Tiny Buddha

Tag: stillness

  • A Quiet but Powerful Shift: How Slowing Down Transformed My Life

    A Quiet but Powerful Shift: How Slowing Down Transformed My Life

    “Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going too fast—you also miss the sense of where you are going and why.” ~Eddie Cantor

    In today’s hyper-connected and fast-paced world, slowing down isn’t just rare—it feels almost countercultural.

    For years, I tied my identity to productivity. My self-worth hinged on how much I could accomplish in a day, how many boxes I could check. The busier I was, the more valuable I believed myself to be. But that constant need to perform left me mentally and emotionally drained, disconnected not only from others but from myself.

    The shift didn’t happen overnight. There wasn’t a single moment of clarity, but rather a quiet unraveling of old habits and a tentative embrace of new rhythms.

    It started with one simple change: drinking my morning coffee without looking at a screen.

    Then came short walks without headphones, evenings spent journaling instead of scrolling. I also began ending each day by writing down three things I was grateful for.

    These tiny pauses felt insignificant at first. But gradually, they started to stitch together a new way of being. I noticed my breath more. I felt the texture of sunlight on my skin. I paid attention to the stories I was telling myself—and questioned whether they were even true.

    The more I slowed down, the more I began to hear the quiet voice within me that I had long ignored.

    Slowing down didn’t mean abandoning ambition. It meant redefining it.

    I started asking myself: Is this opportunity aligned with the life I want to create? Am I doing this because it brings me joy or because I feel I should? I said no more often, but with less guilt. I said yes with greater intention.

    Creativity, which had felt like a dried-up well, slowly began to flow again. I wrote not for deadlines or approval but to explore my inner world. I painted, even if the results were messy. I read poetry aloud in the quiet of my room. These acts weren’t about achievement—they were about presence.

    Relationships changed, too. When I wasn’t preoccupied with the next thing on my to-do list, I could be fully present with the people around me. I listened more deeply. I responded instead of reacting. I laughed more freely, loved more fully, and felt a deeper sense of connection.

    I also became more attuned to my body. I noticed when I was tired—and let myself rest. I recognized signs of stress and anxiety and learned not to push through them but to sit with them. I stopped seeing rest as something to earn and began to see it as something essential.

    With time, slowing down transformed from an experiment into a lifestyle. It became a guiding principle rather than a temporary fix. And perhaps the most surprising thing? I didn’t lose momentum—I gained clarity. I pursued goals with greater focus and more ease. I didn’t do more, but what I did had more meaning.

    Slowing down also helped me develop greater resilience. When life inevitably brought challenges, I didn’t spiral into panic as I once might have. I had built up a foundation of calm, a toolkit of stillness, and an ability to ground myself in the present moment. This made me stronger, not weaker.

    I discovered that the richness of life is often found in the pauses—in the moments we allow ourselves to simply be rather than constantly do. The world didn’t fall apart when I slowed down. In fact, it came into sharper focus. I was able to appreciate the subtleties of life: the way a friend smiled, the sound of rain on the roof, the comfort of a quiet evening at home.

    My relationship with technology changed as well. I became more intentional with my screen time, setting boundaries around social media and emails. I reclaimed hours of my day and filled them with activities that nourished me instead of drained me. I learned to value solitude not as loneliness but as sacred space for reflection and growth.

    Slowing down helped me tune into my intuition. I stopped crowding my mind with noise and distraction, and I started listening—really listening—to what I needed. Sometimes it was rest, other times movement. Sometimes it was connection, and sometimes it was solitude. I began honoring these needs without judgment.

    I even noticed changes in how I approached work. Instead of multitasking and burning out, I began focusing on one task at a time. The quality of my work improved, and I found more satisfaction in the process rather than just the outcome. This shift in mindset rippled into every area of my life, bringing more balance and peace.

    Slowing down helped me reconnect with the rhythms of nature. I paid attention to the seasons, the moon, the cycles of energy in my own body. I learned to embrace periods of rest as much as periods of growth. I found wisdom in the stillness.

    If you’re feeling overwhelmed, anxious, or simply disconnected, I invite you to try your own quiet shift. Start small. Five minutes of silence in the morning. A walk without your phone. One deep breath before opening your laptop. These moments add up.

    They’re not about escaping life—they’re about returning to it. You don’t have to escape your life to reconnect with yourself. Sometimes, all it takes is a little stillness. In that space, you might rediscover not just calm—but the truest parts of who you are.

  • Why You Can’t Relax and How to Let Yourself Rest

    Why You Can’t Relax and How to Let Yourself Rest

    “Rest and be thankful.” ~William Wordsworth

    A few years ago, I caught myself doing something that made no sense.

    It was late evening, my kids were asleep, the house finally quiet. I’d been counting down to this moment all day—dreaming of sinking into the couch, wrapping myself in a blanket, maybe even reading a book without distractions.

    But when I lay down and closed my eyes, something inside me lurched. Within seconds, I reached for my phone. I didn’t even have anything urgent to check—just mindless scrolling. Five minutes in, I was already half-sitting up, wondering if I should fold the laundry or answer one last email. Before I knew it, I was back on my feet, tidying up the kitchen.

    I remember thinking, why can’t I just rest?

    The Invisible Weight That Keeps Us Restless

    Maybe you’ve felt this too. You plan a quiet evening—maybe a bath, a book, or just lying down in silence—but your mind buzzes with things you should be doing instead.

    Did I reply to that message? Should I wipe down the counters? Maybe I should check my notifications—just in case.

    It’s so easy to blame ourselves: I have no discipline. I’m addicted to my phone. I can’t sit still. But the truth is, our difficulty with rest runs deeper than bad habits or busy schedules.

    Sometimes our bodies and minds have learned that stillness isn’t safe.

    Why Does Rest Feel So Uncomfortable?

    I used to think I was just bad at relaxing—like I’d missed a class everyone else had taken. But over time, I realized there were reasons why lying still felt so wrong.

    Here’s what I’ve learned—and maybe you’ll see yourself here too.

    1. We equate stillness with danger.

    Deep down, part of our nervous system still believes we’re in the wild—where lying still too long could make us vulnerable. Even if our physical world is safe, our inner world might not feel that way.

    Many of us grew up in homes where we had to stay alert—watching moods, avoiding conflict, keeping busy to feel useful or unnoticed. Being on guard felt safer than relaxing.

    Even now, when the house is calm, our bodies may still whisper: Don’t settle. Something could happen.

    2. We tie our worth to doing.

    Growing up, I learned that being “good” meant being helpful—doing the dishes before being asked, getting top grades, staying busy. Rest wasn’t modeled as something normal; it was a luxury you earned only after everything was done perfectly.

    So when I lie down on the couch, an old voice pipes up: Have you really done enough to deserve this? Even now, I still catch myself folding laundry at 10 p.m. or working on my blog instead of just letting myself rest.

    3. Rest brings up uncomfortable feelings.

    Stillness creates space. And sometimes, that space fills with things we’d rather keep buried—worries we ignored all day, sadness we don’t want to name, thoughts that make us feel alone.

    So instead of resting, we keep busy. We scroll, clean, or half-watch TV while half-doing chores. Movement feels safer than meeting whatever rises in the quiet.

    4. Our brains crave the next hit.

    Our world feeds this cycle. Apps, notifications, endless news—tiny dopamine bursts that keep our minds buzzing. Even when we’re exhausted, our brains crave just one more swipe, one more update.

    So when we try to rest, it feels like a mini withdrawal. The silence can feel almost unbearable.

    The Good News: Rest Is a Skill We Can Relearn

    If you see yourself in any of this, you’re not broken. There’s nothing wrong with you. Rest just feels unfamiliar because your body and mind learned to survive without it.

    The good news is you can gently retrain yourself to feel safe doing nothing. Not by forcing it—but by meeting your restlessness with small, doable shifts.

    Small Ways to Make Rest Feel Safe Again

    1. Start tiny.

    I used to think rest meant lying still for an hour—meditating, deep breathing, total quiet. That was way too much.

    Instead, try building up your tolerance for stillness in small ways:

    Sit for ten slow breaths before grabbing your phone in the morning.

    Pause for a few seconds before switching tasks.

    Lie down for two minutes with your eyes closed before bed.

    I started with just a few slow breaths while breastfeeding. It helped both me and my baby settle a bit more.

    Tiny moments teach your body: Stillness doesn’t have to be scary.

    2. Notice the thoughts that rush in.

    Sometimes when we try to rest, thoughts pop up:

    You’re wasting time.

    You should be doing something useful.

    Just one more thing, then you can relax.

    When you notice these thoughts, name them. Gently remind yourself: Rest is useful. Doing nothing is not the same as being nothing.

    3. Give your body a gentle cue.

    Rest doesn’t have to mean lying statue-still. If stillness feels like too much, try calming your nervous system with small, soothing actions:

    Sip warm tea and notice its warmth. I love slowly brewing tea and taking a moment just to smell it before I drink.

    Wrap yourself in a blanket and sway gently.

    Sit in a rocking chair. Rocking can feel safer than stillness.

    4. Turn rest into a ritual.

    It helps to make rest intentional—a small, predictable act of care.

    Maybe you light a candle when you sit down. Or play soft music. Or put away your phone and focus on the warmth of a bath.

    A ritual makes rest feel like a gift, not wasted time.

    5. Let discomfort be there.

    Sometimes when we rest, feelings surface—sadness, guilt, unease.

    Instead of pushing them away, practice sitting with them for a few breaths.

    Try telling yourself, “I feel restless. That’s okay. I don’t have to fix it right now.”

    Like any feeling, it passes more easily when you stop fighting it.

    What Rest Really Means

    When I look back, I see that my struggle with rest wasn’t really about laziness or distraction. It was about trust.

    Learning to rest means trusting that the world won’t fall apart if we stop. Trusting that we’re worthy, even when we’re not “useful.” Trusting that what rises in the quiet won’t destroy us.

    It’s not easy work—but it’s gentle work. And every tiny moment you spend just being—without doing, fixing, or producing—teaches your body a new truth: You are allowed to rest.

    —

    If you find yourself mindlessly reaching for your phone when you planned to do nothing, pause. Take one deep breath. Feel the weight of your body on the couch. Remind yourself: It’s safe to pause.

    Rest is not the opposite of living. Rest is what lets us show up fully for life.

  • The Power I Now Carry Because of My Illness

    The Power I Now Carry Because of My Illness

    “Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    For years, I thought strength meant pushing through. Getting on with it. Holding it together no matter what. Not showing weakness. Not needing help. Not slowing down.

    Even when I was diagnosed with a chronic illness, I wore that mindset like armor. I was determined not to let it define me—let alone derail me.

    But eventually, it did. Not because I was weak. But because I was human. And that was the beginning of a different kind of strength.

    The Diagnosis That Didn’t Fit My Story

    I was thirty-two when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. It’s a chronic inflammatory condition that can be painful, unpredictable, and exhausting. There is no cure.

    At the time, I had three young kids and a to-do list longer than my arm. I was busy, stretched thin, and moving fast—chasing achievement like it could protect me from everything uncertain.

    The diagnosis didn’t land like a crisis. It landed more like an inconvenience. I had no time for illness. No space for it. No story in which it belonged.

    I started medication, but the side effects were rough, and the results were inconsistent. I quickly became obsessed with finding the “right” diet, the “right” routine, the “right” alternative therapy to manage it all myself.

    Strength, Control, and the Problem with Hyper-Independence

    Looking back, I can see that control was my coping mechanism. Control over my body. Control over the narrative.

    I didn’t want to be “someone with a chronic illness.” I wanted to be someone who could handle a chronic illness and still perform at a high level. Someone who could live life on her own terms—without needing medication, or help, or rest.

    So when things stabilized a little, I made a quiet decision: I’d stop the medication.

    I told myself I could manage it naturally. I adjusted my diet, doubled down on my routines, tried to control every variable. But inevitably, flare-ups would return. And when they did, I’d end up back on steroids. They worked—but made me manic. So I’d taper off. The cycle continued.

    Somewhere in the midst of this, we moved countries for my husband’s job. I left behind my career ambitions, my social network, and my medical team. I started to quietly adapt to a life of background symptoms: pain, exhaustion, urgency.

    I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t cancel things unless I absolutely had to. And when I did, I worried people thought I was flaky or rude or just didn’t care.

    In truth, I was trying so hard to be “fine” that I was hurting myself.

