anyway? He has no idea about all the things I still have to do.”

    But I eventually realized he was right. I needed a break, and I had to get out of my own way and take it.

    Finding a class was easier than I had imagined. There were loads to choose from and all kinds. I settled on a 4:30 p.m. class on a Friday, that was only a five-minute bike ride away.

    I remember walking through those yellow doors to find only me, two other people, and a smiley yoga teacher.

    Ahhh, I relaxed. I rolled out my mat and lay down because it was a yin restorative practice. We lay there for what seemed a lifetime. I spent it fighting with my mind to not think about what might be happening at home, my to-do list, my kids, the grocery list, my work… Thankfully, we finally got moving and I started to tune into the music.

    The class was literally six poses of deep stretching and rest, and it was a challenge to surrender instead of extending each pose.

    My mind focused on how to allow my limbs to soften even in a standing pose that we held for a good five minutes. Not collapsing took every ounce of concentration I had.

    I took big belly breaths, in to fill my lungs and out to gently soften.

    In the final fifteen minutes we had a deep meditation (savasana), with the yoga teacher coming around to us individually, massaging the back of our necks to the bottom of our skulls. She finished it off by pressing her two warm hands down on my shoulders as if she was pushing me back into the ground. Tears began streaming down my face as she walked away.

    I had fully surrendered and left my mind to be in the present moment, and her touch released the stress and burden I was carrying. It was an intense moment, and I felt joyful and at peace. I had literally forgotten that I had to return to my family only minutes later.

    That class changed me as a mother and a wife.

    I went back every week religiously after that. I saw the power of connecting with my breath and myself. Because that one hour reset each week was enough to fill up my cup and change how I was showing up for myself and others.

    My daily chores didn’t bother me anymore. I had more love to give my kids and partner. I had a renewed sense of energy. When someone asked for help, I had the capacity to give because I wanted to instead of seeing it just as another task I had to do.

    Once I learned to receive, which meant surrendering my responsibility and need to control and allowing myself a little love, I discovered that I often denied myself other things, like going out for walk or catching up with friends. And this is where I had to lean in deeper and question what it means to receive. Here is what I realized.

    Accepting Help

    It is not a sign of weakness to ask for help or receive it, and I don’t need to prove myself or my worth through giving.

    I really felt like I was doing life alone, taking on the responsibility of everyone around me and driving myself into the ground. People would make kind gestures to help, but I would often shut them down with an “I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

    The day my husband stepped in to wash the dishes after I shared that I had a looming deadline, he practically threw me out of the kitchen. I felt so guilty, like I should be the one doing them, not him.

    What I thought was a one-time deal has now lasted three years. It has lightened my load, and our relationship has been better because I no longer feel like I’m the one doing all the things.

    Accepting help is receiving an energetic exchange with someone that wants to offer support. So take it.

    Acknowledging Compliments

    Too often, I would deflect when someone would say something nice to me. I found it uncomfortable, and it made me question their ability to see what was really happening.

    I didn’t feel like I deserved a compliment because I didn’t see myself like others did. I didn’t feel worthy of being praised, so I brushed it off with, “No worries, it was nothing,” “I would do it for anyone,” or “This old thing? I bought it on sale five years ago.”

    Learning to receive a compliment showed me that I could be honored and celebrated for who I am and that there was nothing to be ashamed of. I thought that people who received compliments looked nothing like me and were doing more important work than little old me. But I learned that compliments are praise, and we all deserve to feel seen, heard, and acknowledged.

    Realizing I’m Not Responsible for Everything

    Here was my greatest lesson, which was letting go of my need to control all situations. The responsibility I carried, because I felt it was my job to make everyone happy, was costing me my physical and mental health along with my relationships.

    When I released the control, it created space for things to happen without my interference. It provided space for me to see how others could step up and take responsibility, for mutual needs and their own. It gave me permission to invest in my own well-being.

    Instead of over-giving, fixing, and manipulating, I stood back. From here I could see that life is a two-way street where we exchange our energy with one another. This allows us to give from a full, nourished heart, and this is much more satisfying than giving from a sense of fear and obligation.

    —

    Opening our hearts to receive eliminates our tendency to over-give. When we give without our full presence, we are not showing up fully for ourselves or for other people.

    We all love to support the people we care about, but we need to receive just as much as we give, creating a balance that never leaves us feeling drained or that we “should” be doing something.

    Do you find it hard to receive? What helps you let go of control and fill your own cup?

  • Why It’s So Hard to Just Rest and Why We Need to Do It

    Why It’s So Hard to Just Rest and Why We Need to Do It

    “If you don’t give your mind and body a break, you’ll break. Stop pushing yourself through pain and exhaustion and take care of your needs.” ~Lori Deschene

    In November of 2021, my autoimmune issues flared up. My doctor and I are still unsure which of my conditions—rheumatoid arthritis or fibromyalgia—was the culprit, or if they were acting in cahoots, but the overall achiness and debilitating fatigue were a solid indication that something was more active than usual.

    I woke up tired, needed naps, and often ran out of spoons—a phrase familiar to many with chronic conditions, based on a gorgeous essay called “The Spoon Theory” written by Christine Miserandino.

    While I may not know the reason, the one thing that was certain was that my body was demanding rest.

    Do you have any idea how hard it is to just rest?

    I mean it.

    Knowing that I needed rest did not grant me the immediate ability to actually pull it off.

    I would sit down to watch a show and find myself trying to multitask. Or I would attempt to put off a nap like a recalcitrant toddler. Instead of throwing myself on the floor in a tantrum, I was trying to “push through” so I could finish typing an email or move a load of laundry into the dryer.

    Even with a body and brain that were crying out for rest, it was difficult to allow myself to do it. In the end, I had to reparent myself in order to be able to rest, enforcing stopping times and rest periods.

    Those of us in the western world, especially here in the United States where I live, are programmed to be productive. We are told—and we tell ourselves—all of the things that we “should” be doing in order to be busy. Work in all its forms, from job tasks to errands to chores, is what we are “supposed” to do.

    We are conditioned to be productive and to stay busy from the time we are young. We hear people say things like “I’ll rest when I’m dead” and “no rest for the weary.” We are exhorted to “pay our dues” and “put in the work.”

    If we were somehow fortunate enough to avoid the overt messaging about staying busy and working hard, most of us received those messages indirectly by watching the people in our lives.

    We watched our parents come home from work with arms full of grocery bags, only for them to fix dinner while putting groceries away. Or we were asked what we were doing and made to feel wrong if our answer to the question was a child’s honest “nothing.”

    Long after dinner, once everything was cleaned up or tidied and it was “time to relax,” we watched our parents do additional work, both paid and unpaid. Or we watched them knitting, ironing, or puttering around the house.

    We have been told that we have to “work hard” in order to succeed. That “nothing good comes easy.” That we shouldn’t stop when we are tired, but only when we are “done.”

    Sitting down and resting is not prioritized. Those who decide to rest often must justify it: they have to have earned the right to rest.

    Rest doesn’t only mean sleep, although sleep is a large part of it. It also includes sitting comfortably doing not much of anything at all.

    It could mean listening to music or watching TV or meditating. Or perhaps working quietly on a jigsaw puzzle or craft or reading a book or article. Maybe playing solitaire, or looking out the window, or journaling.

    In the fall, as I was struggling with my autoimmune flare, it occurred to me that I should rest more. I was so accustomed to overriding my body’s signals that I hadn’t realized how far I’d pushed myself.

    When I tapped into how my mind and body were truly feeling, I was shocked to find that my mind and body were almost buckling, on the edge of collapse.

    I waited to notice what was happening until I’d reached the point where I was unable to do many tasks in the day at all. A banner day during that time might have involved doing a single load or laundry or cooking dinner for my husband and me.

    I was so fixated on staying busy that I could no longer assess my need for busyness in an honest manner. I had lost the ability to tune into my body to find out if it needed to move and stretch, or even to stretch out and sleep.

    Had I continued to push ahead for much longer, I’m certain that I would have fallen ill. As it was, I was dealing with brain fog, fatigue, and both joint and muscle pain, all of which made life unpleasant.

    It is easy to see now that I should never have allowed things to get to that state, but fatigue and pain and brain fog have a way of teaming up on you so that you can’t clearly assess much of anything. Nevertheless, when I hit the edge of collapse and burnout, I realized that some serious rest was in order.

    I essentially cleared my calendar for at least three weeks. I cleared my work calendar of appointments, scheduled some brief blog posts and emails, and took time off.

    It was torture at first.

    For one thing, my husband was still getting up and heading out into the world to teach tai chi and qigong classes, so he was modeling “proper” work behavior. For another, I discovered that I was incapable of “just resting.”

    I had to relearn how to listen to my body to discover what it needed. 

    I also had to reprogram my thoughts about rest as being an inherent right that we all hold, and not a reward for productivity.

    I also had to learn how to actually do it.

    I did all of the things I listed earlier as forms of rest, from naps to puzzles to sitting quietly. It was ridiculously difficult.

    I had to almost force myself to limit myself to single-tasking, which is doing one task at a time. That was especially hard if the task was mechanically simple, such as watching a television show. My inner monologue would kick up, chastising me for “just sitting there,” urging me to “be productive.”

    In those moments when I decided that rest meant watching a movie on TV, I sometimes sat on my hands to make sure that I didn’t pick up my phone or a crossword puzzle or something else. I often put my phone on silent and deliberately left it in another room, just to reduce temptation.

    Full disclosure: Even with taking affirmative steps to single-task, I didn’t always manage. I did, however, learn through reinforcement that there was nothing likely to arise in an hour or two of time that required me to give up on resting and take immediate action.

    I realized that in many ways, I was retraining my nervous system to allow itself to relax. It was so used to being in a state of alertness that resting and allowing it to have some time off took some getting used to.

    What I learned when I started to budget rest into my days was that I could start to tell more easily what signals my body was sending. It became easier to converse with my brain and body to find out how they were feeling and what they needed.

    It sounds a bit dissociated when put that way, but I have never felt more integrated than I do now. At any given moment, I can pause, tap into what I am feeling (mentally and physically), and act on my own needs in ways that are more nurturing and caring than before.

    When I realize that I am losing focus on a project—perhaps while typing a blog post or planning a workshop—I no longer push through. Instead, thanks to months of practice, I pause and check in with my brain and body. Thanks to practice, I can quickly ascertain whether I need to take a simple break, to get up and walk around for a bit, to take a walk outdoors, or to stop for the day.