    The Turning Point: Meditation & Stillness

    Eventually, I got tired.

    Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, existentially. Tired of the constant vigilance. Tired of trying to outrun my own body. Tired of believing that if I just tried harder, I could conquer this thing on sheer willpower.

    I had built an identity around being capable, reliable, strong. Hyper-independent. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t want to need anyone—or anything, especially not medication. Illness felt like weakness. And weakness was unacceptable.

    But that relentless self-sufficiency didn’t save me. It wore me down.

    That’s when I found mindfulness. Not as a fix—but as a kind of quiet company. A way of softening the grip I had on control. A way of meeting myself as I actually was, not as I thought I should be.

    At first, I treated mindfulness the way I treated everything else: as something to master. But over time, the practice worked on me. It started dismantling the war I had declared on my body. I began to see: my body wasn’t failing me. It was in conversation with me. And I had never truly listened.

    That changed everything.

    Mindfulness helped me stop seeing my illness as something to battle and started teaching me how to respond—with self-compassion instead of control. With care instead of critique.

    The diagnosis was still there. The symptoms came and went. But something in me had started to soften. I was no longer treating every flare-up as a personal failure or a crisis to conquer. The illness was real, but maybe it didn’t have to be a war. I wasn’t fully at peace, but I was learning to pay attention. And then came the call that changed everything.

    The Wake-Up Call That Brought It All Home

    It had been more than five years since my last colonoscopy, and based on my medical history, my primary care doctor recommended I schedule one. I agreed, of course. I felt fine—strong, even. I was training on the treadmill at home for an upcoming marathon, proud of what my body could still do.

    The procedure itself felt routine. But one evening shortly afterward, around 8 p.m., the phone rang.

    It was the doctor who had performed the colonoscopy—calling me personally.

    He didn’t sound casual.

    He told me I was in trouble.

    If I didn’t get on medication right away, my condition could worsen dramatically—and start impacting other systems in my body, even my eyesight.

    I was horrified. And humbled.

    This wasn’t something I could outrun. This wasn’t something I could discipline away. This was my body, urgently asking to be heard.

    Letting Illness Be a Messenger, not a Failure

    I got back on medication. This time, the right kind. And I committed to it—not from a place of defeat, but from a deeper alignment with care.

    That was almost two years ago. Since then, my body has slowly begun to heal. My most recent colonoscopy—early this year—showed dramatic improvement. The inflammation is down. The symptoms are manageable. I’m tolerating the medication well, even with the added complexity of reactivated TB, a side effect of the immunosuppression that I’m now treating with another course of medication.

    It’s not perfect. It’s not linear. But it’s honest. It’s mine.

    And most importantly, I’m no longer at war with my body. I’ve stopped bracing against what is and started responding with care, clarity, and compassion.

    Because real strength isn’t pushing through at all costs.

    It’s listening. It’s allowing. It’s staying with yourself, even when it’s hard.

    Mindfulness didn’t fix everything. But it became an ally—steady and unshakable.

    It taught me I can’t control the storm, but I can anchor myself within it. And in that anchoring, I found something I never expected: power.

    Not the power of force, but the quiet, unwavering power of presence. Of meeting life on its terms.
    Of knowing I can be with whatever comes—and still be whole.

    That’s the power I carry now. Not in spite of illness. But shaped by it.

  • Permission to Rest: What Happened When I Embraced Stillness

    Permission to Rest: What Happened When I Embraced Stillness

    “If you are continually judging and criticizing yourself while trying to be kind to others, you are drawing artificial boundaries and distinctions that only lead to feelings of separation and isolation.” ~Kristin Neff

    I was lying on my couch again, Netflix playing in the background, when I heard my husband’s footsteps on the stairs. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, desperate to appear busy—productive—anything but resting.

    For months, that had been my routine. As the severe anemia from my adenomyosis and fibroids worsened, I found myself increasingly couch-bound, dizzy, and exhausted. Yet each time my husband entered the room, I’d grab my phone and pretend to be working. Not because he expected it, but because I couldn’t bear to seem “lazy.”

    But this particular day, three weeks after my hysterectomy, something shifted. When he walked in, I didn’t reach for my phone. I just stayed still, watching my show, drowning in guilt.

    He smiled and said something so simple: “It’s good to see you resting.”

    That’s when it hit me—a realization that would transform how I understood my own worth: I’m not a burden. I’m healing. I’m allowed to rest. He didn’t marry me for my productivity.

    It shouldn’t have been a revelation, but it was.

    The Productivity Trap

    I’d always been in motion. Walking, working, cleaning, planning, doing. Even after having my son in 2019, I prioritized outings and experiences, determined to give him what financial limitations had prevented in my own childhood.

    My husband and I had carefully divided our family responsibilities—he worked longer hours at his job, and I took on more household management, childcare, and projects. We focused on each contributing equal time to our family’s needs. It was balanced and fair, and it worked.

    Until my body stopped cooperating.

    What began as increasingly heavy periods evolved into daily bleeding so severe I couldn’t stand without dizziness. I fought against it at first, pushing through fatigue to maintain my “contribution.” I’d drag myself through household tasks, schedule outdoor activities for my son, and maintain appearances—all while growing weaker.

    “If I’m not productive or contributing, then what good am I?” This thought haunted me as I sank deeper into the couch and further from the capable person I identified as.

    When the doctor reviewed my iron levels, he said if his were that low, he “wouldn’t have been able to get off the floor,” yet I still resisted treatment (the iron infusions cost over $1,000). Only when our insurance changed did I relent, but by then, it was like adding drops to an empty bucket.

    The diagnosis was clear: adenomyosis and large fibroids, a family legacy I’d inherited. Surgery—a hysterectomy—was inevitable, though I mourned the loss of having another child.

    The six-month wait for surgery stretched my identity to its breaking point. Who was I if not the doer, the organizer, the capable one? What was my value when I couldn’t contribute?

    The Hidden Voice

    Growing up, I’d absorbed messages about worth from my father, who seemed physically incapable of sitting still. “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean” was the household mantra. Rest was for the weak, the lazy, the unworthy.

    I’d spent a decade in personal growth work, deliberately unwinding these beliefs. Or so I thought.

    But physical vulnerability has a way of stripping us back to our core programming. In pain, exhausted, and feeling useless, I reverted to that critical inner voice:

    “You’re a burden. Everyone is suffering because of you. He’ll resent you for not doing your share. What value do you even have now?”

    This voice—let’s call her Task-Master Tina—had been with me so long I didn’t recognize her as separate from my authentic self. Her criticisms felt like objective truth, not the outdated programming they actually were.

    The surgery I thought would fix everything instead brought new lessons in surrender. The pain was excruciating. The recovery, slower than I’d imagined. And each time I attempted to rush back to “normal,” my body forced me back to the couch with unmistakable clarity.

    That’s when I realized I needed tools to navigate this self-worth crisis—not just for recovery, but for the rest of my life.

    Three Practices That Changed Everything

    Through trial, error, and many Netflix documentaries watched from my couch, I discovered three practices that transformed my relationship with myself.

    1. Name your inner critic.

    That voice telling you you’re worthless without productivity isn’t actually you—it’s a critic you’ve internalized from past experiences. By naming this voice (mine was “Task-Master Tina”), you create distance between your authentic self and these automatic thoughts.

    When I caught myself thinking, “I’m so lazy just lying here,” I’d pause and think, “That’s just Tina talking. She was programmed by my father’s workaholism. Her opinions aren’t facts.”

    This simple act of naming created space between the thought and my response—what I later learned to call the “magic gap” where choice lives.

    2. Challenge your limiting core belief.

    Behind every critical thought is a core belief. Mine was: “My worth depends on what I contribute.”

    To challenge this, I wrote down concrete evidence contradicting this belief:

    • My husband married me for who I am, not what I do.
    • Friends seek my company for connection, not productivity.
    • I would never measure a loved one’s worth by their output.
    • Worth is inherent in being human, not earned through action.

    This wasn’t just positive thinking—it was deliberately examining whether my belief stood up to rational scrutiny. It didn’t.

    3. Write yourself a permission slip.

    Remember those permission slips from school? It turns out adults need them too.

    I literally wrote on a piece of paper, “I, Sandy, give myself permission to rest without guilt while healing. I give myself permission to receive help without feeling like a burden.”

    I placed it on my nightstand where I’d see it daily. Something about the physical act of writing and seeing this permission made it real in a way that thinking alone couldn’t accomplish.

    When guilt surfaced, I’d read it aloud, reminding myself that I had authorized this behavior. It sounds simple, but this tangible permission slip became a powerful anchor during recovery.

    The Deeper Lesson

    As my physical strength gradually returned, I realized this experience had given me something invaluable: a new understanding of worth.

    Worth isn’t something we earn through productivity or contribution. Worth is inherent. We don’t question a baby’s right to exist without producing anything. We don’t measure a loved one’s value by their output. Yet somehow, we apply different standards to ourselves.

    I understand now that worthiness isn’t about productivity—it’s about authenticity. About aligning with your unique true nature rather than living your life to meet others’ expectations based on their personal values.

    Compassion ranks high among my personal values, yet for years, I’d excluded myself from receiving this compassion. I’d created an exception clause where everyone deserved kindness except me.

    Physical limitation forced me to extend to myself the same compassion I readily offered others. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. Old programming runs deep, and “Task-Master Tina” still visits occasionally.

    But now, when she arrives, I have tools. I recognize her voice as separate from my truth. I challenge her outdated beliefs with evidence. And I have standing permission to prioritize healing and rest without apology.

    This isn’t just about recovery from surgery. It’s about recovering the authentic self beneath layers of “shoulds” and external measures of value.

    When we define worth through productivity, we live in constant fear of the inevitable moments when illness, age, or circumstance limit our output. When we anchor worth in authenticity instead, nothing can diminish our inherent value.

    That’s the permission slip we all need but rarely give ourselves: permission to be worthy, just as we are, no matter what we produce.

  • The Value of Doing Nothing in a Hyperproductive World

    The Value of Doing Nothing in a Hyperproductive World

    “Allow yourself to be bored a little. In our world full of distractions, create some space for nothingness.” ~Unknown

    My roommate sat in the kitchen, eating his late home-cooked dinner, and commented with a half-mocking smile, “Ah, you’re still living.”

    The words hung in the air, awkwardly playful but sharp enough to sting. They echoed something larger: the subtle judgment that creeps into our culture of relentless productivity.

    Confusion bubbled up inside me, followed quickly by shame. My cheeks turned red. I had spent most of this sunny Saturday alone in my room—reading books, listening to music, writing a little, and, to be honest, staring out the window, feeling restless.

    “What do you do all day?” he asked, genuinely curious.

    Yes, what I felt was definitely shame. In a world that glorifies busyness, I often feel like a criminal for spending an entire day at home, or for strolling through the city without real plans. The implicit expectation to do something, to make the day “count,” feels suffocating.

    “Reading and writing,” I replied, suppressing the urge to explain myself.

    He looked puzzled. “You can’t fill a whole day with writing, can you? Isn’t that boring?”

    Here it was: the quintessential clash between introversion and extroversion. He didn’t understand me, though, in fairness, I think he wanted to. I was tempted to agree, to downplay my day and say, “Yes, it’s boring sometimes.” But I stopped myself.

    Because recently, I’ve realized something important: I need that stillness.

    The Shame of “Doing Nothing”

    His confusion wasn’t just personal; it felt like a question society constantly asks people like me: What are you doing with your time? In a culture that glorifies constant productivity, the idea of having unstructured time is almost heretical. If you’re not ticking off items on a to-do list or working toward a measurable goal, then what exactly are you contributing?

    This shame runs deeper than personal insecurity—it’s rooted in a culture that values productivity above all else. The industrial revolution reinforced the belief that time is money, a resource to be maximized. Today, even our leisure activities are judged: hobbies are monetized, vacations become opportunities for curated Instagram posts, and relaxation feels like something we must earn.

    For me, this shame shows up in subtle ways. If I spend an afternoon reading or writing without a clear goal, I catch myself justifying it: It’s practice for my craft. When a friend asks how my weekend went, I feel compelled to list the “productive” things I did—chores, errands, something quantifiable—before admitting that I spent hours simply being. It’s as though I need permission to slow down, even from myself.

    But this obsession with busyness comes at a cost. It fuels burnout, anxiety, and a relentless sense of inadequacy. It leaves us disconnected from ourselves and the quiet, unstructured moments that bring clarity and peace. What happens when we’re always striving to prove our worth through what we achieve? We lose the ability to simply be.