    I am learning to embrace the idea that rest is an inherent right, not something that needs to be earned. It is no longer something that occurs only once I have pushed myself until the point of collapse. 

    As it turns out, the more I lean into rest and build it into my days, the more energy I have to actually accomplish all the things I want to get done in life.

    When I add time off or breaks during the day, I find I have better focus when I need to be working on a task. When I include rest in my days, I have the energy to exercise in the morning and also make a good meal for dinner.

    I invite you to join me in adding actual breaks into your day, where you do nothing “productive” at all. No catching up on phone calls or emails or texts—just rest. I’d love to hear if and how it works for you.

  • The Science of Happiness: 9 Feel-Good Tools to Boost Your Mood

    The Science of Happiness: 9 Feel-Good Tools to Boost Your Mood

    “Remember, being happy doesn’t mean you have it all. It simply means you’re thankful for all you have.” ~Unknown

    I remember sitting on the New York City subway, tears streaming down my face, armed with valium and lithium along with other antidepressants that my psych had just prescribed.

    I was desperate, in that cave I had come to know as depression. Dark, hopeless, fearful depression. The cold metal seat of the subway made me feel raw and exposed. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t stop crying. I was panicked that I would be like this forever.

    That was an example of one time in my life. Yeah, I got over it. And there were other episodes of this beast. I gradually became sick and tired of being sick and tired.

    I remember the day. I had been in depression again, and from what seemed like nowhere I started to feel the light of gratitude. I was actually feeling grateful! And it felt so very good! I knew I could start to think and feel differently.

    Then and there I finally vowed to find out how to bring happiness into my life on a consistent basis. Sure, there would be the hard times, but my goal became to live my life in the most positive way I could. I discovered that happiness is an inside job and a process. There is a science to being happier. And I’m here to tell you, it can be done.

    Maybe you’ve never been that down. I hope not. But if you’re feeling low or blue, there is help for you.

    So let’s look at the science of happiness.

    Sonia Lyubormirsky and colleagues have discovered that we can actually raise our happiness levels. According to their research, 50% of our happiness is genetic, hardwired, we are born with a happiness set point. This might explain why your sister is always happy, while you struggle to make it through a day at times. Unfortunately, this set point cannot be changed.

    The next thing to consider: 10% of our happiness is due to life circumstances—our gender, our age, where we grew up, our occupation, significant events in our lives, whether we are married or single, etc.

    For instance, you might think that having more money or having that new car would make you happier, but it only would make you happier up to a point. Then the effect of “hedonic adaptation” takes over. That is the tendency we all have to get used to what we have, causing our happiness levels to go back to the way they were before we got that “new thing.”

    If you’re worried about survival, then having enough money would be critical. But studies show that the rich aren’t any happier than the rest of us. In fact, it’s been reported that they claim they have more headaches and worries. Again, happiness is an inside job.

    Now the good news: 40% of our happiness is left for intentional activity. This is where we have choice. We can change and manage our state of mind. This 40% is where we have control over our happiness levels. We may not be able to change our set point, but we can change our happiness levels! It’s up to us.

    There are many things we can do as intentional habits. We can practice acts of kindness, learn to forgive, connect with others, take care of our bodies (through both physical activity and meditation)—and these are just a few.

    One of the best places to start is with a daily gratitude practice. Write down three things that make you grateful daily. Choose different things each day. Write down why they make you grateful. The why is very important.

    Studies done in corporations like Google have shown this practice increases positivity levels. Make this a daily intentional practice. It may seem corny at first but, hey, science has shown that it works. Guaranteed to change your mindset.

    There is a whole science to happiness, and it consists of daily, (what I like to call), “happiness hygiene habits.” You do these things like you brush your teeth. They keep your happiness levels higher. You choose what works best for you and you make it a daily practice.

    For instance, Harvard Health Publishing has reported that moving your body, be it exercising, walking, dancing, or practicing yoga, has in most cases been as effective as an antidepressant. Low intensity exercise sustained over time spurs the release of proteins called neurotrophic or growth factors, which cause nerve cells to grow and make new connections. The improvement in brain function makes us feel better.

    Back when I was so down, I had an insight and realized that if I wanted to have better days I was going to have to do for myself. I was going to have to understand what helps me change my mindset from negative to positive.

    Happiness isn’t something you go after and then once you get it, you have it for good. It’s an ongoing process of daily maintenance using the tools that the science of happiness has uncovered. 

    Some of these tools:

    1. Setting realistic, achievable, and personally significant goals has given me a purpose.

    My goals become projects that inspire and excite me. I set intrinsic goals versus extrinsic goals. These pursuits make me happier and keep me young. I no longer set goals about money, ego, or power. I value and truly “own” my goals; they are not handed down by what society dictates or what my parents, neighbors, or anyone else externally thinks are worthy

    2. Savoring positive moments has become a real source of joy.

    When I find a sunrise with a glowing moon that is awesome, I hold onto that awe and revel in it. Catch the beauty, savor the positive.

    3. Connecting with people can make a huge difference.

    Reaching out to good friends, (even when I don’t want to) has helped me stay more connected and therefore more content.

    4. Sharing with a close friend what’s going on in my life helps to take the weight off my shoulders and I get to share my secrets.

    You’re only as sick as your secrets. Sharing is caring. Listening to good friends is just as healing.

    5. Practicing random acts of kindness (letting someone go first in a line or writing a “thank you” letter) has shown me compassion.

    These small acts get me thinking along the lines of being of service. Being of service takes the focus off of me and onto others. Where can I make a difference in someone else’s life?

    6. Increasing my spiritual connection has become a source of hope and strength.

    Through meditation, prayer, and contemplation, I have found a connection with the universal source which I tap into daily.

    7. Catching my negative self-talk has been huge in helping me to stay positive.

    Catching negative talk such as: catastrophizing (“This is terrible”), all or nothing thinking (“It always turns out like this”), negative predictions (“My finances will be in ruins”), labeling (“I’m so stupid”) and so on has been a big turnaround.

    Catching these thoughts is not always easy, but I’m on the lookout for them now. I immediately stop myself and switch the thought to a positive, more accurate statement. Our negative thoughts aren’t the truth of the situation; they’re lies and distortions the ego tells us. It’s all in how we perceive it.

    8. Paying attention to the little things helps me maintain a healthy mental space.

    Even something as simple as listening to my music and getting up and dancing will almost always lift my mood.

    9. Finally, living in the moment as much as I can, without bringing the past into it or dooming and glooming about the future has allowed me to be free of torment.

    The “now” is where true peace lies. Present moment awareness is simple but not always easy.

    —

    So all of these actions and more can make up our 40% choice point. We can raise our state of well-being through practice of the happiness hygiene habits. Science has proven that practicing these habits has helped in raising low-level pessimists into low-level optimists.

    Hey, if I can do it, anyone can. And that means you!

  • 4 Ways to Save Your Sanity When Life Gets Hard and Overwhelming

    4 Ways to Save Your Sanity When Life Gets Hard and Overwhelming

    “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” ~Jon Kabat Zinn

    In December of 2020, we noticed Mom’s speech seemed difficult. Like she had stuffed cotton balls in her mouth, and someone was restraining her jaw from moving. We asked her about it, she said it was nothing.

    We hadn’t seen each other since we got together over the holidays. On New Year’s Day 2020, we clinked glasses filled with sparkling wine and shared bold predictions about how this was going to be our best year yet (spoiler alert, it wasn’t).

    With every passing week and conversation, it got worse. We brought it up many times, my sister and I. We pleaded with her to see a doctor. We were separated by thousands of miles and a closed border. My sister in Virginia, me in California, Mom in Canada.

    She said no, it wasn’t a big deal, it was getting better (spoiler alert again, it also wasn’t). She insisted she was fine. She could eat, drink, work, and speak. It was all good. She repeated this message as our worries grew. We felt powerless to help, especially in the face of her denial and refusal to get care.

    In March of 2021, I got an odd message on Facebook messenger. It was from a woman who said she worked with my mother, asking me to call her. She had taken my mother to the hospital the night before, where she was admitted for extreme dehydration and exhaustion.

    Her symptoms made no sense to them either, so she endured a battery of tests. Ultimately, it was revealed that what ailed her was amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease. A horrible progressive nervous system disease that causes loss of muscle control. It is always fatal, with no known cure.

    Her disease first attacked her ability to speak and swallow, an unusual first set of symptoms. When she was hospitalized, she finally admitted she hadn’t eaten a real meal in thirty days and had been able to drink less and less.

    My sister and I are both career women with young families. I work for a tech company. The work is fast moving, complex, and nuanced. I used to pride myself on my “meeting endurance.” I often tackled days with ten to fourteen meetings, with enough energy left to crank out work deliverables, do an intense workout, and spend time with my six-year-old twins.

    With my mother’s diagnosis and the new responsibilities of caregiving during a pandemic, I had to revisit many of my previous beliefs and assumptions. Here’s what I learned. I hope it helps you too.

    Lesson 1: Out with stretch goals, in with baseline goals.

    I’m a (sometimes) recovering overachiever. I have a history of establishing huge stretch goals and basking in satisfaction when I smash them. For years I was motivated by the striving to do more, be better.

    Until I wasn’t.

    With my mother’s diagnosis and the challenges of parenting and working in a pandemic, overwhelm swallowed me whole. It felt like I was surrounded by fuzzy darkness. Like I was moving through molasses.

    I wasn’t alone, of course; mental health issues skyrocketed globally. Rates of depression and anxiety are rising. The term “languishing” was introduced to express the lack of thriving many more experienced.

    I had to rethink my relationship to accomplishment.

    I have given myself a break from stretch goals. I now set what I call baseline goals. Baseline goals are super small, completely achievable objectives. They are daily or weekly practices that have compounding impact when practiced consistently over years. Simply put, baseline goals are the smallest possible thing you can commit to that will support your well-being.

    Instead of an overwhelming big picture, you create a concrete short-term focus.

    Instead of a lengthy, high-intensity fitness routine or a stretch goal (let’s train for a marathon!), the baseline goal is fifteen minutes or more of movement six days a week. Walking counts. Slow yoga counts. Dancing in the living room definitely counts. I can do fifteen minutes.

    Instead of kicking off a complex transformation project (let’s reinvent how we interact with our customers!), the baseline goal is each morning to determine the biggest priority for the day, and the absolute minimum action that needs to be taken. Then do that thing first. I can figure out one priority. I can do one thing.

    It turns out that when you’re super clear on your minimums, it frees up a lot of the capacity used up by trying to do it all. It releases the guilt from impossibly high standards.

    Lesson 2: Separate your future problems from your current problems.

    It has become almost a mantra for me to say, “That’s not a problem I need to solve today.” There are SO. MANY. PROBLEMS. So many decisions to make.

    I had to learn to be discerning about which problems I needed to tackle now and acknowledge that there were many I didn’t have enough information to figure out, so it made no difference to think about them.

    When my sister and I moved my mother into an assisted living community, our minds were invaded by the “what ifs,” and “what will we do when?”.

    “What if she needs more care than they can give?”, “What if we can’t support the costs?”, “What if we need to move her again?”, “What if they close the borders?”, “What if they disallow visitors?”.

    We started asking ourselves, “What problems do we need to solve right now?”.

    The only problem we needed to solve was immediate care and needs. We didn’t need to know the future. We could respond to new needs as they emerged.

    It’s clearly not a healthy long-term behavior to ignore the future, but in crisis, clarifying where action and decisions are needed has been helpful in deescalating anxiety.

    Lesson 3: Self-compassion is the new black.

    There are many days when I feel like I’m failing in every dimension. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I am racked with guilt and self-criticism because I’m not somewhere else, doing more.

    Self-compassion is when we give ourselves the same kindness we’d extend to a good friend. When the guilt comes (and I haven’t yet figured out how to keep it at bay), and the self-critical talk starts, I pretend I’m talking to a dear friend. I’m doing my best. That’s all I can do.

    Lesson 4: Embrace the suck.

    It’s easy to become overwhelmed. To let my thoughts spiral into fear, worrying about the future in anticipation of what’s to come. I’ve now come to realize that when I do this, I am borrowing problems from the future. I am suffering in anticipation of things that may or may not come to pass.

    All I have to do is be here, now. That’s all. I don’t need to live the future yet; I just need to live the present.

    Jon Kabat-Zinn said, “Give yourself permission to allow this moment to be exactly as it is, and allow yourself to be exactly as you are.”

    And right now, there are many moments that are difficult and painful. And I am often sad, depleted, and upset. That’s okay.

    I can’t skip the hard parts; I have to experience them. And only by experiencing the most excruciating parts can I also fully experience the joyful moments.

    You only ever have to deal with the moment you’re in right now. We can do hard things.

  • How One Fleeting Mindful Minute Completely Changed My Life

    How One Fleeting Mindful Minute Completely Changed My Life

    “Don’t believe everything you think.” ~Unknown

    I am a self-confessed overthinker. I could spend hours thinking and going down the rabbit hole in my mind trying to find answers to all sorts of situations.

    About ten years ago, I struggled with burnout. I was a nurse for about twenty-two years. All I knew was nursing, and I was defined by it. As they say, “A nurse is always a nurse.”

    This makes leaving nursing something hard to do, even when it’s unhealthy.

    I’ve always worked in high-stress areas like intensive care and trauma emergency rooms, but burnout made it impossible to be there physically and mentally. It is sad to say, but at that point, I had no compassion to give.

    I was physically drained, couldn’t focus, crying all the time, and the anxiety of it all was unbearable. I needed to know why this happened and what I did wrong. Hence, the overthinking that came with it all.

    Before all this, I was a goal-setting planner person. At that time the only thing I could plan was where to sit on the couch to ponder.

    I literally sat around analyzing my life, which only brought more regret, blame, and despair.

    At this point, I also lost my spirituality, which made it much worse.

    The sad part about burnout is you don’t realize you are in it until it’s usually too late, so you tend to go back into jobs you know, and for me that was the high-stress environments. I did what I knew, not what I should do.

    I failed again.

    This was about the fifth job I left because of the burnout, and now money was dwindling. I remember driving over a four-lane bridge from yet another failed opportunity, thinking my bridge to cross was bigger.

    In my case, I couldn’t see the water’s edge or future on the other side.

    What was the point?

    Devastated, I stopped working altogether, using my savings to get by.

    I would sit on the couch “strategizing,” which meant overthink everything for hours.

    Regrets, dreams lost, future uncertain, bad career decisions swirled in my head. Then I would plan my future with unrealistic goals from the comforts of my couch and blanket.

    I even pondered my navel hoping a Divine source would help me.

    Around that time, someone told me I needed to get out of my head and become mindful.

    This is when the amazing minute would soon come in.

    Mindfulness seemed elusive, and of course, it was something I had to analyze.

    I was far from mindful. Watching thoughts meant more things to think about. I was trying to find mindfulness and bring it back to my couch.

    Until one day…

    I finally got off the couch and went for a walk. I sat down by a stream, and before I knew it, I was completely present for about a minute watching this little leaf.

    It turned and twisted as it floated down the stream. It wasn’t struggling like I was. It was letting the flow of the water carry it where it needed to go. If it bumped into a rock, it would twist away. if it got stuck, it would become unstuck by the water’s gentle movement.

    This little leaf had no resistance to what was happening.

    At that moment everything clicked. I felt spaciousness as this sense of peace washed over me.

    This was presence.

    Letting go of the struggle. Letting go of the thoughts that held me in my past.

    This was a powerful experience. For a minute.

    It was fleeting.

    I kept going back and forth between overthinking and being mindful.

    I wasn’t going with the flow; instead, I was fighting it, trying to control the direction of the stream.

    I then realized a few important things…

    I could be grateful for the small moments of mindfulness. Five seconds or a minute were precious.

    I needed to stop trying to hold onto mindfulness. It wasn’t something tangible that I could hold, grab, or pull within me. It was already there, waiting for me to let go of my resistance to it.

    I learned being mindful could happen anytime and anywhere. It didn’t have to be a big thing. I could be mindful of washing my hands, petting my cat, or listening to a car go by.

    These simple things started to take on a greater meaning.

    But it was still fleeting. Until I finally stopped analyzing mindfulness.

    I was trying to create the experience of being mindful, except I was experiencing it from a memory perspective, and then I would look forward to the next experience in my future.

    At that point I realized, fleeting was okay.

    The present moment will always be fleeting as it’s a point of time between the past and the future. To stay in the present is to stay in the now without the worry of before or after.

    I now look at all my thoughts as a stream of consciousness that, like the leaf, I can float upon as I remain in a state of calm. There is no struggle here. No resistance. Just a sense of now.

    Over the next two years, my burnout went away, my overthinking and anxiety decreased, and I was able to go back into nursing.

    This time, I started off slow, working in a small nursing home, doing home care, and then eventually I went back into a hospital setting, albeit a non-stressful environment.

    I finally found peace and contentment in the simple things, and I was able to bring my tiny present moments with my patients and coworkers. I finally enjoyed my career for the first time in a long time.

    Mindfulness is a big part of my life, and I’m grateful for the lessons this situation has given to me. Without it I would have never had my mindful minute that changed my life.

    I now appreciate going with the flow, because I have become that tiny leave who navigates down the stream of life, one mindful minute at a time.

    Fleeting or not, it’s perfect the way it is.

  • Not Happy with Your Life? I Changed the Rules and You Can Too

    Not Happy with Your Life? I Changed the Rules and You Can Too

    “I really believe in the philosophy that you create your own universe. I’m just trying to create a good one for myself.” ~Jim Carrey

    If someone had told me years ago I’d one day be serving mushroom mafalda to a former VIP client, I’d have laughed in their face. Not an “I wouldn’t be caught dead doing this” type of cackle; more with an “I haven’t waited tables in twenty-five years, why would I start now?” kind of incredulity.

    But it’s true. I’ve gone from defining myself as “Career Girl Sam”—toiling in an industry that was killing me—to a far simpler existence. Literally pulled from my laughable one-page resume: giving people a positive dining experience.

    Now this trope may seem overdone. People quit their highfalutin jobs every day. Maybe they’re sick of the rat race. Maybe they wake up and realize the lifestyle they’re trying to maintain is unnecessary. Or maybe their mental health is under attack (mine was). Whatever the reason, walking away from a pressure-cooker job is not a new thing.

    Since I walked away, however, I’ve been challenging the so-called “rules” of life. I’ve decided to re-write them. And I have the pandemic to thank for giving me the clarity I never even knew I needed.

    The First Shift

    I’ll start with how I saw myself. Like all of us, I had a different hat for every role. The one I wore as Sam, the mom. It was a practical hat, meant to keep my ears warm in the winter. The one for Sam, the career girl. More a signature, fashion piece netting plenty of compliments. And, of course, the ones I wore as Sam, the daughter… Sam, the friend… Sam, the sister… I could go on, and so can you.

    Over the course of twenty odd years, I’d worn and collected so many damn hats I’d forgotten who was underneath them.

    I’d forgotten about the Sam that I am.

    Well, you reach a certain age and suddenly you’re aware of time running out. I could hear the clock pounding in my head at night.

    Once I realized there was someone living inside me who had been buried underneath all those hats, I decided I needed to give her a chance. And the best way I knew was to figure out how to thrive in my own way, on my own time, and with my own set of ideals.

    I don’t hold any secret sauce to succeeding at this game called Life. But I can tell you, I’m happier these days. Changing up the rules has made a huge difference.

    Screw the Productivity Hustle

    I’ve been in a perpetual state of anxiety for most of adulthood. In the past, I was rarely in the moment. (Was I ever? Probably not.) Because it was a constant series of this, then that, then don’t forget about these 500 other things I was juggling. All of which could come toppling down at any moment.

    And here’s the deal: I’m not ashamed of my incessant quest to get sh*t done. It’s part of who I am. But I’ve learned some things that shocked me. Thank you, pandemic, for showing me that it’s okay to wake up and know your contribution to the world is simply being alive.

    The stripping away of so much from our regularly scheduled days has created space for… well, nothing, if I choose. Understand this is decidedly not how I roll. I will try to squeeze seven minutes out of every five whenever I can.

    But it’s unhealthy. And I saw myself projecting my constant hustle onto others. If my husband “sat around” on his day off, it would trigger me. “What did you get done today?” “Uhhh, I watched ‘Forged in Fire.’ Why?” The poor dude. He’s entitled to rest and restoration. Just because I didn’t allow myself the same luxury didn’t mean he had to operate under that hard-core philosophy.

    He said to me the other day, “Sam, I’m not you,” and then it hit me. Why am I driving myself so much?

    I fill every second with a TO-DO that, quite frankly, does not add much value to my life. So what if the house hasn’t been vacuumed in a month? So what if the laundry resembles a mountain of clothing chaos I summit only when necessary? (Like, hardly ever. Rummaging is more our style these days.)