    Stillness as a Portal to Creativity

    What I’ve come to understand is that restlessness isn’t the enemy. It’s the hum beneath the surface where creativity brews. When I sit still or let myself feel bored, something unexpected arises: a fleeting thought, a fresh perspective, or a spark of an idea. Those unhurried moments, I’ve learned, are where the magic happens.

    Our culture teaches us to fear downtime, to see it as wasted hours. However, it’s often in those “empty” moments that our most meaningful insights emerge. I’ve had some of my best ideas while folding laundry or lying on the couch doing nothing in particular.

    As Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way, creativity requires spaciousness. She even prescribes a full week of media deprivation—no social media, no podcasts, no books—to help artists reconnect with their inner world. By removing distractions, she argues, we create the room to truly sit with our feelings and thoughts.

    In my own life, I’ve noticed this truth. Some of my favorite moments are not grand or planned—they’re the small, unexpected joys that arise during quiet days. When I’m doing dishes, I’ll start humming, then singing, and maybe even dancing. What felt like a mundane chore transforms into a moment of aliveness.

    Why We Need Unstructured Days

    The irony is that the days I spend without clear plans often end up being the most productive—not in a traditional sense, but in the way they nurture my inner world. These are the days when my thoughts settle, untangle, and expand. They’re not lazy days; they’re spacious ones.

    In fact, I’ve started to see quiet time as a quiet rebellion against a world that demands constant output. When I allow myself to slow down, to let go of the need to perform or produce, I’m pushing back against a culture that equates worth with busyness.

    But this isn’t easy. Society tells us to fear idleness, to run from it with endless distractions: a scroll through Instagram, a new TV series, a side hustle. Slowing down feels countercultural, even indulgent. But I believe it’s necessary.

    The next time someone questions how you spend your time—or when you catch yourself feeling guilty for slowing down—try reframing the question. What if restlessness isn’t wasted time, but the soil where creativity and self-discovery take root?

    A New Definition of Productivity

    So, was my roommate right? Is it boring? Sure, sometimes. But that quietness isn’t a problem; it’s a gift. It’s the pause between notes in a symphony, the blank page before a story. It’s not laziness; it’s space where something always stirs.

    What if we saw stillness differently—not as something to avoid, but as a doorway to clarity, creativity, and reflection?

    Maybe it’s time for your own experiment. Turn off the noise, let yourself stare out the window, and see what stirs in the quiet. You might be surprised at what emerges.

    What about you? How do you feel about unstructured time? Is it something you avoid, or have you discovered its unexpected value? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

  • 5 Practical Tips for Overcoming the Pressure to Do More

    5 Practical Tips for Overcoming the Pressure to Do More

    “In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you.” ~Deepak Chopra

    There was a time in my life when chaos seemed to have the upper hand. I tried so hard to keep things together, but it felt like the more I tried to control things, the more they spiraled. I had goals and dreams, sure, but the stress of not being “there” yet always consumed me.

    I remember one night sitting on the edge of my bed, feeling completely drained. I’d just had a tough conversation with a close friend, one of those exchanges where every word hits harder than the last. It wasn’t about the conversation itself; it was about what it represented—a mirror reflecting my own struggles with self-worth.

    I had been so busy chasing success, comparing my progress to others, and pushing myself to meet society’s invisible benchmarks that I lost sight of what was truly important.

    That night was my breaking point. I realized I wasn’t living for myself anymore—I was living for everyone else’s expectations. I felt like I was stuck in a loop, playing the same scenes over and over, always waiting for the big “win” to feel validated. It was time for a shift, but the problem was, I had no idea where to start.

    The Lucky Meeting that Changed Everything

    Around this time, I had a chance encounter with a hypnotherapist. I was skeptical, but something about their approach intrigued me, and I decided to give it a try. That session introduced me to the alpha state—a state of deep relaxation and mental clarity that I had never experienced before.

    The alpha state became my sanctuary. It felt like being connected to a deeper part of myself, a place where the chatter of my mind quieted down, and I could simply be. The hypnotherapist guided me to let go of control, to trust the process, and to embrace a state of calm presence. It was in this space that I realized how much of my life I had been living on autopilot, constantly reacting to external pressures.

    This lucky meeting wasn’t just a one-time experience—it was a turning point. I began incorporating practices that allowed me to access the alpha state on my own, using self-hypnosis techniques and guided visualizations to reconnect with my core. The more I practiced, the more I noticed a shift in how I approached challenges. Instead of reacting from a place of stress, I began responding from a place of clarity and calm.

    The Power of Stillness Amidst the Chaos

    That moment of stillness became the key to everything. I realized I had been running at full speed, not because I had to, but because I believed that slowing down meant failure. But stillness isn’t defeat; it’s clarity. By taking a step back, I began to see how much of my stress was self-created—driven by unrealistic timelines, external comparisons, and the pressure to “have it all together.”

    In that pause, I asked myself a question that changed everything: “What if my worth has nothing to do with my achievements?”

    I realized that taking breaks from the stress of constant striving slowly relieves the pressure to do more. Connecting with our true selves through stillness allows us to recalibrate and find peace without needing to chase validation. We can trust that we’re enough, just as we are, without having to “do” more to prove it.

    Breaking the Loop

    My first practical step? Setting boundaries with myself. I started by noticing when I was acting out of fear or the need for approval. Each time I felt that pang of “I’m not doing enough,” I reminded myself to stop and breathe. This simple shift allowed me to recognize that my worth is inherent, not something to be earned or proven.

    One of the biggest lessons I learned from this period of my life is that peace doesn’t come from achieving more; it comes from accepting where you are. I had to stop running on autopilot and start listening to myself. That meant embracing my flaws, imperfections, and everything in between.

    Practical Tips for Overcoming Self-Pressure

    1. Create space for stillness.

    Set aside time every day where you’re not actively doing anything. Just be. This is a chance to reconnect with your true self, away from the noise of social media, emails, or to-do lists.

    Taking intentional breaks allows us to relieve the pressure of constant striving and remember who we are beyond our achievements.

    2. Catch your inner critic.

    Notice your thoughts, especially when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Are you being overly critical of yourself? If so, take a step back and try reframing those thoughts with compassion.

    Remember, kindness toward yourself isn’t something you need to earn—it’s a choice available to you at any time. And remember, too: You are not your thoughts, and you are not your feelings. They are simply passing experiences, not reflections of who you are.

    3. Shift from achievement to alignment.

    Instead of measuring success by what you’ve done, focus on how aligned you feel with your values. When making a decision for your future, ask yourself, “Am I being true to myself?”

    This helps you connect with your deeper purpose rather than chasing goals that may not truly fulfill you.

    4. Celebrate progress, not perfection.

    Give yourself credit for the small wins. Life isn’t about checking off boxes; it’s about growth and evolution. Celebrate the fact that you’re on the journey, learning and evolving with each step.

    5. Stay present.

    When we focus too much on future outcomes, we lose sight of the present moment and end up missing out on life. Practice being present by grounding yourself in the here and now. Whether it’s through mindfulness, meditation, or simply taking a deep breath, presence is your most powerful tool.

    The Journey Back to Yourself

    Through this process, I discovered that real peace and fulfillment come when we stop defining ourselves by external success. It’s about knowing that you are enough as you are right now. This doesn’t mean giving up on growth or ambition—it means allowing those things to evolve naturally, rather than forcing them to fit a specific timeline or expectation.

    The lesson here? Your worth isn’t tied to your achievements or productivity. You don’t need to “prove” anything to anyone. Sometimes the most important thing we can do is pause, reflect, and trust that we’re exactly where we need to be.

  • Workaholics: Why Staying Busy Feels Safe and How It Takes a Toll

    Workaholics: Why Staying Busy Feels Safe and How It Takes a Toll

    “The ego desperately wants safety. The soul wants to live. The truth is, we cannot lead a real life without risk. We do not develop depth without pain.” ~Carol S. Pearson

    Workaholism is the body’s wisdom in action, literally.

    Some people develop workaholic tendencies because they crave to be seen as the best through their accomplishments.

    But I’m not here to talk about people who’re obsessed over their image.

    The particular strain of “workaholism” that isn’t talked about enough is a perfectionist’s addiction to productivity.

    It has little to do with being recognized for your brilliance or achievements in the outer world, and much more to do with your own unattainably high standards for yourself and others.

    It’s not about winning a shiny trophy at the end of the day so everyone will know you’re the real deal, but knowing that you’ve improved yourself, others, or the environment around you–even if it’s just neurotically reorganizing your closet.

    It’s knowing that you made the world a better place and that you didn’t cut any corners to get there.

    Whether it’s your career, community projects, or personal to-do lists that consume your everyday life, your addiction to activity is problematic for many reasons. Once you get a dose of completing a job, an impulsive urge to drown yourself in more activity immediately creeps in. Without it, you experience a profound sense of worthlessness.

    You struggle with accepting your work as it is, and your inner critic never settles for okay enough.

    This kind of “improvement” workaholism is about self-worth and a felt sense of safety. Because idleness feels unsafe in the body of a workaholic, non-activity is misconstrued as uselessness, which feels like a gaping hole in your beingness. The wisdom of a workaholic’s body knows that not creating, producing, or improving oneself or the environment is on par with being an unlovable sack of garbage.

    So your body keeps you busy.

    Addiction to activity shows up in myriad ways. Doing your coworker’s job for them because they’re not meeting your standards. Working long hours to perfect a project that you logically know doesn’t need to be perfect. Cleaning the house when it’s not dirty. Pouring more energy than is necessary into helping your kids with their homework. An inability to rest, relax, or experience pleasure unless it’s “earned”–and even then, it’s a fleeting and rare occurrence.

    When the Body Goes to War

    My workaholic perfectionism took a toll on my body starting in my mid-twenties. It’s common for people fixated on perfectionism and activity to chronically hold tension in their bodies. I was so armored in my muscles that I injured my neck from stiffness, leading to some of the worst pain I’ve ever had.

    I was living in rural Japan at the time. Desperate for help, I drove forty-five minutes through snowy conditions down a country road to see specialists who spoke no English, and to this day I have no idea what their area of specialty is called–I’ve never seen it anywhere else. But they treated me in their home on a regular basis to bring me the relief I needed to keep my sanity.

    And that was just the beginning.

    From that point onward, I continued to injure my neck several times a year. After returning to the U.S., I saw chiropractors, physical therapists, and massage therapists on a recurring basis. They certainly treated my symptoms, but I didn’t understand why I was so chronically rigid and injury-prone.

    And then came the injury that changed the course of my life.

    In my early thirties, I developed tendonitis and a repetitive motion injury in my right arm from using the computer in my office job. I worked hard, perfecting every task, email, and spreadsheet that came across my desk. I continued to hold tension in my body, and I rarely took breaks. Desperate to keep working despite the pain in my right arm, I compensated with my left arm and injured it too.

    Different parts of my body were at war with each other–one part guilting me to stay in the hustle cycle, another part sending smoke signals to get me to slow down and rest.

    I ended up on disability for eight months.

    I struggled to take care of myself. Bathing, cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry were no longer feasible. I could not hold open a book to read. It took months to be able to return to normal activities. For someone who’s historically been addicted to staying busy, it was a nightmare to not be able to work per doctor’s orders.

    Two years later, my doctors agreed that I have a permanent partial disability. I am no longer able to work in any eight-hour desk job. A throbbing hand reminds me when it’s time to rest, and now I know to listen.

    Sprinkled through my late twenties and early thirties I also experienced episodes of suicidal ideation and general depressive states. I felt profoundly worthless even though I had my dream job in a beautiful coastal town of California.

    My monkey mind was full of chatter. I fixated on how to feel better, but I was just clinging to the same old habits of endless mental and physical activity.

    Through that difficult passage of time, I believe my psyche was taking me down the dark path of individuation, the transformative process of integrating one’s unconscious and conscious mind-body.

    It’s everyone’s birthright to return to wholeness—a magical reunion of parts that were separated and abandoned in the process of childhood. I discovered that I had banished lazy self-indulgence deep into my shadow.

    Jungian depth psychology and pole dancing opened me up. I healed through embodied sensual movement, accessing my creative inner guidance, making time for spontaneous play with no agenda, and finding peace in my deep stillness.