    I’ve decided to stop chasing—and exalting—productivity. It’s exhausting! Here’s what I now do instead.

    Do you and forget about validation.

    Along the way, I’ve prided myself on being a woman who could pull amazing things out of thin air. Elaborate costumes made at the eleventh hour. Corporate events I’d swoop into and sprinkle my own “something something.” Need a little pick-me-up? Standby while I write you a rap song and perform it in front of all your peers.

    I believed in trying to nail everything I was involved in. Which meant operating at high intensity, twenty-four-seven.

    And I documented it all on social media.

    I wanted everyone to know how capable I was. I gobbled up their validation, morning, noon, and night. But unconsciously.

    In fact, I thought I was just being funny. In some ways, I was. Getting stuck in my red leather boots at airport security in Toronto proved highly entertaining for my Facebook peeps a number of years ago. Losing my keys in the snow. Smashing my phone for the umpteenth time. It was all part of my little show. Another persona—Sam, the relatable dumpster fire.

    For the last eight months, I’ve mostly been off social media. I was initially motivated to take a break by the same things that probably irk you. But when I felt an uncomfortable vacancy after completing something cool that nobody knew about, it hit me.

    Newsflash: I was desperate to be liked, and hungry to be lauded. I knew I needed to stop relying on this external validation.

    Now if I have a private moment to myself, I don’t feel any pressure to whip out my iPhone and snap a photo. I can, if I want to, but it’s for me. Or my family. These moments have become sacred.

    And I’m not pooh-poohing anyone who loves their daily scroll through the lives of others. Nor am I judging those who enjoy sharing things themselves. Have at ‘er.

    But I can tell you, I have more available real estate in my head, and I truly do not give a flying you-know-what on the opinions of followers. I’m doing me. On my terms. No permission needed.

    Prioritize joy.

    I’m not sure why, but I grew up attaching a sense of shame to the feeling of joy. Maybe it was because my mother suffered from crippling depression. We kind of tip-toed around, trying to keep the confusion at a minimum. Maybe it was the energy placed on productivity and success. I’m not sure. But what I now know is that joy is allowed. Joy matters. And I’m not going to dim my pursuit of it to make anyone else feel better.

    Because I’m choosing to find it in the smallest of things. Like my hot oatmeal this morning. How incredible was that first taste—the crunch of the green apple, the punch of the cinnamon I added. A small moment; just for me.

    How lovely is it to sit in that one sliver of sunshine that beams in your house first thing in the morning? Or to notice the squirrels chasing each other? These seemingly silly observations which at one point in my life would have gone completely unnoticed are now part of my ongoing quest.

    Where can I find joy? Is it in the smile of the barista who made my latte? Is it in this parking space I lucked out on? And I don’t just look for it, I want to dish it out. Because it matters. We all deserve joy.

    Get real with yourself. And calm the F down.

    My tendency in life is to live in the extremes. When things are bad, I assume the worst. When the going is good, my rose-tinted glasses convince me that only the best possible outcome is reserved for me.

    Well, I’ve spent the last year getting real with myself. This has involved challenging the absolute worst-case scenario that lives in my head.

    I quit my career to lead women on these gorgeous, global walking adventures. I’m oversimplifying, but it’s what I did. It seems so obviously like a pipedream, it’s not even funny. The truth is nothing is as simple as the idea. I’m learning this. (She says while popping a Tums!)

    With the pandemic stalling my plans for this new business, I’ve found myself twisted up in even more fear. But I’ve looked it square in the eye and decided I can live with the worst-case scenario: instead of getting this thing off the ground, what if it plummets into cold water like some sloppy cannonball?

    What will that mean? I’ll have spent time and money chasing a dream that didn’t work out. Will I say it was wasted? No way. Because I’ve always believed we can’t know until we try. Will we end up in the streets? I mean, I guess, that’s always a possibility. But unlikely. I have skills, and I’m fairly certain I can just go out and get another J-O-B.

    Which brings me to my next point.

    Stop asking people what they do for a living. Ask them what they’re about, instead.

    A part of me has had to face some ugly bits of my ego. I used to feel good about myself when I answered that famous question, “What do you do for a living?” I’d pretend to stammer around, but secretly would be full of pride that I owned a company and worked in finance. I thought (foolishly) this gave me credibility. I thought, somehow, I was worthy. Because I flat-out defined myself as Sam, the career woman.

    I’m here to tell you it’s all rubbish.

    Thanks in part to walking the Camino, I figured out that I am not that. The “Sam I Am” is not what I do for a living. Nor does anyone give a rat’s ass what I do for a living, unlike what we’re led to believe. I could be perfectly content living a simple life, under the radar, away from regulations and scrutiny and incessant pressure.

    Like my new part-time gig of waiting tables. I live in a small town with a handful of nice restaurants. I knew it would mean the inevitable bump into past clients. But it doesn’t faze me—not even a noodle. And it will happen one day. I imagine a conversation going like this: “Oh hello, Mr. Former VIP Client! Yes, I do work here now. Any questions about the pasta selection?”

    Let’s redefine that annoying question, “What do you do for a living?” Why do we feel the need to put people in boxes? Why does it matter how someone earns money these days? As though their job somehow defines them. Hypocrisy moment: it used to define me. Or so I thought, until it didn’t anymore.

    And I’m a little frustrated that we start as young as we do, even with kids. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I’m all for having dreams and a path to work toward. But are we not setting ourselves up for a future that has far too much emphasis on what we do and how that relates to our worth in the world?

    I think it would be more interesting to answer the question, “What are you about these days?” or “What matters to you in life?” Next time you find yourself in that classic situation, why not switch things up?

    I’m just now figuring out what matters to me in life. It’s not the job. Not the house. The car. The clothes I wear. It’s not the likes. The comments. Or the number of holiday cards I receive. It’s not even the hikes I go on.

    What matters to me are the same things that truly matter to you. Your family. Your sense of self-worth. Trying to stay on a path that feels like your own.

    So throw out the rules that aren’t working for you. Nobody said you had to follow them anyways.

  • Where Are You Right Now? The Importance of Living in the Present

    Where Are You Right Now? The Importance of Living in the Present

    “The more you are focused on time—past and future—the more you miss the Now, the most precious thing there is.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    Where are you right now?

    Maybe you are at your desk, scrolling through emails, trying to put off the morning’s work in hopes that it will go away if you don’t acknowledge it.

    Maybe you are in your favorite chair with a cup of cheap coffee, enjoying the final moments of morning light.

    Maybe you are walking through your school or office building trying to hurriedly read this from your phone before you bump into someone.

    Wherever you find yourself sitting, or standing, or walking right now, I want to ask you another question:

    Are you really there?

    Where are you right now? Really?

    So much about life in our culture right now has become about the next thing. The next project. The next promotion. The next vacation. The next experience. We’ve become obsessed with growth as it pertains to results, achievement, and living a respected, successful life.

    We’ve forgotten how to be here… now.

    We’ve forgotten about being present.

    Right now, I am sitting on my couch writing this because I wanted to be in the same room as my wife rather than locked away in my office this morning. I am listening to cello music through one earbud in my right ear. I am typing on a writing software that I love, but it doesn’t seem to love my seven-year-old Macbook, so it keeps crashing.

    But earlier this morning, one of my favorite podcasters, Emily P Freeman, posed this question.

    “Where are you?”

    And before I could say, “In the shower after my morning run,” my inner voice (the annoyingly honest one) said:

    “You are ten years in the future.

    You are hoping that you have a thriving business and people who actually listen to you.

    You are looking forward to having the freedom to travel or just spend more time with people you love.

    You are NOT being present, right here, right now, in this shower.

    You are a thousand steps ahead because you want the prize without the work.

    You want the destination without the journey.

    You want the dream without the slow, steady, sometimes frustrating routine.

    You spend all your energy living in the future rather than being present in the moment, so even if/when you get there, you won’t be there either.

    You are always ten years in the future.”

    This is true of me.

    Most of my life I am either ten years in the future, where all my dreams have come true, I do know what I’m talking about, I have proven that I am not an imposter, and other people do kind of listen to me…

    …or I am ten years in the past, finishing up college, learning to be a leader, excited to get married but still free to play sand volleyball any time of the week with my numerous fun friends who are equally free of jam-packed schedules or children.

    If I’m not in one of these two places in my head, then I am typically overwhelmed by one or both of them.

    Overwhelmed by the reality of where I am right now and feeling the guilt and shame that comes with thinking:

    “You should be more than you are by now.”

    That’s the killer right there.

    The idea that I should be MORE.

    MORE successful.

    MORE impactful.

    MORE authentic.

    MORE friendly.

    MORE daring.

    MORE frugal.

    BETTER with my money…of which I have MORE.

    MORE traveled.

    MORE disciplined.

    More more more more more.

    That’s where I am most of the time—ashamed that I am not more.

    So I hide.

    I hide behind anger at my boss for his demanding attitude.

    I hide behind consuming entertainment so that I don’t have to create.

    I hide behind junk food that makes me feel less hopeless… until it hits my waistline.

    I hide. Because hiding is easier than feeling the pain, and it’s much easier than having grace for where I am.

    One day, when I was struggling with feeling like I was way behind where I should be, I went to the bathroom. While washing my hands, I looked at the face of the guy looking back at me in the mirror and literally thought:

    “I’d rather have the fun, deep, authentic Kurtis from college, or the wise, disciplined, successful Kurtis of the future. I would take any Kurtis but the one I’ve got.”

    How’s that for sad realizations?

    So let me ask you again: Where are you right now?

    Then let me interject my oh-so-wise advice.

    You know, one of those wise things everyone knows and says but never take their own advice on. Yeah, that kind of advice.

    Where you are today is the most important place you can be.

    That’s right.

    Being present to where you are RIGHT NOW.

    Not where you’ve been.

    Not where you wanted to be.

    Not where you still hope to be one day.

    This moment, in this place, on this couch, in this town, with these people in the midst of these circumstances.

    This is your moment.

    This is the moment that makes you.

    What good is being more successful, more disciplined, more respected, more affluent, or more traveled if anywhere you go you don’t know how to actually BE THERE? To fully feel? To completely live that experience in that space in time?

    What good is it if you cannot breathe in the life that is all around you?

    I have had better moments in my dusty, boring little town of Lubbock, Texas than many have had atop a mountain in Nepal, or on the streets of Venice, or in the seat of a chartered plane, or backstage at a concert.

    I have lived more on my back porch with my dog and the morning light than most people will ever experience by constantly chasing this idea of MORE.

    And the only reason I have been able to embrace these everyday moments and feel alive, if only for a brief time, is because I have worked hard to drop my illusions of more, and practiced being present right here where I am right now.

    Time for more advice. Are you ready?

    Everything in life takes learning, practice, and repetition.

    Learning means looking like an idiot to learn the basics.

    Learning a language means making mistakes and sounding like a three-year-old.

    It means practicing with people better than you.

    It means repeating “The library is at the center of the city” over and over and over and over again.

    And then again.

    Learning to play the cello means plucking the strings for months when you would rather use your bow.

    It means playing “Hot Cross Buns” till you hear it in your dreams.

    It means repeating four notes of music over and over and over and over again until your fingers seem to play it on their own.

    Learning to be a parent, or a friend, or a spouse means making mistakes, asking for forgiveness, trying it differently, then rinsing and repeating that same cycle a million times until you have a mild understanding of how to truly serve this person with your life… and they do the same for you.

    Being present to this moment is no different.

    It takes learning.

    It takes practice and making mistakes.

    It takes disciplined repetition until it almost becomes second nature.

    So where do we start?

    I started with five minutes on a park bench.

    I got to a place where there wasn’t anything asking for my attention.

    No kids needing to be entertained.

    No homework to half-ass.

    No floors to clean or dishes to put away.

    No friends or fun activities to distract me.

    I put my phone on Do Not Disturb, which meant no texts, no calls, and no notifications, and I set my timer for five minutes.

    For those five minutes—which felt like an hour—I sat in complete silence.

    Some of the time I closed my eyes, some of it I watched the grass, the birds, or the water.

    But for the whole five minutes, I did not try to solve a problem, plan ahead, strategize, or prepare myself for anything to come.

    For five minutes, I simply sat and breathed.

    It was very difficult and it was beautiful.

    Do this every day—or multiple times a day if you’re really brave—for at least one week, and you will find yourself less stressed, more focused, and more productive, all because you have started being here.

    This is the best place to start.

    Being here may be one of the hardest things I’ve worked to do in my life. At times it requires us to hold great joy and great pain in the same hand. It sometimes feels like it might pull us apart or drown us in the reality of our struggles.

    But when done regularly, when handled with great care and grace and patience for the process, it is one of the most freeing parts of the journey that I could ever recommend.

    Where you are right now is not perfect. It may not be ideal. But it is your reality.

    And if we don’t start with reality, if we can’t handle this moment with grace, we have no real hope for the future.

    So I’ll ask you again, my friend: Where are you right now?

  • How I’ve Eased My Anxiety by Being More Present: 4 Practices to Try

    How I’ve Eased My Anxiety by Being More Present: 4 Practices to Try

    “Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you know you have for sure.” ~Oprah Winfrey

    In 2012, during my community college years, I began to experience mild anxiety.

    I assume it was the stress and fear that came with maintaining a good GPA in hope of transferring to a well-known university, alongside deciding what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Or perhaps it was because of the time I knew I’d wasted slacking in high school to fit in with what I was surrounded by and to preserve my loud-mouthed drama-seeking status.

    The next few years, I thought about the past and future a lot, cried, and grasped for many breaths during anxiety attacks near the campus pond.

    In late 2016 I faced my first severe anxiety attack in the laundry room of my parents’ home while sitting against the washing machine and holding onto my legs curled up against my chest.

    For the first time ever, I felt a heavy pain in the core of my body as if there were rocks piling up all the way to my throat and closing my airway to breathe. I had never felt so disheartened, lost, empty, and hopeless.

    Soon, my anxiety attacks got to the point where I faced numbing and tingling sensations in my head, face, hands, and feet.

    It wasn’t until countless severe anxiety attacks in that I had a glimpse of awareness behind my ongoing stream of thoughts. I found that I was experiencing stress and fear about what had happened in the past or would happen in the future and realized that I’d lost the present moment.

    Many of us face day-to-day suffering through anxiety. We worry about progressing in our careers, getting an education, making a decent income, being there for our families, putting food on the table, and always working toward a means to an end.

    I realized that many of us are constantly on the run to the future trying to be certain about what’s next, and if we slip and fall along the way, we worry about why it happened, which takes us into the past—eventually emerging from an egoic-state of fears, wants, needs, and expectations. That was me.

    There’s always going to be something new that we’ll want, need, and expect while trying to stay up to par with the people and situations that surround us. We’ll spend a lot of time sulking over setbacks, failures, and loss. Ultimately, suffering from stress and anxiety will bury what we’re meant to experience, learn, and grow from in this moment, the present moment. Because we can’t fully immerse ourselves in this moment if we’re worrying about the next or regretting the one prior.

    I’ve spent the last few years exploring, reading, learning, and practicing how to heal stress and anxiety with the simple, yet profound practice of being present, conscious, and aware.

    With this practice, I’ve strengthened my ability to acknowledge and allow suffering to take its course when facing life’s inevitable difficulties and challenges.

    The following are a handful of ways I practice presence, which has not only dissolved my anxiety, but also awakened my gratitude for the great joy and peace we can experience once we become conscious and aware in this moment.

    4 Ways to Practice Presence

    1. Practice non-judgment, non-attachment, and non-resistance.

    You can lose yourself into the past and future when you’re judging, getting attached to, and resisting what is. This is because we become fixated on our wants, needs, and expectations of the moment instead of fully experiencing it. If we want to minimize our suffering, we need to be here in the present moment and allow what is to be and pass.

    I know this practice is easier said than done.

    I’ve had days where I was over the moon with immense joy during moments of achievements, when sharing laughs with family, and while celebrating milestones like my wedding. I also became attached, wanting the moments to last forever and feeling saddened that they had to come to an end.

    On the contrary, I’ve also had days where I felt gutted and devastated over the loss of my dad, and I couldn’t help but judge and resist the experience of losing him. I had expected him to be around for future milestones and heartfelt moments.

    Yet, I’ve learned that moments are undeniably and inevitably temporary. Joy doesn’t last forever, but neither does pain. Allow the painful moments to be and pass and truly savor the good ones with your presence and full attention.

    Practice being and experiencing this moment as it is without judgment, attachment, and resistance. Enjoy the good moments and learn and grow from the ones that aren’t that great.

    This will allow you to surrender to and accept the process and flow of life, which is the key to decreasing your suffering.

    2. Focus on your breath.

    Realize that you have no control over your past or future breath, only the one in this moment right now. Similarly, you have no control over what happened in the past and can never be certain of the future.

    In many experiences in life, from meditation, yoga, exercise regimes, and sports to childbirth and even suffering, we’re always reminded to just breathe. It’s the breath that guides us into the present moment where the actual being and doing is.

    Try your best to concentrate on the inhaling and exhaling momentum at a gentle and patient pace throughout your day. It’s a form of meditation that can be done anywhere and anytime to dissolve any stress and anxiety you face.

    I practice this throughout my day all the time whether I’m at work or on the couch, just to redirect my focus into the now, especially when I become aware of nonstop thoughts, which can set the stage for suffering.

    This practice brings you out of your head and into your body and allows you to immediately shift your focus away from your worries, fears, and regrets.

    3. Immerse yourself in nature.

    Have you ever felt immense peace while looking at the sunrise or sunset and a calmness when around trees, flowers, plants, rivers, lakes, and waterfalls?

    When you’re with nature, you instantly become connected to its stillness, silence, and simplicity.

    Even during the roughest storms, nature reminds us to become in sync with what is to allow the storm to take its course and pass.

    To be in nature, you don’t have to go far. Step into the backyard or take a walk around the block. Pay attention to the beauty of the flowers or the rustling wind in the trees and embrace the peace and joy that arises from it.

    You’ll find that nature truly has a way of reconnecting you to this moment.

    4. Be grateful and trust what is.

    So grateful, I whispered to myself as I stood outside in the backyard watching my puppy Oakley running back and forth on the grass, my husband playing with him and the sun setting.

    It would have been easy to lose myself to thoughts about what’s next and why I still at times feel lost and hopeless, but those thoughts never resolve how I feel and only ignite my anxiety. I decided to instead be grateful for the blessings in that moment, trust that what’s next will get here when it does, and for now, practice being present with what is.

    Be grateful for what is right now, even if you’re going through challenging times. Let your trust for the process be bigger than your fear, stress, and anxiety. When you trust the process, you tell life that you are one with its flow and allow the experience to make you stronger, teach you something new, and guide you onto a path of growth.

    Take a breath to recenter yourself into this moment and look around to see what you can appreciate. Perhaps it’s this blog, a family member, your pet, a plant, a cup of coffee, or a meal. Maybe it’s the sun or rain.

    It’s easier to let go of the past and stop trying to control the future when you’re fully immersed in the now. Whatever your life entails in this moment, be present with it, because that is the ultimate path to healing and finding your power in life.

  • How to Really Live In the Moment and Appreciate Life

    How to Really Live In the Moment and Appreciate Life

    “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ~Albert Einstein 

    Just when you think you have the whole living in the moment thing down, a four-year-old comes along and shows you how it’s done.

    I’ve been working hard on this, actually, keeping a gratitude journal and everything. I was feeling pretty good about my progress yesterday when I decided to take said four-year-old on a walk rather than rushing through the to-do list burning a hole in the back of my mind.

    “I’m going to be totally present,” I reminded myself as we headed out. I took deep breath and said a silent thanks for the beautiful day.

    Like I said, I was feeling pretty proud of my progress. Then my daughter blew me away. She schooled me in everything I have been working so hard on, and she wasn’t even trying.

    Her commentary on the walk went exactly like this:

    Ohhhhhh, what an amazing house!

    What an amazing garbage can!

    Oh wow, what a wonderful tree!

    Look at the rocks!

    I hear a bird!

    I hear a wind chime!

    Mom, do you hear that dog? It’s perfect!

    I hear a truck!

    Do you feel the wind? It is so soft!

    Look at the beautiful cactus,

    Look! Two trucks. 

    She was so amazed by things that I never notice or worse, complain about. 

    Now, I wasn’t completely unaware. I was thankful for another spring day before the summer heat, and I was enjoying this rare one-on-one time with her.

    But I had no idea that the neighbors had wind chimes. I have never looked at a garbage can and called it amazing (at least not since I was four). This perfect dog is the same one that I complain about to my husband. The wind was messing up my hair.