    Today I move with ease in my body. I find pleasure in places where I could not before. I know how to be in my deep stillness, and I have what feels like true, sustainable joy.

    It doesn’t mean I never slip into old habits. In fact, I still find new iterations of old patterns as I move through life, but I know how to work through them. It’s become my superpower.

    The Unconscious Driver in Your Mind and Body

    Often, we glorify hard work, refusing to admit the destruction it does to our minds and body when it’s become a habit.

    Many workaholics see their patterns as justified, always armed with a list of reasons why they must deliver the much-needed improvement or task despite the obvious sacrifices being made. They do not respond well to being told that they need to slow down or prioritize their well-being.

    Best case scenario, they agree that they work too hard but don’t know how to be any other way.

    If this resonates, maybe you beat yourself up for not being more present with yourself or your loved ones. And maybe you have a tendency to be your own worst critic due to your sky-high internal standards, so you’re particularly sensitive to critical feedback from others.

    The good news is that there’s nothing “wrong” with you. You’re not a bad person because you’re too busy to show up for others. You’re not a self-sabotaging idiot because you worked so hard that you injured yourself. You’re not broken because you can’t sit still.

    Just like any other addiction, workaholism is a coping strategy.

    Workaholism is a learned behavior that serves to protect you from feeling the pain and discomfort of being completely tuned in to your deep stillness without the activity. A work-oriented perfectionist unconsciously harbors a belief that they’re unworthy unless they’re busy fixing themselves or the world.

    Your workaholic tendencies have an incredible intelligence. Your body is brilliant, much more than your conscious mind and ego-persona, which think they know better. But they’re vastly mistaken.

    Five percent of your cognitive activity is conscious and the other 95% is unconscious.

    The 95% largely drives your actions, non-actions, urges, and beliefs. Your endless activity isn’t coming from your conscious thinking mind. You might be convinced that your sheer willpower and self-discipline are the reasons you’re so productive. But that’s simply not the case. You’re the result of unconscious conditioned patterns that influence your behavior in the world.

    If that isn’t humbling, then I don’t know what is.

    The urge to work longer and harder than is good for you is a felt sense in your body. Your impulses—if you pay really close attention—are a reaction to not wanting to feel a certain way. Ultimately, it’s to avoid the discomfort of being fully present to your perceived worthlessness in the midst of being idle, non-productive, and undisciplined.

    It’s so sneaky that you often never feel the first dose of discomfort because your body is so well programmed to keep you busy that it knows exactly how to keep you from feeling like a useless waste of space.

    Your body in its wholeness is so much smarter than your tiny fraction of conscious thoughts.

    It’s not your fault that you’ve never learned how to be any other way. It’s not your fault that most therapists, mentors, educators, and caregivers have no clue how to actually help you change your patterns.

    The great news is that you can change. Your mind-body is not permanently wired this way.

    Science and many different proven techniques tell us how we can change ourselves in ways that seem unimaginable. Unfortunately, these methods lag behind in formal education and the knowledge base of many healers. But, there are many entry points to working with your mind and body to transform how you show up.

    Mind-Body Practice

    While it’s not your fault that you’ve been conditioned to stay perpetually busy, it is your responsibility to do the inner work if you want to enjoy life as your best self who doesn’t need to work to feel worthy.

    If you have a conditioned tendency to avoid stillness because your body misconstrues it as dangerous, then you have to prove to yourself that endless activity is not the way to live fully in your pleasure, presence, and peace.

    Partner with your body and get lovingly curious about yourself.

    The precise activity that you avoid most, idleness, is one way to get acquainted with your inherent, non-negotiable worthiness. This will inevitably dredge up anxiety, depression, and other uncomfortable feelings.

    Learn to be in touch with what you’re feeling in your body, known as interoception. This alone is a practice that will pay you back tenfold in overall well-being, decision-making, and trusting your inner guidance.

    Observe where you’re holding any physical tension. Pay attention to places where discomfort begins to stir and notice what your first impulse is. Often, the urges that arise have a positive intention of squashing the discomfort. For someone with workaholism, that urge is productive activity.

    The body is excellent at reacting at warp speed to these signs of discomfort. Notice where the unease is showing up in your body and develop a practice of sitting with it–another practice that’s worth learning if you want to take the risk of being a human in a world of uncertainties. The treasures of life are found in the unknown.

    Over time, you will learn when your activity is exiting the healthy, productive realm and entering the unhealthy, self-sacrificing realm–so you can intervene.

    You’re incredibly capable of healing and changing your life. You’re not broken, no matter what your struggles are. Trust me, every practice I preach is one that I’ve used to transform my own life.

    Remember that you’re a beautiful creature who’s learning to exist exactly as you are—magnificent, perfect, and worthy.

  • Stay in the Right Lane: Let Yourself Slow Down and Enjoy Life

    Stay in the Right Lane: Let Yourself Slow Down and Enjoy Life

    “I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.” ~Diane Ackerman

    Wow! My last weeks of my career. Though many days and weeks over the last thirty-four years have seemed to last forever, it truly is astonishing how fast time goes. And don’t we often try to make it go even faster?

    Our jobs are stressful. We are often under tight time constraints and deadlines. We have clients and associates who want and need things yesterday.

    We work in jobs we have very little control over. Add that to our daily responsibilities as parents, spouses, partners, friends, children to aging parents and—not to be forgotten—ourselves. It’s a lot.

    Maybe you are like me. When I was younger, I too often:

    • wanted to fast-forward to a new day, a new week, or a new season of life
    • wished time away
    • focused on that vacation that was months away
    • couldn’t wait until my kids were older
    • had my eye on that next job
    • sought to get through tough circumstances I was facing, or
    • desired to be where someone else was in life

    What did it cost me? Memories and opportunities. I don’t remember many details of when my kids were growing up because I was always thinking ahead. I was not in the moment.

    I missed opportunities to learn and grow because I was always focused on that next thing instead of learning what could help me in that next thing.

    I missed all the beauty this earth has to offer because I was driving too fast.

    It cost me time. I wished away something I can never get back. It cost me the fun of simply living life, my life.

    It has taken me sixty-five years on earth to figure out how to make every moment count. And, if I’m honest, it’s something I must work at every day.

    “Don’t focus on making each moment perfect, focus on the perfection each moment provides, be it a good one, or not so good one.” ~Jenna Kutcher

    Notice that I didn’t say “make every moment happy, productive, or memorable.” Just make it count. Be in it. Live it.

    There are many moments that aren’t happy. In fact, they can be downright sorrowful or exhausting. But, at the same time, they help shape you and enable you to grow.

    I missed many good moments in my life because I was too focused on making the ending happy or perfect to enjoy what was happening right before my eyes.

    A few years ago, my son and I met up with a good friend of mine. We started talking about our kids and what fun it was to go to all of their events when they were younger. I was pounding my chest by bragging about being at all of their events.

    My son, to his credit, challenged me. He said I was there physically, but I wasn’t really there. He told my friend I was always on my phone, or otherwise preoccupied. He was right. I was there but I can’t tell you about the goals they scored, the amazing moves they made, or the songs they sang. It was like a dagger went through my heart. But it was true.

    My dear friend Doug told me a great way he is trying to live right now. He said, “stay in the right lane.” I love that. We often want to get somewhere fast, so we pull into the left lane and zoom past everything to get to the destination. 

    I did that most of my life, in all areas of my life. As I start to live in the right lane, I am having an easier time being more in the moment. I am being intentional.

    I start my day with a routine of praying, journaling, exercising, and setting my focus to not be on one or two things, but to be awed by the wonder of what I might encounter. I intentionally set aside days where I do not have a set schedule.

    As I am more in the moment, I am experiencing all sorts of beauty, joy, amazement, clarity, purposefulness, happiness, and opportunity.

    When you look at my photo library, you will see mostly pictures of bugs, birds, flowers, and trees from my walks. My mind has space to be creative and I am finding clarity on the things I want to do in this season of life, for me. My relationships are flourishing because I am actually there, truly experiencing another person.

    Being present has also allowed me to see myself for more of who I am. I have often said I never felt I was good enough. I felt I had to do more in order to be enough. Now that I have more clarity on who I am, I want to do more, because I am enough. I realize that no matter what I do from here on out, I am good enough. Because of who I am, not what I do.

    Many have asked what I will do in retirement. Like, retirement is the end, so how will you live to the end? I am looking at it more as a transition into the next leg of my journey.

    I am going to continue to live in the right lane, enjoy every moment, create and experience new moments, and focus on the journey itself, not the destination. I plan to live as Laurie Santos puts it, “be happy in my life, and with my life.”

    “The most dangerous risk of all…is the risk of spending your life not doing what you want, on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later.” ~Randy Komisar

    So how do you do that? It isn’t always easy.

    Have good self-awareness (know yourself and trust yourself). Be intentional. Make time for the people and things that matter. Make the time to think about what you really want in life.

    And slow yourself down.

  • Freedom Is the Space Between Each Judgmental or Righteous Thought

    Freedom Is the Space Between Each Judgmental or Righteous Thought

    “It is inner stillness that will save and transform the world.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    Life is hard. Impenetrable at times. How can we use our spirituality to navigate through the density of life?

    That question inspired this piece of writing. And my navigation tool is almost effortless; I feel compelled to share it.

    When my mind is churning and burning with thoughts and fears and worries, I take myself off to a quiet place, get still, and watch my mind. I wait for the tiny gap between each thought. Bingo.

    That space, that little gap, is freedom in its truest, purest form. It is the birthplace of peace. And every time I enter that space, I am no longer at war with anything. Despite what madness may surround me, that place always remains untouched. It is like an infinite reservoir of strength and love—one that feels like, well, freedom.

    How I came to find that reservoir is a long and nuanced story (that’s why I wrote a whole book about it), but I’ll try and give you the nutshell version.

    Essentially, to even find it, I had to first get to the point where I was so disillusioned—with my cancer, with people, with the system, with the greed, with the house chores, with the destruction of the planet, with war, and with life full stop.

    Little did I know it then, but that disillusionment was freedom’s gateway.

    For so long, I looked to ‘the other’ as the source of my disillusionment.

    Sometimes ‘the other’ was a person, sometimes it was a situation—my cancer, the pandemic, the person who I believed had wronged me, the political party; anything or anyone that caused a disturbance to my happiness fell into this bucket.

    Of course, it felt good to blame cancer, that person, or the pandemic for my woes, at least on the surface. Yet the blaming was also the root of my suffering. The biggest wars I’ve had in my own life were when I was trying to get ‘the other’ to yield / change / admit they have it wrong so I could live in peace.

    But the true source of my disillusionment was never with them. When I stopped waiting for the situation to change and shifted my attention to my mind, I observed something that floored me at first: my own righteousness.

    Staring back in the mirror were my tendencies to be correct, envy, judge, complain, and win. That mirror revealed one simple truth: I was adding to the war I desperately wanted to end. I had arrived at the place where I was simply fed up—no longer fed up with life but rather fed up with the suffering caused by my very own mind.

    The challenges and hindrances of life may have taken you to a similar point—the point where you’ve had enough. Before freedom is even possible, this stage is necessary, essential even.

    The world is unsatisfying. So, now what? This is freedom’s front door. It is the opening to the very core of your being. When we have had enough of looking outside for contentment, only then do we look inward. This is where the rubber meets the road.

    But we have to go deeper—beyond the mind, beyond our thoughts about what is right vs. wrong, left vs. right—to our essential oneness.

    And, as a collective, I think we get there by asking ourselves one simple question: Do I want peace or war?

    If it is peace, we must start with the peace in our minds. In all the frenzy, it is possible to simply stop and enter into the space between every thought. Rest there for a few scared moments. Feel the ease wash over every cell of our being. Come home to that again and again. Life doesn’t need to be any different to enter that space.

    That space is freedom. And true freedom is not bound in any person or situation. Freedom is what sits underneath the war. It is found in the tiny gap between every righteous and non-righteous thought; it occurs through stillness.

    From this stillness, I’ve learned (yes, the hard way) that we can speak our truth, but now we speak it without the need to control any outcome.

    For example, rather than trying to force my husband to read a spiritual book instead of opting for Netflix—as if I know what’s right and best for him—I can respect him for where he is at in his inner journey. I still act. I still suggest books. But my happiness is not dependent on his choice.

    Instead of being angry at a friend who hurt me, I can step out of my righteousness and cultivate empathy for where she is at in her life. I still reach out. I still attempt resolution. But my peace is not dependent on her response.