    There were at least a thousand other concerns competing for my attention while she was content to watch ants on the sidewalk.

    Sometimes I wish I could be a little more like her.

    She didn’t care if I sent out that attachment with that email. She didn’t care about how many calories we burned on our walk. She didn’t mind that her clothes didn’t match because she picked out exactly what she likes.

    I was not going to let this fade from my memory to be overtaken by another thousand concerns.

    “Be amazed,” I thought.

    I repeated it to myself the way you do a telephone number.

    “Be amazed,” I scrawled as fast as I could on the first piece of paper I found when we got home.

    Be amazed.

    I set a reminder in my calendar. I made a post-it. I wrote it down in my journal.

    Be amazed.

    I don’t want to forget this feeling. This absolute clarity.

    My mind can be the most hardened criminal against my own happiness. It snatches the joy right out of my hands. It confuses busy with important, urgent with significant, and difficulty with meaning.   

    My mind gives the future and the past too much space. It wanders over to what the neighbors are doing. It reminds me of what I have yet to accomplish. It wants to speed up time, and it plows right through those moments to be amazed by.

    With this clarity also came sadness. My heart broke for the lost opportunities to just be and appreciate.

    I guess that’s the bittersweet part of life. You can’t wait until this one tough part is over, but then it’s gone and you can’t go back. There’s a new stage to take its place, and the cycle continues.

    Soon, you find yourself telling wide-eyed new parents and self-conscious teenagers (and basically anyone in one of those stages that you wanted to rush through when you were there) that these are the best years.

    “Enjoy this while you can. It goes so fast,” you say.

    Be amazed.

    Looking back, the times that I once wished would pass by quickly actually turned out to be the hardest to let go. I could scold myself for this, or I could remember to be amazed now.

    One way or another, time marches on. Old becomes new, new becomes old, and you get another chance to be amazed.

    Each new stage is also another chance to be nice to yourself about the whole thing. It isn’t humanly possible to love every second of life while it’s happening. Even four-year-olds aren’t amazed all the time.

    This little walk with my four-year-old reminded me that even the simple things are amazing, and the things I complain about? They’re life, and they’re doable. Sure, life now is different from life pre-kids (and pre-husband), I’m doing different things than my friends, and maybe my life doesn’t measure up to someone else’s definition of amazing.

    So what?

    I can be amazed anyway.

    Be amazed.

    Starting now, these two words will be a compass guiding me when it feels like I don’t have it all together. They will remind me what direction I want to go even when I feel completely lost.

    Be amazed. Take a step back and look at your life with gratitude every now and then.  

    Be amazed. Squeeze every last ounce of goodness out of what is around you. Savor it. Soak it up. Luxuriate in it.

    Be amazed. When you’re burned out, bone weary, and bedraggled, use amazement to fill yourself back up. Seek out those situations, people, and activities that remind you of what it means and how it feels to be amazed.

    And those painful parts? You know, the ones that really, really hurt. The ones you barely survive. Maybe there’s a little room for amazement there, too.

    Amazement when you make it to the other side.

    Amazement for how much the heart can hold.

    Amazement for your resilience, your ability to heal, and your capacity to keep loving and hoping.

    Be amazed by your spirit. Your tenacity. Be amazed by that part of you that refuses to give up.

    You only get one shot at life, and you don’t have a whole lot of control over what happens to you in it. Take advantage of the choices that you do have.

    I will choose to be amazed.

  • How to Be Present and Peaceful When You Can’t Stop Thinking

    How to Be Present and Peaceful When You Can’t Stop Thinking

    “Rather than being your thoughts and emotions, be the awareness behind them.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    When I first started practicing Zen (or presence), I used to believe I could become completely thoughtless. Making my bed, no-thought. Washing my hands, no-thought. Walking around, no-thought. Imagine the spiritual experience!

    But it wasn’t like what I thought it would be.

    The reality is my mind was on full throttle all the time. No matter what I did, there would be a billion thoughts popping out from my head, preventing me from having even a moment of peace. Then I would yell at myself, “Okay, enough. Get out of your head now! Stop thinking!”

    In a panic, I thought about all those concepts I’d learned. “Now which technique do I use?” I’d think to myself, “What would a master do? There must be something I can do to silence my mind…”

    The harder I forced myself, the noisier my mind became. I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t do it. In fact, it just made things worse. My thoughts and inner dialogue would run even wilder. I was frustrated and angry with myself.

    During my first few years of practicing Zen and meditation, I was never at peace. Not even close. But I didn’t give up.

    As I learned more about spirituality, I finally found the answer. I was too hung up on killing my thoughts. I became obsessed with them, even though they were the very things I was trying to get rid of. As soon I realized that, I finally let go, and now I feel free.

    Here is what I learned, and how you can do the same.

    1. Understand it is impossible to silence your mind.

    It’s human to have thoughts. It means you have a healthy and functioning brain. We don’t need to get rid our thoughts at all. Why?

    Just like our eyes see, our ears hear, our nose smells, our tongue tastes, and our body feels, our mind thinks. If you want to get rid of a specific function, you will have to destroy the corresponding organ. The underlying message is simple: No one has a mind without thoughts, unless he or she is dead.

    When I tried to stop my mind, I was actually doing the impossible. Just as I can’t make my eyes not see and my ears not hear, there is no way I can make my mind not think.

    2. Don’t judge yourself.

    A quiet mind is not a mind with no thoughts. Rather, it is a decision you make to embrace every emotion and thought within you.

    Here’s the irony: When you embrace all your thoughts without judgment, no matter how annoying they are, your mind will calm down.

    So don’t resist your thoughts. Don’t beat yourself up for thinking too much. If you do, you are giving yourself unnecessary stress and anxiety. Thinking is the core function of your mind, and you are going to hear mental dialogue whether you like it or not.

    If you try to fight it, you resist what is inevitable. The more you fight your thoughts, the more you amplify them. Being non-judgmental is the key to stillness. Be okay with whatever thoughts you have, and true inner peace will come naturally.

    3. Separate analysis from action.

    I love to hike. When I get to the foot of the mountain, I don’t really think ahead. I focus only on the individual steps that lead me to my destination. With each step I take, in each passing moment, I admire the scenery and I savor the smell of fresh air. It’s a great way to become present.

    The reason I can do this is because I know where I want to go, how to get there, and the purpose of my hike beforehand. This way, I clear my mind of all analytical thinking—about the past and future—and I can get into the present more easily.

    Whenever you analyze, you are always thinking into the past and future. This takes you away from the beauty of the present moment.

    Of course, challenges and unexpected things happen. But as you deal with them with a defined purpose, your thinking stays within the present rather than thinking ahead, worrying, and giving yourself unwanted stress.

    Separate analytical thinking from action. Plan beforehand. Know exactly what to do before you start. Have a clear purpose and defined steps you would take.

    4. Focus on what you are doing.

    Do you meditate?

    When you meditate, you need a focus. It could be your breath or a mantra. This restrains your mind from wandering. Like the Buddha said, your mind is a dancing monkey. It is always looking for ways to escape from the present. On the other hand, a focus is like an oak tree that grounds you in the present.

    To stop the monkey from breaking away, you tie a rubber band between the two. Whenever the monkey goes too far, the band snaps him back to the trunk of the tree.

    How do you do this in your daily life? Unlike meditation, many of our daily tasks are habitual. Things like using the bathroom, taking a shower, eating, and walking are very hard to focus on.

    This is because your brain automates these tasks to save energy. This isn’t a bad thing, but now that your mind is freed up, it begins to babble non-sense. It starts wandering to the past and future.

    Luckily, you can use these tricks to increase focus and stay present:

    Mentally remind yourself of your present action.

    Use self-talk to direct your focus back to the present moment. For example, when washing your hands, repeat in your head, “I am washing my hands. I am washing my hands. I am washing my hands.”

    Focus on your senses.

    Direct your attention back into your body and out of your head. For example, when taking a shower, observe how water trickles down the surface of your skin. Inhale the fragrance of the soap. Enjoy the warmth. Listen to the sounds of flowing water.

    Do things differently.

    Make things more challenging. A classic technique all Zen masters use is to do everything in slow motion. This may sound easy, but it’s not. You will have a hard time doing things the way you want to. As a result, you are forced to act consciously instead of acting on autopilot.

    5. Return to focus whenever you wander away from it.

    Let’s go back to the oak tree-monkey analogy.

    At the beginning of your practice, your focus may be weak. Instead of an oak tree, it is more like a sprout; a monkey can easily uproot it.

    But don’t give up. Plant another tree. Bring your awareness back to your focus whenever your mind wanders away from it.

    Yes, that tree will probably be uprooted too. But each tree you plant will have its roots deeper and its trunk stronger than the time before. Likewise, your focus becomes stronger each time you return to the present moment.

    In this sense, mental noise is actually a good thing. It is an opportunity for you to become aware and strengthen your presence.

    Presence is One Simple Choice

    More than likely, all this is hard for you right now. All those concepts, techniques, and teachings you learned are complicating things so much that they don’t help you anymore. Worse, they make you even more stressed.

    If you really want a quiet mind, you have to throw all these concepts away, at least for the time being. Instead, start making everything in your life a practice. Learn not to judge yourself. Learn to be okay with whatever happens, and relax.

    You may not be able to do this at first, but it will happen. And when it happens, you will feel a click in your brain. On the outside, you will still be you. But on the inside, you will be overflowing with tranquility.

    This is not because you have silenced your mind. Not because you have banished all your negative thoughts. Not because you have mastered a lot of techniques.

    It is because you are okay with whatever happens. You are okay with negative thoughts. You are okay with a noisy mind. You are okay with interruptions and distractions. And when you are okay with whatever happens, you don’t hang on to them. In other words, you learn to let things go.

    Until then? Change the way you see your thoughts, and change the way you deal with them. All it takes is a little commitment and practice. This is your first step. One simple choice.

    And soon, you will have the inner peace you have always dreamed of.

    **This post was originally published in February, 2017.

  • How Happiness Sneaks Up on Us If We Stop Chasing It

    How Happiness Sneaks Up on Us If We Stop Chasing It

    One day a man met a hungry tiger. He ran. The tiger chased him. Coming to a cliff, he jumped, catching hold of a tree root to stop himself falling to the bottom where, horror upon horror, another tiger waited to eat him.

    He hung on for dear life to that thin root.

    Then a little mouse appeared and started to nibble at the root. The mouse was hungry and the fibers started to snap.