    I throw my seeds of truth, dug up from the depths of my heart, out into my family and the world. Sometimes they land in the fertile soil of ‘the other,’ and sometimes they don’t. So be it. It is action without criticism, judgment, blame or control—without the war. I had found a place within where I could look at ‘the other’ and feel compassion and even love instead of anger and annoyance.

    Eckhart Tolle says, “It is inner stillness that will save and transform the world.”

    I couldn’t agree more. Because from that place, from the silent stillness within, war is not escalated but instead averted.

    So, to anyone feeling disenchanted, I want to honor you and say one thing: The freedom your soul is aching for is within arm’s reach. It is as close as your breath, as close as the space between each of your thoughts.

  • Movement, Stillness, and Insight: My 3 Daily Non-Negotiables for a Busy World

    Movement, Stillness, and Insight: My 3 Daily Non-Negotiables for a Busy World

    “Put yourself at the top of your to-do list every single day and the rest will fall into place.” ~Unknown

    We live in a busy world. There is always something, or someone, fighting for our attention. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. It’s easy to lose the time we need for ourselves. The white space in our days is often the first thing to get squeezed out as demands on our time escalate.

    To combat this pull to overwhelm, I decided to create a list of daily non-negotiables.

    Having a list of non-negotiables means I get to control at least a portion of my day. I can ensure some of what is important to me keeps its space when everything else is at risk of being crowded out.

    The Daily Three

    My daily three, as I have coined it, includes time for the following.

    1. Movement
    2. Stillness
    3. Insight

    Let’s break each down.

    Movement

    This is time for either a formal movement practice (most often bodyweight strength work, some weights, or yoga), an informal mobility flow and stretching what is tight, or just a long walk. Some days will include a combination of all.

    I believe deeply in the power of a physical practice. Regular movement is good for the mind and body. It energizes and nourishes us. It can also boost our mood, reduce chronic pain, and help us sleep better at night. All good reasons to make movement a priority in our days.

    And this time doesn’t have to be something we dread, like an early morning trip to the gym (personally, I love these). We can also introduce an element of play. Discovering movement on a deeper level. Rediscovering that childlike quality of just enjoying being in our bodies and seeing what they can do, whether that means dancing, tumbling, hula hooping, playing frisbee, or running down a hill, arms flailing, like we did as kids.

    There are many ways we can settle on what works best for us but also experiment, peppering our day with mini-movement breaks.

    Stillness

    Time to reflect, to ponder. Time to absorb. Time to reset and replenish. Time to be.

    Some will use this time for a seated meditation. I prefer long walks (which, along with writing and yoga, are as close as I get to a formal meditation practice).

    This is also my time for listening to music. Music settles my mind on the busiest of days, bringing me back to myself. For others, it may have the reverse effect, but this works for me.

    Less frequently, this space will also mean time for a more indulgent self-care routine (massage, sauna, steam, etc.). Time to switch off and be pampered. We all deserve some pampering occasionally.

    Time in stillness can often mean thinking of how I can be of service to others and the world around me in some small but meaningful way. This could be a random act of kindness or something more substantial. While self-care and time inside our own heads is important, so is time spent thinking on how we can make the world a little better for those around us.

    This is also the time for a gratitude practice. Thinking of one to three things I’m grateful for today. Big or small, they all count.

    Making space for a gratitude practice is one of the most powerful changes anyone can make to their lives. It shifts the lens through which we see the world. When we feel gratitude, true appreciation, and joy for something, it’s hard to stay in a negative space. When I think about being grateful for something (or someone), my mind clears; it focuses purely and simply on the act of being grateful.

    Too often in life, our mind wants to zig and zag. Striving for the next thing and the next. Planning and plotting ahead. Dwelling on the negative, what we are missing, what we did wrong, how far we are from our goals, how we dealt with a situation in a less than optimal way. This negative bias and future-creep do not serve us well. We suffer.

    Instead, we need to be a little kinder to ourselves and detach from our expectations of what could or should be. Making time in our day for stillness acts as an anchor to bring us back to ourselves. It’s grounding.

    Insight

    Time to learn something new or dig deeper into an area of interest.

    This will usually involve reading (or re-reading) a book, listening to a podcast, or listening to someone smart.

    Sometimes it might be a passage from a favorite book I come back to or a quote that speaks to me. I collect quotes for my writing, but there are several favorites I return to over and over. They always provide me with inspiration and are a source of energy.

    This can also be a time to go deeper on a subject in a more expansive way. A course, workshop, or some time with a coach of some sort. Doubling down on a subject we are passionate about.  Investing in our knowledge.

    Why Have a List of Non-Negotiables?

    Your non-negotiables may be different than mine, depending on your needs and values. Regardless, this practice ensures we prioritize the things that serve us (or we need) amongst other priorities. Writing them down and having them in our mind’s eye keeps them present.

    This can be time for self-development and self-care. Time to grow, time to reset, time to reflect. Time to slow down.

    This is positive fuel that we can run on. A foundation to launch from.

    Why Daily?

    A daily frequency is particularly important when establishing a new habit. Once ingrained, you may wish to revert to a less frequent practice.

    A better question might be, if it’s important, why not daily?

    Why Three?

    Because it’s not too many or too few. Three is doable. You might prefer more or less if you give a similar practice a proper go. Experiment and keep what works for you. As my examples have shown, I have been liberal in what my three encompass, I encourage you to do similar.

    The Time Conundrum: Doing What You Can, When You Can

    When life gets busy, it can be tough to find any free time in your days, especially if you have young children (or babies) to see to, or elderly dependents that count on you.

    The good news is you can work your non-negotiables into the time you have available. A short five minutes here or there, between other responsibilities, adds up.

    If you have trouble making time for half an hour of seated meditation every morning, perhaps you could reduce the pressure and instead allow five to ten minutes before you go to bed (or even in bed) each night instead. Or use a meditation app on your phone for your day while walking from work to home. As I write this, in our home, we are currently experimenting with some Yoga Nidra time just before bed.

    You can even look for opportunities to combine some of these non-negotiables with your other daily activities—for example, dancing with your kids so you get the benefits of movement while bonding with your little ones.

    The important thing is that we make at least some time for things that are important to us and for us, a promise to ourselves and form of self-care. Some days we might have more time, some days less.

    There is no right way to do this. We all work from where we are and with what we have. These non-negotiable elements should add to the quality of our lives, not create an additional stressor.

    So long as we make a little time for the things that nourish and energize us, we will reap the benefits.

    Experiment, make your own list of daily non-negotiables, and feel the power of this simple habit.

  • How to Get All the Benefits of Meditation by Balancing

    How to Get All the Benefits of Meditation by Balancing

    “Use only that which works and take it from any place you can find it.” ~Bruce Lee

    Ding.

    The meditation timer chimes, and through a small miracle of willpower you managed to sit through an excruciating ten-minute meditation session.

    What you should feel is a sense of accomplishment. After all, you often skip it altogether.

    But instead you feel frustrated having just spent the entire session fidgeting, lost in fantasies that involve bragging to a friend about meditating today.

    Your “monkey mind” is strong. It’s like a whole jungle of monkeys in there.

    I went through the same thing back in 1998 when I first came to the cushion. My mind was like an overgrown garden full of angry racoons.

    Sitting on a pile of pillows, back aching, knees screaming, and mind racing, I would wonder, “Am I doing this right?” But the promise of freedom from my inner turmoil kept me coming back to the practice.

    And, even though I always felt a little better afterward (if for no other reason than I was doing something good for myself), it took months to see more tangible and lasting results.

    What I didn’t realize then was that I already knew how to meditate. I had been doing it for years as a young boy, but it didn’t look anything like the exotic (to me) methods I was trying to learn from my grandmother’s dusty old books.

    In fact, I had completely forgotten about the temporary state of calm, clarity, and focus that settled over me like a soothing balm on those dusty summer afternoons of my childhood.

    Now I meditate every day, but I’ve also returned to some of those earlier “practices” from my youth. Methods that you should know about too because I know how hard it is to adopt a consistent practice.

    Our Attraction to Distraction

    When it comes to focus, you’re fighting an uphill battle.

    Our world is a sea of distraction that you’ve been swimming in your whole life.

    Bombarded with ads, alerts, and alarms, you watch films that jump from one scene to the next with dizzying frequency. Texting causes your brain to slavishly listen for the next “ping.” One-click shopping allows you to gratify any urge almost as quickly as it arises.

    The mind must be trained to focus, and I think you’ll agree that we live in an environment engineered to do just the opposite.

    So don’t feel bad if it’s difficult to quiet your mind and maintain steady attention.

    Traditional meditation doesn’t come easily to anyone (no one I’ve met, at least). And even those who are completely sold on its many benefits often struggle to maintain a consistent practice. Yet they stay committed to the idea of it, hoping they’ll find their groove someday.

    If this sounds like you, don’t despair. There is an easier and fun way to experience that meditative state, one that doesn’t require the traditional butt-on-cushion approach.

    Don’t get me wrong, a formal meditation practice is wonderful and rewarding. It helps you cultivate consistency and discipline; connects you to a tradition; and lays the foundation for more advanced spiritual practices.

    But, while you’re working on that, wouldn’t it be great to start enjoying some of meditation’s benefits right away?

    A Balanced Approach

    As a boy I suffered with intense anxiety and emotional turmoil.

    Maybe it was my parents’ divorce that left me feeling scared and angry. Or possibly the bullying that terrorized my early years.

    I was weaker than the other kids and would become paralyzed with fear when they took turns choking and punching me in the schoolyard. Sometimes I would lie about not feeling well so I didn’t have to go to school.

    I hated that place.

    Paying attention wasn’t a struggle because I didn’t even try. I learned that it was futile. Instead, I stared out the window, daydreaming about running free outdoors.

    And when school let out that’s exactly what I did.

    Across the street from my house were the railroad tracks, the unofficial boundary line of a special world we called the “Pipeyard.”

    This piece of land was dotted with old warehouses and crisscrossed by dirt roads that provided access to the piles of steel pipes being stored until they could be sold to oil leases and other industries.

    There were big fat pipes you could climb inside, and skinny pipes that flexed when you walked out to the middle of them. Sometimes they were piled ten feet high, while other racks were almost empty, allowing the pipes to roll as you climbed on them.

    For an unattended eighties kid, it was the ultimate playground.

    But this dangerous place wasn’t just for fun, it was my sanctuary. A place where I could spend hours alone, balancing back and forth above the dusty weeds.

    And that’s when the magic happened.

    All of my worries and anxiety would disappear. On those narrow pipes there was no room for the nagging fears, the unhelpful inner dialogue, and vague uneasiness that haunted me.

    I would enter a kind of meditative trance, immersed in the sensory experience of my feet touching the surface of the pipe, the little wobbles in my legs, the sound of high-top sneakers scuffing against rusty steel.

    There was power in the simplicity of it.

    It helped that I was outdoors. Alone, quiet, and focused single-mindedly on the task at hand.

    The physicality got me out of my head and into the present moment. When a yoga teacher tells me to get grounded, I know exactly what that feels like.

    In balancing, every moment is novel.

    Step onto any elevated surface with the intent to balance, and your mind will immediately sharpen—a protective mechanism evolution hardwired into our nervous system.

    You could say it’s the ultimate meditation hack.

    With even a little time balancing, you’ll find how quickly you adapt. There is constant and immediate feedback telling you to relax, bend your knees, breathe… and focus.

    Do it for a little longer, and your mind becomes increasingly clear, perceptions heightened—creating a magical experience where time seems to slow down. The same things you experience after a great meditation session.

    The World Is Your Playground

    The beauty is that you don’t need anything (or to go anywhere) to get started.

    No need to endanger your health and safety like I did as a seven-year-old!

    Begin by standing on one leg. If that’s hard, stand near a wall or chair so you can catch yourself. Simply walking along a seam in the sidewalk or on a low curb will be a good starting challenge for many.

    If you connect with this practice, it’s easy to set up obstacles at home.

    I built a balance beam in my living room from an eight-foot-long pine beam purchased at The Home Depot. It cost less than $20, but even a simple 2” x 4” laid flat on the floor should keep you occupied for a while.

    Once you catch the balance bug, something clicks and you’ll see obstacles everywhere you go: Parking curbs, low walls, railings, fences, logs, rocks.

    Balancing is a blast. It adds an element of play, creativity, and adventure to your day. Remember the game “hot lava?” Whatever you do, don’t touch the ground!