    Just then, the man saw a ripe red strawberry near him, growing from the cliff face. Holding the vine with one hand, he picked the strawberry with the other.

    How sweet it tasted! How happy he was!

    Buddhist Koan

    There’s no good time to have a heart attack. They really mess up your plans.

    The timing of mine could have been worse, though. I guess I should be grateful.

    It didn’t seem that way: alone, midnight, searing pain in my spine, chest, arms. Raw fear.

    At least I was at home. That’s something to be grateful for.

    Three months earlier I’d been directing a show in India. Then a short trip to run a corporate training in Malaysia. I was home in the UK for less than two weeks before I’d flown to China for more corporate work.

    Back from China, I drove north to Scotland to sort out my mother, moving her into a care home. A lifetime of books, pictures, clothes, and memories distilled to… almost nothing. How do you fit a lifetime into a small room?

    Through all those trips, in airports, mid-workshops, late in the night, I’d had shooting, crippling, breath-stopping chest pains, which I always found some way to ignore. They passed.

    I was in my fifties and fit. I was fine. There’s always some explanation, other than the obvious, when the obvious is too scary to face.

    The day of my heart attack, I drove eight hours from Scotland to England and, exhausted, collapsed to bed.

    I was woken by pain at midnight. At least I woke. That too is something to be grateful for.

    It wasn’t a good time to have a heart attack, but it could have been worse.

    There’s a lot I can be grateful for.

    “Looks like a heart attack,” said the paramedic, studying an ECG print-out in the back of the ambulance. “Let’s get you to the hospital to confirm.”

    “Yes, a heart attack,” confirmed the doctor, some time before dawn. “We’ll find you a bed and work out what to do with you next.”

    “Not a good time,” I thought, wires taped to my chest, old men wheezing and muttering in the other beds. “I’m due in Greece on Tuesday.”

    My clogged arteries didn’t much care I’d booked my flights. Things happen when they happen.

    ***

    I was in the hospital for ten days. There were daily discussions about how to treat me. My heart attack had not been very bad, but not very good either.

    Open-heart surgery or stenting?

    In the end they couldn’t decide, so they left it up to me. Open-heart surgery is more invasive but maybe safer in the long term. Stents could be done in an hour and I could go home. They might not be enough though.

    My choice.

    I chose stents. Attention to my body is the foundation of what I do. I couldn’t bear the thought of being cut open. At least, I couldn’t bear it as long as there was some other way.

    A good choice?

    Time will tell.

    I had to wait four days between decision and surgery. Four days in the hospital when I should have been in Greece.

    The morning after I chose my treatment, I experienced something very strange. Not another heart-attack, though it happened in the region of my heart. I discovered I was happy.

    Not happy about anything. Not happy because of anything. Just happy.

    Completely, unconditionally happy.

    I’d woken at 5am. It was June, so already it was light. The hospital was quiet.

    Sunlight streamed through the window, and I lay looking at the tree outside. My bed was curtained-off, so I was wrapped in privacy.

    I started reading my book, relishing the early hour, and being left alone.

    A bird sang outside.

    I felt spacious.

    I was happy.

    It was simple. It was quiet. There was a bird in the tree outside, singing, because that’s what birds do.

    All that existed was a very quiet “now.” Book, sunlight, scrubby early-morning birdsong.

    I was alive.

    I didn’t know for how much longer, but in that moment, I was alive, and that was enough.

    ***

    Two months later, I spent a week on an island off the Atlantic coast of Ireland. I was taking myself through a disciplined rehabilitation.

    Each day I walked a little further.

    I ate well and slept a lot.

    I worked my stress and anxiety, which I’d ignored for decades.

    A small Irish, Atlantic island in summer is warmer than in winter, but not much else changes. There’s wind and rain and wild beauty. I walked, morning, noon, and night. Each day I went further, took more risks. Slowly, I learned to trust my body again.

    On the third day, I stood at the top of one of the larger hills. There was a gale blowing off the sea, and the rain was sheeting down.

    It was viciously cold.

    My waterproof jacket had given up, and spiteful rain ran down my spine.

    I sheltered behind the hilltop cairn, and muttered, “This is vile.”

    Then a warmness of the heart.

    “I’m happy again,” I thought. Once again, not happy because, or happy to, or happy that, or happy for… Just happy.

    ***

    A few times in the eighteen months since, I have felt it.

    A moment of simple happiness.

    What is it?

    We spend so much time seeking happiness through achievement:

    If I can afford this house, I’ll be happy.

    If I am in relationship with this person, I’ll be happy.

    If I get this job or pass this exam…

    If I live by the sea…

    If I had more friends…

    If I had…

    If I…

    We seek happiness from outside. We see it as a consequence of things beyond ourselves. As if happiness was a perk of a new job, a company car, or access to the gym, or some secret room in a house we want, one day, to occupy.

    But happiness is not a by-product. Happiness is.

    We seek happiness from outside, extrinsically, ignoring that it lives only inside. Happiness is intrinsic.

    The things that come to us from outside, extrinsic rewards, are not in our control. To rely on them for happiness is to put ourselves at the mercy of fate and luck. If we find happiness within, though, it is truly ours. We can learn to nurture it.

    The new house, job, love, car, will not make you happy, though they may distract you from your dissatisfaction for a while.

    Only embracing happiness in this moment will make you happy.

    Like a grouchy old house cat that will not let you pet her, spurns the food you lovingly put out, and hisses if you get too close, happiness will, unexpectedly, curl up on your lap and comfort you from time to time.

    Does that mean that we cannot make ourselves happier? That happiness is arbitrary and we must suffer until it visits us?

    Though we can’t force that grouchy old cat to come, we can learn to sit quietly, giving her space and encouragement. We can learn to quieten our mind and allow the happiness of being alive—in this moment—to enter us. We can invite happiness in, by opening to it.

    Not doing things to become happy. Letting ourselves be happy.

    If I stop seeking outside of myself and start experiencing what it is to live this moment, then happiness might curl up in my chest and comfort me.

    Happiness lives on a mountain in a summer gale. It sneaks into an early morning hospital room. It is here now if, between one word and the next, I pause my typing, and I wait.

    It lives inside me, not in things I want, or think I need.

    It’s here.

    Now is a good time to be happy.

    Now is the only time there is.

    I am grateful I am here, now.

    I am grateful that, somewhere inside me, now, there’s happiness and if I stop looking for it out there, perhaps it will come to sit on my lap.

    How sweet it tasted! How happy he was!

    Buddhist Koan

  • Why We Need to Be Present to Enjoy Our Lives, Not Just Productive

    Why We Need to Be Present to Enjoy Our Lives, Not Just Productive

    “Presence is far more intricate and rewarding an art than productivity. Ours is a culture that measures our worth as human beings by our efficiency, our earnings, our ability to perform this or that. The cult of productivity has its place, but worshipping at its altar daily robs us of the very capacity for joy and wonder that makes life worth living.” ~Maria Popova

    I was high on productivity. I had one full-time job, two part-time jobs, and a side hustle. I was getting everything done. Sounds perfect, right?

    Then I started hating my life.

    I had read enough books and articles to tell me how I was not doing enough. Enough self-help gurus had told me that what I needed to do was max out every single hour I had to be minutely close to being “successful.”

    My co-workers often got intimidated by my jam-packed calendar. I don’t exaggerate when I say that every minute of my life was scheduled. Sheldon-level scheduled, with dedicated “bathroom breaks” and everything.

    I ran three to-do lists: daily, weekly, monthly. This was my way of setting out for maximum efficiency. I said “yes” to my boss so often I had become his favorite. Work-life balance, what’s that?

    Tasks were flying off my list like never before—so many horizontal breakthroughs! I wore this as my badge of honor for a while, this art of getting it all done. And why not? I was rewarded for it in money, praise, promotions, awe.

    But then it didn’t feel so great. Instead, I became downright miserable.

    Why Busyness-Productivity Is A Mirage

    I don’t claim that productivity is bad. Doing fulfilling work by minimizing distractions and getting deep focus is truly rewarding.

    But it is crucial to stop and question why you’re doing what you’re doing. It is necessary to pause and reflect on the value of your tasks and actions. Otherwise, productivity translates to useless busyness.

    When I became this productivity freak, I never stopped to ask if any of the things I was doing were giving my life meaning. I was doing a demanding full-time job that didn’t provide me any purpose. My days became a blur of mindless task completions. My mind, heart, and soul were absent from my work. Any given Monday didn’t look so different from a Tuesday three weeks prior.

    And it wasn’t even like I was happy.

    I was meeting all my deadlines, but I was spending no time with my family. There were enough accolades to prove all my achievements but not enough art to fulfill my soul. I answered every email I received within twenty-four hours, but I hardly focused on long-term self-growth.

    On the outside, my life never looked better. But on the inside, I was worse than I had ever been. Distraction, schedules, irritability, and deadlines were the monsters that ruled my life.

    After a month-long burnout, I hit the problem nail in the head. I knew I needed to move on. But how? I resolved to take a calculated leap of faith. I found a client willing to pay me for my freelancing services for at least two to three months and made a thick emergency fund by cutting out on expenses. Then, I quit the unfulfilling full-time job and gave my heart to work that I truly found meaning in. I stopped making productivity my goal. I opted to choose presence instead.

    Presence > Productivity

    I read Annie Dillard’s, The Writing Life, in which she memorably wrote, “how we spend our days, is of course, how we spend our lives.”

    After reading this book, I realized that productivity would only be fruitful when coupled with presence. I knew then that presence was what would make my rewards meaningful.

    What is presence? Presence is the art of being in the moment, the luxury of pausing, the virtue of stillness. It is being alert, aware, and alive to this moment.

    There’s a reason why our culture runs for productivity instead of presence. Productivity helps us shut away from reality. It keeps us “busy” into a future that is yet to manifest.

    It is so much easier and convenient to take the shield of productivity against the beautiful, buoyant, and sometimes disruptively painful present.

    Performing one task after next gives us an excuse to not fully live, not completely concentrate, not unbiasedly accept.

    I used to be that way—trying to avoid the truth that I was not finding my work meaningful. I wouldn’t accept that this job was emptying me slowly, living in denial of a reality I was living. Was I not getting things done? I was, more than ever before. But was I happy? I had never been more unhappy with my own choices.

    Being productive every minute of every day meant I could avoid the fact that many of my friendships were depleting, toxic, and unhealthy. I was lying to myself that it was all to have a good social life. In reality, I would go out of my way to avoid being alone, to avoid answering the big questions pertaining to my life that can only be answered in solitude.