    Here are a few things to keep in mind for better results.

    Don’t do anything reckless, please. Stay off the railroad tracks and bridge railings.

    Keep in mind your physical condition and abilities.

    Always test logs, rocks, or railings for strength and stability before you hop on. I’ve taken some spills, but I’m in good shape and know how to safely take a fall.

    Start with simple, small, and safe.

    This is about adding just enough challenge and complexity to focus the mind. And it doesn’t take much. Especially if you don’t have much experience balancing.

    Here are three tips to help you maintain or regain your balance:

    Breathe deeply into your abdomen by imagining you’re inflating a balloon in your gut with each inhalation. Inhale to fill the balloon, and as you exhale the balloon deflates.

    Relax (especially your upper body) as much as possible on each exhalation. When you do this, relax and bend your knees until you regain your composure.

    As you exhale and relax, drop your awareness down toward the object you’re balancing on. One of my qigong teachers would often say, “Where the mind goes, energy flows.”

    With these safety and balance pointers in mind, you will be poised to start benefiting from your new meditation practice.

    Meditation Is Back on the Menu

    The benefits of regular meditation are undeniable, and now you can drop into that state of mind many times a day.

    The more you do it, the better you get. Your nervous system becomes conditioned to enter an optimal state faster and more effectively with each session.

    Balance evokes the memory and energy of play, often becoming a game to see how long or far you can make it without falling.

    The cool thing?

    Your motivation to do a more traditional practice will likely increase.

    Why?

    Because you’ll be in the habit of dropping into a meditative state. We enjoy doing things we’re good at, and meditation is no different.

    Do your neck, back, and knees get sore during sitting practice?

    Not a problem with balancing. You can alternate between standing in one place or moving. We sit too much already, it’s better for us to spend more time in mindful movement.

    Think of balancing as a form of dynamic meditation practice, similar to Tai Chi, qigong, or yoga. For balancing to be more meditative, be quiet, move slowly, and bring your full awareness and attention to your body and breath.

    And finally, don’t forget that balance is a fundamental physical ability, one that declines with age.

    For you, that shouldn’t be a problem.

    Finding Stillness in Movement

    Meditation won’t always be so difficult.

    Sure, there are good and bad days, but at some point you get past the struggle and mostly enjoy it.

    Fortunately, there are easier ways to get most of the benefits that don’t require the superhuman discipline required to meditate consistently in today’s distracting world.

    Keep it fun, make it a game, and have some adventures.

    Stay safe out there.

  • The Most Important Lessons We Can Take from This Pandemic

    The Most Important Lessons We Can Take from This Pandemic

    EDITOR’S NOTE: You can find a number of helpful coronavirus resources and all related Tiny Buddha articles here.

    “And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.” ~Kitty O’Meara

    While this pandemic is turning out to be a very confusing and difficult time for many people, it is undoubtedly giving humanity an incredibly rare opportunity to learn some challenging lessons. I believe these lessons will trigger a much-needed change of perspective for how we do things on this planet and will hopefully enable us to turn over a new leaf.

    For so long it felt that we had been living in a way that went against everything that is natural and sacred.

    We had been living in a way that neither serves humans nor the natural world, and yet we continued on this path seemingly powerless to stop what we were doing.

    It’s as if we were all part of this machine that kept on chugging along, but no one could find the stop button. Well, that stop button has arrived and it’s not like anything we could have ever imagined.

    Over the last several weeks we have seen a massive change in our priorities, and the economy has echoed this to a great degree. Sales of food and health products have gone through the roof, while sales of clothes, makeup, cars, etc, (you know, the stuff we don’t really need but think we need to attain some kind of happiness) has plummeted.

    In my personal life, I can feel that my priorities have massively shifted due to this pandemic, and it has been eye-opening to see how so much can change in such a short space of time.

    I recently found myself looking at pictures I had taken a couple months ago of me and my daughter out and about, and suddenly this strange thought came to my mind: In some way, life will never be the same again.

    I think most of us are wondering what the future will hold and how this pandemic will change the way we do things, but I feel there is no way to escape the change in perspective that it will bring.

    This is our silver lining, and it will hopefully allow us to look back on this time and feel there were some benefits.

    Here are six valuable lessons I think we will learn from this.

    1. The power of stillness.

    Our lives were put on pause, many were forced to work from home, and we can longer travel unless necessary.

    With this, we were given the power of stillness and the opportunity to unapologetically slow down. There is no other situation other than an outbreak of a virus where our world would come to such a pause. This will most likely be an opportunity that we never get again (and ironically, we are all hoping we won’t ever get again).

    As such, now more than ever—for those who are still under lockdown—this is the time to go within and be still with yourself. Heal, remove emotional blockages, meditate, and practice yoga. Take this opportunity to do the inner work that you previously had no time for. If ever there was time for personal transformation, it’s now.

    And as the lockdowns begin to lift perhaps we will see the value in living a quieter and more peaceful life.

    2. Friends and family mean everything.

    Probably the most difficult part of this journey for most people is being separated from their friends, family, and maybe even a romantic partner.

    I once heard someone say that “connection is something that all humans need, but we are just not very good at it.” Who here feels that maybe they took human interaction for granted before this? I will raise my hand to that.

    Connection is something that is so critical for our emotional and mental well-being, yet it something we often take for granted.

    After this is over, I think people will reach out to each other like never before and everyone will be so overjoyed to see their loved ones again. And just maybe we might be a little bolder and share our smiles and greetings with those we don’t even know.

    3. Nature continues to thrive even if the world has shutdown.

    For many during this lockdown, including myself, nature has been a life saver. Whether we spend time in our garden, walk through a park, do gardening, grow food (I grant that not everyone has been able to enjoy these luxuries), or simply poke our head out of our window for some fresh air and sunlight, the serenity of nature has been something we can rely on. While the world stopped, nature remained constant.

    Incredible stories have also emerged about wild animals taking over quiet city centers and dolphins returning to waters that they haven’t been spotted in for hundreds of years. Nature never stops, and the sad truth is that less human activity has meant that nature has been able to thrive in a way that most of us haven’t seen in our lifetime.

    Yet, maybe seeing nature in full force with all its beauty will prompt us to create new systems where humans and nature can thrive together. I can’t bear to think of losing our new fresh air or the animals that have finally felt safe enough to come closer to us. Perhaps this will be the big wake up call we needed.

    Either way, I believe humans will make a renewed relationship with nature and just hopefully this might lead to big environmental change.

    4. Material goods mean nothing.

    As I have already mentioned, this pandemic has forced us to completely rearrange our priorities, and I can’t help but feel this is a good thing. What good are material things when your health, safety, and access to food are jeopardized? They mean zero at times like this, which I think just helps us put into perspective exactly what we should be prioritizing in our lives.

    Since realizing this virus was going to be something that was very serious, I have barely bought anything that isn’t absolutely essential. And of course, this doesn’t mean that I am done with buying beautiful clothes or things to make my life more enjoyable, but it has cast a light on how little I actually need and what truly makes me happy.

    5. Our health is gold.

    Health is something we so easily take for granted until it is at risk. The possibility of our health taking a downturn has made many of us pay more attention to our nutrition intake and cleanliness. Some of us have even been taking preventative health measures and steps to boost our immune system.

    If we have a working body with no serious physical ailments, we should be beyond grateful!

    6. Essential workers are heroes.

    Every good story needs its hero, and in the story that is playing out on our planet right now, our heroes are of course key workers—healthcare workers, delivery drivers, bus and train drivers, and those who work in the supermarkets and food distribution. These are the people who are keeping everything going and right now risking their health and safety every day to do it.

    In the past, so many of these professions were deemed as jobs that require little skill or don’t deserve much pay, but right now there is no saying what we would do without these people.

    I hope in the future these professions shall be seen with high esteem, and the soldiers fighting on the frontline will be remembered. If this pandemic is teaching us one thing, it is not to take anyone or anything for granted.

    What Will Be the Outcome of All This?

    I think everyone is wondering what exactly will come out of this crisis and whether we will really change our ways. Will we learn the lessons or go back to the way we were before—our unhealthy ‘normality’?

    This is yet to be seen. However, as individuals we can make our own choices, and it is our individual choice that will make all the difference.

    Let us learn from this situation and do what we can to preserve nature, to bring more stillness into our lives, and to never take people or our health and safety for granted again. As always, individual change and transformation will always triumph.

  • Why Introverts Feel Drained in Groups and How I Preserve My Energy

    Why Introverts Feel Drained in Groups and How I Preserve My Energy

    “In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you.” ~Deepak Chopra

    When I was younger, I was always referred to as “the quiet one.” I didn’t mind it; I knew I was much quieter than most people I met. Not speaking and spending time on my own was natural for me.

    Friends and workmates recognized this but would still often ask me if I wanted to join them when they were going out, even though they knew I would usually say no. They understood me as quiet, but they didn’t really understand just how much I disliked the whole socializing thing and how much it would drain me.

    I’d always loved time on my own. Even if I was somewhere amongst people, as long as I didn’t have to speak or engage with others, I was fairly content. In both situations I could retreat to my own inner world.

    My thoughts and imagination were never boring; there were always observations to make about myself, the world, and other people. There was a sense of coming home whenever I became quiet. There was a familiar comfort in my inner world.

    For the first half of my life I was a very shy introvert. While I’m not so shy anymore, I’m still introverted.

    From Quiet on the Outside to Quiet on the Inside

    In 2001 I discovered meditation at the recommendation of my brother, and one of the first things that became extremely obvious for me was just how active my mind was.

    There was a very clear realization—that just because I was “the quiet one” did not mean I had a quiet mind. This might sound obvious, but before I started meditating, I didn’t realize how busy my mind was.

    My inner world was full of noise. Thoughts triggering emotions and emotions amplifying thoughts in a vicious, neverending cycle . It was comfortable and familiar, but when I paid attention I realized it wasn’t peaceful.

    Prior to this realization, I’d very much identified with the noise in my mind. The constant stream of thoughts, emotions, and stories created a certain sense of self. The flavor of how I knew myself.

    How does a fish objectify water when it has lived in it for its entire life? Contrast. It needs to experience what it feels like outside of water.

    For me there was a similar experience happening through meditation. I started having experiences of an inner quiet. In the beginning it was only moments, but it was like being taken outside of my usual sense of self, allowing me to objectify the inner environment I usually resided in.

    It was uncomfortable because I was used to the comfort of my usual inner monologue, stories, and moods, but a part of me that realized I am not the thoughts, emotions, dramas that made up my usual sense of self.

    Although there was a comfort that came with the familiar, it was far more peaceful outside of it, since my mental environment had become polluted. Still, my active mind did not want to let go easily. It took time. I could have given up when I felt discomfort and resistance to seeing the reality of my mind; however, there were two things that helped motivate me to keep going.

    The first was the relief I was starting to feel. Just like the peace that would usually come when I had time on my own after being with people, or when I’d spend time in the quiet of nature after being in the noise of the city, this relief came from letting go of my thoughts. It was more than a craving for quiet. It was a longing for depth… inside myself.

    The second motivator, which I believe should pique the interest of any introvert, was that I was starting to feel less drained in group situations or events. I was still an introvert—I still preferred time on my own—but the negative side effects of being around people were shifting.

    Understanding the Main Difference Between Introverts and Extrovert

    I always knew I was an introvert, but I never really understood what it meant in greater detail until last year when I heard Faris Khalifeh from Quiet Leadership in Vancouver speak.

    I’d understood introversion very basically as someone who tends to be quiet and prefers time on their own. As I learned from Faris, a major distinguishing trait between introverts and extroverts is that introverts gain energy by being alone and tend to get drained in groups. Vice versa for extroverts.

    I believe one of the reasons introverts get so drained among groups of people is because they are not quiet on the inside. Much like stress is an internal reaction to a stimulus (external or internal), for an introvert there is an internal reaction to our natural sensitivity when in groups of people, creating a certain stress that drains our energy. Quietening our mind changes our reactions.

    For me, the combination of my naturally active mind and sensitivity created an internal environment that made group events draining. In group events there was so much stimulation happening around me that even if I was only connecting with one or two people I would eventually become drained.

    For clarity, there’s no more stimulation happening around an introvert than an extrovert; it’s that the introvert is usually far more sensitive to it.

    I remember a work dinner many years ago. There were about eight of us, but we’d gone to a pub, so there were a lot more people in the space. I was chatting with a work friend, but the ambient noise from all the conversations happening around me was pulling my awareness in all directions. Sensory overload. Too much information at the same time. It was very difficult to relax, and I was more distracted than present.

    It was like being immersed in a soup of chaotic ambient noise. I wished I could just leave! This outer noise added to my own inner noise, amplifying my thoughts and inner monologue:

    “That couple over there is having an argument. When will this evening be over? The man behind me is drunk; I hope they ask him to leave. There’s an awkward tension between those two workmates sitting together; they don’t like each other. I’m running out of things to talk about. Who actually enjoys this atmosphere? Maybe there’s something wrong with me?” And on and on.

    All of this created a general sense of stress and agitation in both my body and mind. Over a couple of hours, I was gradually drained.

    I often wondered if I was the only one who found social events unpleasant.

    The problem was, I had nothing solid to rest on. The constant stream of thoughts and emotions that run through our mind give us a familiar sense of self, but for me, a familiar sense of self based on my active mind was not a very stable place when I was so sensitive.

    Sensitivity was not the problem; a lack of stability was. Sensitivity is an amazing gift, but without some stability it feels like chaos.

    The Antidote

    The antidote that was emerging for me was stillness.

    Stillness created a stability and grounding. It was extremely nurturing and recharging by itself, and the more I cultivated a relationship to it the more it was there where ever I went.

    Even though I was still sensitive to the ambient noise at group events, I had a stable center, an inner quiet that created a separation between me and the noise. Without the separation, I was the noise, and it drained me. With stillness, I was stable and free, and my energy was preserved.

    Introverts tend to accept that having their energy drained in groups is an inherent trait of their personality type. While this is true in the usual introvert categorization, I believe it doesn’t have to be like this. I was not looking for a solution to being drained at group events; I’d simply accepted this is how I was. But I was wrong. The solution presented itself as a side effect of my meditation.

    I’m not suggesting you will transform into an extrovert and gain energy by being in groups. I’m still an introvert and I still love time by myself, but being at group events does not drain me like it used to.

    As introverts, at some point we have to engage with people and attend extroverted events. I share my experience with you because these situations do not have to be a point of stress or anxiety. Stillness provides a stable resting place that can change our relationship to group situations.

    Stillness is your superpower!

    Though meditation is one of the best paths to stillness, it can also help to use the exercise below, which I call “Finding stillness amidst the chaos.” I would not call it a meditation in the truest sense, but I would call it a training for your mind.

    Finding Stillness Amidst the Chaos

    1. Go to a crowded place, preferably where there is a lot of noise. A busy food court at lunchtime is a good one. Perhaps before a conference or event when everyone around you is talking. The more people, the better.

    2. Remain quiet and start listening peripherally to all the people talking. Don’t listen to individual conversations or voices. Listen to them all at once. The peripheral noise.

    3. If thoughts come into your mind, just let them go and return to the peripheral noise. Don’t judge your thoughts.

    4. As you listen peripherally to the noise for a couple of minutes, start to notice there is the chaos of the noise all around you, but you are not the noise. This is important! There is a separation between you and the noise. It’s like the noise is a tornado and you are in the eye. Notice the stillness in the center. It’s the place from where you perceive the noise.

    5. The key here is that the noise and chaos are in the periphery and stillness is in the center. Thoughts will come and go, but keep your awareness with the peripheral noise and center of stillness.

    6. Pay attention to how you feel more stable when you can do this. You can still be aware of the noise, but you are not affected by it, because you are not the noise.

    It may take some time to get the hang of this, but like anything else, with practice you will see progress. You may even find this fun. Don’t worry, you’re not becoming an extrovert—you’re just cultivating your stillness superpower!

  • Longing for Quiet in a Noisy World: How I Found Myself (and Peace) in Silence

    Longing for Quiet in a Noisy World: How I Found Myself (and Peace) in Silence

    “Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything.” ~Gordon Hempton

    Years ago, when I first started my emotional healing journey, I was longing to reconnect with who I truly was and free my mind of all the paralyzing thoughts and feelings that were wrecking my well-being and happiness.

    After months of finding new ways to improve my life, I finally felt happy. I was healthy and fulfilled and knew exactly what I wanted out of life.

    I decluttered my personal space from unwanted things and people, completely changed my morning routine, and finally started living in the moment. Life was good and complete.

    Until I would hit a roadblock.

    Unplanned circumstances, stressful situations, and loud noises in crowded places would trigger emotions of resentment and annoyance.

    The pressure of constant automatic speaking, my voice echoing in my head rethinking what I said and dwelling on what didn’t sound the way I wanted it to, kept me restless and agitated. I was also highly sensitive to negativity and judgment from others, and that influenced how I dealt with a particular moment.

    That’s when it hit me: Even after all the progress, when I thought that I had finally started living the way I wanted, I still felt anxious and easily irritated by my daily life. While I thought that I knew myself well, I had yet to learn where the frustration was coming from and what was causing me to feel stressed.

    Naturally, as an introvert, I longed for quiet time, away from the world, in silence.

    As a child, I would spend hours writing and reading in my secret hideouts, in complete solitude. It was in my nature, who I truly was. But as I grew up, things changed. The noise of everyday life was too loud, and I needed to find a way to create calm in my daily environment.

    Still, no matter how hard I tried to bring silence back into my life, I saw it as a defeat.

    I was fighting the urge to accept it. I was taught not to recognize the value of silence, and I believed that quiet meant wrong.

    This is true for so many of us. Instead of understanding and accepting ourselves the way we are, we go through life thinking that something is wrong with us because we don’t fit into the society’s norm of what is “socially acceptable.”

    Later on, after analyzing myself further, it became clear to me that what was causing uneasiness had nothing to do with external influences, but rather with how I filtered information and what I allowed to come through to me.

    I found myself programming my responses based on other people’s level of comfort, because I didn’t want to upset anyone. And instead of focusing on my needs, I worried about what others would think.

    I bogged my brain down with endless problems, worries, and self-sabotaging thoughts that ultimately made me feel anxious and stressed.

    In situations where I needed to stand up for myself, I would instead back down and do nothing, thinking that if I failed to comply, I would be criticized and rejected. This was especially true in a toxic relationship with a person whose influence was detrimental to my well-being.

    And though I forced myself to stop withdrawing from the world that wanted me to talk constantly, I longed for silence that would help me heal.

    That’s when I realized that the silence I craved more than anything was the silence I had already experienced as a child. So, I returned to practices that brought me back to the energizing, much needed moments of stillness.

    Writing in my journal helped quiet down my thoughts and feelings of irritation. I found meditation helpful in preparing for a busy day ahead. I learned that staying away from the noise that was exhausting, both physically and mentally, helped me hear myself better.

    Even though it took months to master the incredible power of silence, this restorative practice allowed me to always be in control of the noise around me, having the power to never let it get through to me.

    The invigorating silence became a regular part of my life. It helped me understand who I’ve always been and free my mind of meaningless thoughts, opinions, and beliefs.

    By silencing my speech, I experienced a sense of enhanced awareness and steadiness, which changed my perspective on things that had previously caused me unnecessary stress.

    During this time, I recognized that I’d often spoken out of fear, because I constantly felt the need to explain myself. And although I’ve always been protective of my time, I never knew how to guard it fully, so I would let others steal away the moments I needed just for myself. This would make me feel anxious because I found it hard to say no to the things I didn’t want to do, and I’d then inevitably feel resentment toward myself.

    Practicing silence taught me that silence isn’t uncomfortable, and that pausing for a few seconds before saying yes gives me a chance to connect with what I want and need.

    It helped me realize that people only understand from their level of perception, so I stopped justifying my actions and choices. I stopped telling people more than they needed to know and kept my privacy sacred. I realized that when I stopped talking I was able to hear what my heart was telling me.

    And it wasn’t just my voice I silenced; I also learned to silence my judgment. When I stopped judging people and situations, I surrendered my ego. I realized that no matter how much I tried to have things my way, I was bound for disappointment, so I learned to let go of the outcome.

    This profound experience helped me to develop patience and understanding for people’s reactions and situations I encountered. I learned to control the way in which I responded to challenges and negativity around me.

    At the time, I traveled often for work and remember experiencing countless delays at the airport due to bad weather conditions. I witnessed raging passengers lashing out on ground personnel in the most outrageous manner. I, too, would let unnecessary stress build up instead of accepting that this kind of situation was out of my control and recognizing that I could choose to stay calm and look for alternative responses.

    Staying silent and observant broadened my perspective and helped me monitor my thoughts in order to understand situations better. This practice has brought an immense peace to my everyday life, helping me embrace patience and stay mindful toward myself and others.

    While I understand that there will always be people I don’t agree with, I know that being judgmental is hurtful and unnecessary, and it takes away the positive energy that could be turned into something meaningful.

    It certainly doesn’t feel good to be judged, so who gives me the right to judge others?

    This realization helped me decide to stop gossiping. Each time I’d find myself in such a situation, I would tactfully change the course of conversation by bringing the person who initiated the gossip in the spotlight. People love to talk about themselves, and this has given me an opportunity to learn more about them and focus not only on the words they say but on their whole being and behavior.

    When I stopped talking about the people I disliked, I moved on to the areas of my life that needed love and attention. I started focusing on my health, happiness, and personal growth. I chose to exchange the emotions of anger and resentment for feelings of love and acceptance.

    Silencing my need to be judgmental also helped me to let go of the negative thoughts without getting emotionally attached. So, every time I’d encounter such a thought I would put it in writing. I’d let myself become aware of it, but wouldn’t let it overcome me and ruin the moment I was in. It helped me silence my emotions of fear and anger by staying observant and understanding why and when they reappeared.

    We waste so much time on nonsense we don’t need to hear. We talk when we don’t have to because we are afraid of being misunderstood.

    Let peace and quiet become your priority. Acknowledge the noise around you, but don’t try to fight it. When you accept that there will always be noise in your life, you’ll understand how easy it is to control it. Because there is always a way to turn it off.

    You can switch off the blithering noise of your car radio, put your phone on silent, and turn off the notifications. You can stop reading the news and limit the time you spend on social media. You can stop listening to what you don’t want to hear.

    And when you find it hard to escape the noise around you, start writing. When your brain is overloaded with information and longing for rest, help it by jotting down your thoughts, emotions, and ideas and unload some burdens, leaving room for it to relax and rejuvenate.

    When you find silence, you find inner peace.

    “Silence isn’t empty, it’s full of answers.” Can you hear it?

  • Find a Moment of Stillness

    Find a Moment of Stillness

    Find a moment of stillness

    Source: Positive Outlooks

  • How Meditation Can Help You Find the Perfect Friend

    How Meditation Can Help You Find the Perfect Friend

    Meditation

    “When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    I meet with a lot of people who say things like, “Oh, I’ve tried meditation before but I’m just not good at it.” When asked to explain, the most common answer is, “I just can’t make my mind get quiet.”

    I’ve heard responses like this so often that I’ve come to realize that this is the single greatest misunderstanding about meditation. In truth, meditation is not about calming our mind or achieving a state free from mental noise and cognitive clutter. Far from it, actually.

    I have many decades worth of experience practicing meditation. Still, when I sit cross-legged, my mind floats and roams through shifting states like a cloud-adorned sky filled with hundreds of colorful kites.

    Thoughts of my wife and children mix with those of household chores, distant goals, past memories, judgments about a fly that lands on my ear, or the sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower I wish was not there.

    And, sure, there are times when my consciousness—my sense of an individual self—dissolves into a state of vacuous bliss and timelessness, but this just happens sometimes, and that’s okay. Whenever it does happen, that’s successful meditation. Whenever it doesn’t, that’s successful meditation too. 

    During meditation, no matter how busied and chaotic the inner activity of your mind may be, you’re successfully meditating, because meditation isn’t about calming your mind. It’s about spending quality time with the most important person in your life: you!

    This is the true method (and goal) of meditation. We sit, pausing to pay attention to what’s really going on inside ourselves.

    We enter our home and witness what’s happening there, whatever this may be. In so doing, we discover ourselves, who and how we really are, something we only fully notice when we allow ourselves to take a brief hiatus from the daily hustle of life on planet Earth.

    It’s like taking a moment to sit down with someone over a cup of coffee or tea, except that, in this case, this someone is you.

    And once you’re face-to-face with this person, you can really start to build an extraordinary relationship with him or her.