    But coupling our actions with productivity and presence can have an astounding effect on our lives. It can make every task we do driven with intention, purpose, and meaning. Presence is what helps us reap the internal rewards that come with doing fulfilling work.

    Choosing Presence

    If you are anything like me, choosing presence over productivity can take some practice. Productivity was my normal mode of operation. It was easy; it came naturally. But opting for presence in my actions wasn’t so simple.

    The art of being present and intentional in all my tasks was like writing with my non-dominant left hand. I searched for help and stumbled upon Tim Ferris. He often says to think of your epitaph to cut through all the noise and maze of productivity. It is a way to find out what truly matters to you by getting a super-zoomed out version of your life.

    As morbid as it sounds, that is what I did. I imagined what I would like to carve on my epitaph, and the important stuff came into a laser-sharp focus:

    I needed to write. I needed to make time for solitude, for serendipity, for hobbies. I wanted to create more memories with my family. I wanted to let go of draining friendships and put all my energy into relationships that filled me with fulfillment, meaning, and growth. Taking it one step at a time, I decided to hand in my resignation. I landed my first writing gig in under two weeks.

    And hey, it’s not like I don’t struggle to write with my left hand anymore. But I am growing each day. It takes some practice and effort to make room in your calendar to “be present.” I am learning to be uncomfortable by turning the volume down of “getting things done.”

    I have noticed that it is the minor changes that count. It is taking a little more time to craft that email mindfully. It is that courageous “no” to a project that can help you surpass your quarterly KPIs but take away from your family time. It is choosing to take a soothing fifteen-minute walk break over checking off another mindless to-do list task.

    Presence is a process. It requires the discipline to focus on the present moment when productivity pushes you to see a non-existent future. Presence is your un-busy existence of utterly unadulterated joy. It is your creativity’s cradle. It is your time to just be.

    So do it. Make the hard choice. Live your life with presence to help you find joy in the now instead of pushing toward some destination in the future. None of us really know where the future will bring us, but we can all choose to enjoy the scenery along the way.

  • How I Reclaimed My Life When I Felt Numb and Unhappy

    How I Reclaimed My Life When I Felt Numb and Unhappy

    “All appears to change when we change.” ~Henri-Frédéric Amiel

    The biggest life-changing moment in my life would have looked unremarkable to an outsider looking in.

    I was at a point in my life (my late twenties) where everything seemed to look good on paper. I had a great job, I was living in downtown Seattle, and I enjoyed the live music scene. Aside from not being in a relationship, I thought I had “arrived.”

    The only problem was, I was miserable, and I barely acknowledged it. A part of me knew that I wasn’t happy, but I tried to run away from that feeling by playing guitar, writing, or watching live music as much as I could.

    My other avoidance tactics were working long hours at my day job or socially drinking at “hip” bars in the city.

    But every time I came home, there I was. Still grappling with my feelings and trying to understand why happiness was so fleeting.

    I had also recently broken up with someone that I cared about but knew was not healthy for me. She was a heavy drinker, and because I tended to just blend in with my partners, my drinking had increased substantially when I was with her, and I felt horrible (physically and emotionally).

    It was a messy ending, and it left me even more confused. I should be so happy. “Why aren’t I?” This nagging thought haunted me for several months.

    Moment of Awareness and Choice

    One afternoon, I came home from work and mindlessly went through my routine. Dropped my bag off by the door. Changed into comfort clothes. Went to the refrigerator and opened a beer.

    I then plopped on the sofa and turned on the television. This was my routine for several mind-numbing months.

    When I reflect back on this moment, I can see that I was absently flipping through every channel available through the cable box. Interested in absolutely nothing. I would take a tug on the beer in one hand without even tasting it while changing channels with the remote in another hand.

    I was literally in a trance and not really processing anything. I was running on autopilot, without any conscious awareness, as channel after channel flipped by.

    And that’s when it happened. It was like the background noise in one part of my mind suddenly became amplified. I could hear thought after thought running through my mind like a CNN news crawl.

    The shocking part, for me, was how negative these thoughts were. “You’re no good. Nobody loves you. You’re a failure. You’ll never find someone who loves you. You’re not worth it.”

    I also had the realization that I’d heard these thoughts before but had chosen to stuff them down or mute the volume through distraction.

    But here they were. Loud and blaring. I was forced to face them once again.

    I was in a state of disbelief for several minutes while some choice expletives escaped my lips.

    Once the shock wore off, there was an overwhelming sense that I had reached a huge fork in the road.

    One choice led to stuffing these thoughts back down to wherever they came from and going back to sucking down a beer mindlessly watching television.

    And then, magically, a second choice came out of nowhere. Stop everything and just sit with these thoughts.

    I remember simply saying, “Huh!” out loud. I never realized that I had choices. I was programmed to run and hide.

    I became aware that this was a prodigious moment for me. I could feel chills run through my entire body.

    The choice was: Go to sleep again or just be present and experience these thoughts.

    Something deep within me knew which path to choose. It was the strongest sense of knowing I had ever experienced. I also knew that if I didn’t get on this train right now, I may be lost forever. It almost felt like a life-or-death decision.

    It was in that moment of choice that I finally gave in. I stopped resisting and avoiding. I chose to sit in the discomfort and not run away and hide anymore.

    The Choice to Pursue “Better”

    As soon as I made the choice to stay and be with these negative thoughts, my body jumped into action. As if someone else was not at the controls.

    In one long, swooping motion, I turned off the television, went over to the kitchen sink, and dumped out the rest of my beer. I then took a deep breath, walked to my living room, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

    I’d never meditated before but had heard of it. I was strongly interested in Buddhism when I was in college but never took the steps to explore what it was all about. I figured there was no better time than now to just try it.

    All I know was, in that moment, I made the firm decision that I was just going to sit and be with my thoughts. No matter how intense of a ride it would be or how crazy just sitting in silence seemed to be.

    I still remember those first moments of being in silence. It was a bittersweet experience. The bitter side was experiencing all of the mean and nasty thoughts running through my mind at full volume. There didn’t seem to be an end to it.

    But there was also a sweetness in the silence that was bathing my experience. There was a peace here that I had never experienced before. It was like being cuddled in a warm bosom, and I soon felt the negative words less scary to be with.

    I can’t remember how long I sat in silence on that first day, but it was at least a couple of hours. I remember opening and closing my eyes several times. I was checking to make sure I was still in my living room.

    It was like figuring out if you can trust wading into a lake you’ve never been to. Slowly, step by step. And certain moments I needed to take open my eyes and just allow myself to feel comfortable before going further.

    There were also moments where I felt “myself” leave my body, which honestly scared the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks out of me. It was such a foreign experience. Even though I could feel some sort of a chord holding me to my body, I had never experienced being able to pop out and look down at my cross-legged self below. I was both intrigued and a bit freaked out at the same time.

    But I then started to hear a different voice coming in. A gentler voice.  One assuring me that everything was okay.

    I was guided to just be with the process and that I would eventually get comfortable and not need to pop out of my body. And for the first time in a long time, I started to relax.

    Eventually, I noticed that by letting my thoughts just float through, they would start to fade away until there was just sweet silence, and then more thoughts would come back at a lower volume. I still had no idea what I was doing, but I was feeling better and that was all that mattered.

    I didn’t realize it, but just sitting with my thoughts was making a statement. I was now broadcasting, “I want to learn how to be happy and more loving. I am not going to run away anymore.”

    From that moment on, I came home from work every day and just meditated. I got rid of my cable box and allowed myself to be open to new opportunities. I was guided by a friend to hire a life coach and started to address things in my life that prevented me from experiencing happiness.

    For example, I realized that I’d deadened my ability to tap into emotions because I worked in the aerospace industry, where it was all about facts and data.

    By using my new friend, awareness, I started to identify emotions that I had never really processed, examined, or tried to heal. One particular healing moment was visiting the anger I held from going to an all-boys Catholic high school. I was one of the smallest kids and got picked on from time to time.

    I didn’t even realize how much anger was simmering below the surface. It wasn’t until I was aware of it and then had permission to express my feelings, that I was finally free of my long-held anger about being teased and bullied.

    I also faced the fear I’d developed after being in an airplane crash at nineteen and had a beautiful moment of release with tears flowing like the Nile. It never occurred to me that I held onto to so much trauma and that it was begging to be released.

    The more I became aware of my past and released it, the lighter and happier I naturally became. I caught myself whistling to work one day, something that I hadn’t done in years!

    I also got into Buddhism and energy healing and soaked in all forms of spirituality that interested me. It was a joyous time of learning and trying.

    But ultimately, I knew that just learning was not enough. I needed to practice the ideas of love, healing, and forgiveness in the world.

    “Leveling Up” with Awareness and Choice

    When I look back on that moment where I finally stopped and chose a different way to be in the world, I recognize that was the most defining moment in my life.

    Sure, I have attended many spiritual workshops, retreats, and trainings and have had “mountaintop” experiences. But they never would have happened if I hadn’t made the choice stop and be completely present with my thoughts.

    Our minds are constantly in and out of awareness (awake) and unawareness (asleep). It takes diligence and practice to stay awake and to make loving choices.

    Think about how much of your day you’re actually aware of your thoughts or habits vs. when you are on “automatic pilot” doing tasks or zoning out over social media.

    Here are some ways to remain aware and at choice throughout your day:

    1. Set a goal for the day. Something like: “I want to be aware of my thoughts at work and think lovingly.” Set an hourly reminder on your phone to check in throughout the day.
    2. Put a post-it note with the words “Awareness and Choice” next to your work space or area where you spend most of your time to remind yourself to be present with your internal experience. Place it where you will see it often.
    3. Schedule meditation “dates” throughout your day. See if you can sneak in five five-minute meditations throughout the day. Set reminders if you need to.
    4. Pick someone in your life that you have a hard time being with (especially at work). Have a conversation with that person and watch your thoughts. Choose to see them differently in the moment (as best as you can).
    5. At the end of the day, review the thoughts you had about yourself or others. Go back to times in the day where you were hard on yourself or someone else. Replace those thoughts with ones you would rather have said to yourself.

    Awareness and choice are a powerful duo that can change your life for the better. Both are needed. Awareness is taking in what’s present. Choice is taking steps to move your awareness in your intended direction.

    Look to see where you can benefit from awareness and choice in your life. Then set your compass toward happiness and enjoy the journey!