    You can genuinely connect with yourself in a way that is rarely possible while the “two of you” are preoccupied with picking up the dry cleaning, taking the kids to school, answering emails, or a thousands other activities that so quickly seem to crowd each day.

    Really, this is such an important relationship! But how often do we set aside time to connect with ourselves in such a simple yet beautiful way, to truly meet and spend time with ourselves?

    That’s all that meditation is. It’s an opportunity for us to build a peaceful, harmonious friendship with this essential person in our life, just like we would with anyone else.

    Our favorite people in the world are those who we know judge us the least. These are the people who we know like us for who and how we are exactly. They don’t criticize or scold us or demand us to be different. Around such people, we know we can be most fully ourselves, without walking on eggshells or fearing reprimand. This is the very definition of true friendship.

    Meditation provides us with a chance to build such a relationship with ourselves. I call this internal friendship and it’s cultivated just like any other friendship, by sparing this person from judgment about right or wrong, good or bad.

    When you like this person that is yourself for who he or she is exactly, demanding nothing, then a true internal friendship develops from this (not that it’s always easy).

    When I was living at one monastery, we’d meditate each morning and night for an hour and half each sitting.

    I didn’t have a ton of experience at the time, so this was supremely tortuous for me. I remember often angrily glaring at the master—a docile, elderly Sri Lankan monk—psychically trying to get him to ring the bell that would conclude our session. I adamantly blamed my discomfort and anguish on him.

    When my resentful stares failed, I’d have no choice but to turn inward again, facing all my thoughts about how “I can’t do this,” “This sucks,” “Why am I so much more pathetic than everyone else meditating around me?” “I’m not cut out for this.”

    Then one day, it dawned on me. All I was doing was fighting with myself and, instead, I chose to let go, to embrace myself for being just as I was.

    If I was in physical pain, I let myself just feel it. If I felt angry or frustrated, I gently reminded myself that this was okay. If my mind bounced around all over the place instead of resting in stillness, I allowed it. I stopped criticizing myself.

    “This is me right now and there’s nothing wrong with that. This is me and that’s okay.” And, from this, I began to befriend myself, to genuinely like me for me.

    Unexpectedly, as I did this, meditation suddenly became enjoyable for me. I’d sit, focus on my breathing, and just experience myself as is.

    The internal chatter faded away and I’d become fully present, not only to myself, but to all around me, to each bird singing in the trees outside, each creak in the shifting walls of the temple, each whisper of breath from those around me.

    By befriending myself in this way, a friendship to all existence developed. I finally experienced the calm I had chased for so long.

    It is relatively easy for us to experience harmony, peacefulness, and calm within our relationships to our best and closest friends. As our internal friendship grows through meditation (just sitting with ourselves as we are without complaint), the calm that exists within our mental and emotional interior grows right along with it. See how this works?

    Meditation builds friendship; friendship builds calm. This is so important that it bears repeating. Meditation builds friendship; friendship builds calm.

    As we aim for greater calm in our lives, we cannot skip this important middle step of building friendship and still expect to reap great rewards.

    The stillness that slowly emerges from a continued practice of meditation comes not from forcing ourselves to think less; it comes from allowing ourselves to be exactly as we are.

    It comes from liking ourselves enough to spend some quality, unfettered time with ourselves, to just sit alone together for a bit, experiencing all that it means to be us in the moment amidst the limitless vastness of time and space.

    As we sit with ourselves without judgment, friendship grows. We experience the joys of being liked and the joys of liking, both simultaneously. And when this all-important relationship blossoms as a result, a bounty of benefits emerge.

    We begin to experience greater mental clarity, insight, awareness, and stillness. Meanwhile, we enjoy the emotional rewards of this internal harmony—more compassion, patience, calm, and feelings of loving-kindness.

    As we cultivate friendship within ourselves, our overall ability to live in a spirit of friendship unfolds. Everything around us appears worthy of friendship. All of life, including its greatest difficulties and challenges, its ugliest scars and hardest woes, invites a graceful smile upon our hearts. We become capable of embracing everything with friendship.

    This is what meditation is truly about, not creating an emptier mind, but building a true spirit of friendship, starting with the internal friendship we have with ourselves.

    So, the next time this important person in your life asks you to sit down with him or her for a while, accept the invitation and see what happens.

    Enjoy a little time together. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than this and, best of all, there’s nothing you can do to mess it up. Every moment of meditation is successful meditation.

    Meditating image via Shutterstock

  • The Power of Silence: How to Free Yourself from Painful Thoughts

    The Power of Silence: How to Free Yourself from Painful Thoughts

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

    As a child, I hated when someone told me to sit still and be quiet, and rightly so. I was young and full of energy; every minute of being still and silent was a minute of missing out on this magnificent life.

    Then, as I grew older and entered into teenage and young adult years, it grew into a fear with a capital “F” of being still and silent; for as soon as I was quiet and still, the noise in my head got increasingly louder and more powerful.

    If the chatters of my head were beautiful, joyful, and empowering, that would have been uplifting. But they were voices of judgment, negativity, and self-loathing, nothing else.

    To me, those chatters, voices, and thoughts were me. My head would chatter day and night, even in my sleep. Noise, heaviness, thinking, and more thinking, sometimes my head felt like it was about to explode.

    I wasn’t even aware I was thinking. I was just on autopilot. I would act and react and get triggered into waves of emotions and feelings, which churned into more turbulence, heaviness, and weariness.

    Everything became dysfunctional because I couldn’t interact effectively with people or life. My whole reality, both inside and outside, was warped.

    I was a paranoid, fearful, self-loathing, neurotic human being, so my life and world were full of fear, anger, and depression. Life was an endless battle, as everyone and everything was always against me.

    I got to the point of total exhaustion. I eventually lost all coherence and overdosed on pharmaceutical codeine painkillers, just so I could have peace, silence, and rest. I was totally depleted, and I felt I had lost my battle with life.

    Lying in the hospital, slipping in and out of consciousness, I deprived someone else who was probably critically injured and in need of the bed. But I had a moment of peace and silence because I left my body and head.

    As I stood and looked at my weary body and still very heavy head, I was in the silence. At that moment, the question arose, “If I can see and look at the ‘me’ lying on the bed, then I must not be ‘me,’ so who am I?”

    Of course, I never spoke about this or they would have said I was having hallucinations and sent me straight to the loony bin.

    Amazingly, I survived and took off far away where I couldn’t be found, nor forced to take medication. It was inevitable; I had started on the quest. I had to find that silence again, for it was real.

    What was that silence and stillness that I glimpsed? I knew from that day on there was something more. Over the course of the following years, I rediscovered and nourished that silence, and it grew to be my anchor, healer, and guide. Here’s what I learned.

    Nature’s core is silence.

    Make time for yourself every day to connect in some way with nature. Walk barefoot on the grass, swim in the ocean, watch the sunset, stroke an animal, or even weed the garden. Submerge yourself in nature, and you will experience silent, unconditional, utter bliss and peace from your core.

    Every time I’m in nature, I find that time literally stops and thoughts quiet. All that’s left is the beautiful sounds of birds chirping, water trickling, winds howling, and all the gaps of nature’s silence in between.

    Feed and grow that silence.

    Reading spiritual books or articles, listening to enlightened masters, practicing yoga or qigong, listening to music that you resonate with, dancing and moving your body will feed and nourish your silent core within.

    Meditation is the ultimate channel and food for inner silence. However, unlike nature, which is effortless silence, meditation may be slightly more challenging. Sitting or lying there unmoving and in quietude, the brain may seem anything but silent or still.

    I used to find that whenever there was drama in my life, my brain would get louder. The thoughts were more controlling and dominating, the emotions more intense, and my energy zapped. It was almost like my thinking brain was sucking up all the energy from my entire body.

    But I continued to feed and grow that silence by persisting and holding in quiet meditation, or nourishing it through active meditative activities that anchored it.

    Trust the silence.

    Even if the silence was minuscule, I always chose to stay in it. The less attention I paid to the thinking mind, the softer and dimmer the thoughts became, and the more the silence and stillness grew.

    Instead of resisting or fearing your thoughts, simply be aware. Allow them to be, but don’t attach to them. You have a body that feels and a brain that thinks. They are a part of you, but they are not you.

    In silence, you become aware that you have the freedom and power to choose the types of thoughts you wish to entertain and empower, and the thoughts you wish to ignore and diffuse.

    Silence and stillness came hand in hand. Together, they were my best friends. I loved my early mornings and nights just before bed, for when I shut my lids in meditation I disappeared into the void of peace, stillness, and silence, my essence.

    Silence and stillness are teachers.

    In silence, my head was lighter and clarity emerged on its own accord. Unfathomable strength revealed itself, which helped me let go of my painful past, forgive those who had hurt me, release pent-up emotions, and unfold into compassion and my true nature of unconditional love. Through the healing, my silence is now infused with deep wisdom.

    —

    Sometimes, like myself, you may find yourself careless and allow this connection with your silence to lapse. Perhaps your excuse might be, “No time, too hard, later, tomorrow, next week, after I finish this project, after I solve that issue. Life’s too good right now, I’m fine so I don’t need it.” Then bang!

    A big wave inevitably comes along, catches you off guard, and dumps you straight into the mouth of the controlling mind again. The silence may shrink and disappear. That’s only human.

    Hold yourself in the space of compassion and return to the voice in the heart. That will lead you back into silence and stillness. The voice in my heart is the silent voice, no words, simply a knowing.

    The more I listen and follow, the stronger it becomes. It has about it an air of strength, love, wisdom, and joy. It works magic, it leads me to meet people I am meant to meet, go to places I am meant to go, and do things I am meant to do.

    With devotion and commitment, the work of maintaining and sustaining your silence will naturally become a joyful routine and not a chore.

    There will also come a day when there is only silence and stillness, and that is all. All else arises out of that silence. And flow emerges. The result: Reverence, unconditional peace and love, and infinite possibilities.

    What does this mean? You transcend your limited physical reality, know the true bigger picture, and now integrate your wisdom and truth into manifesting your soul purpose in life.

  • Slow Down: Join the Stillness Revolution for More Peace and Joy

    Slow Down: Join the Stillness Revolution for More Peace and Joy

    Slow Down

    “There is more to life than increasing its speed.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

    I recently treated myself to a retreat in the mountains, with the intention of pulling out of the busyness of every day life so that I could spend time healing and in reflective writing.

    Setting off, I anticipated an easy drive as traffic looked light, but when I reached the mountain pass, I experienced something I had never experienced before:

    I was completely blind to my surroundings.

    In fact, I realized I had driven into the clouds themselves, engulfed by a pure white energy.

    Not fog. Not mist. Just pure white.

    For a moment, I was gripped by fear, as one of my recurring dreams involves me speeding around steep, curvy roads until I lose control and drive completely off the edge.

    But I noticed the fearful energy quick enough to rein it back in and surrender to the beauty of what I was experiencing.

    In order for me to surrender without fear of driving over the edge (or into another car), I had to slow down and become hyper present and aware.

    Slow down. Be still.

    Creeping along at two miles an hour, I quickly recognized the message the universe was sending me through my experience on that mountain pass that day, and it reignited a passion in me to share this message with you.

    Our lives seem to travel at warp speeds these days, with our minds taking in and spewing out information faster than we can keep up with, and our bodies running ragged with the intention to get up early and stay up late in order to get it all done.

    Everything around us screams, “Go, go, go” not “slow, slow, slow.” Modern society simply doesn’t promote this kind of “radical” behavior.

    So it’s going to take rebels like you and me to fuel this stillness revolution.

    Yes, I wrote “rebel” because you are going against the stream, and you are most certainly going to feel a little “different” in doing so.

    Your own ego might even resist the very idea of a stillness revolution—rejecting it as being ridiculous, unreasonable, and completely insensible.

    Here’s the response from my higher self to that ego doubt (and trust me, my ego is shouting it too).

    What if creating a more peaceful and more joyful life means taking actions that seem a bit ridiculous, unreasonable, and insensible?

    There is an exercise I use that might shift your perspective called “When I’m 92.”

    You can read the below and then close your eyes to really practice the meditation or you can simply follow along now with your eyes open.

    Take 3 conscious breaths to settle back into your body and into the now.

    Imagine yourself lying in a bed in the hospital when you’re 92 years old.

    You are surrounded by love—loving doctors and nurses and most of all, your loving family

    You’ve lived an amazing life and you are filled with gratitude for all of the experiences you’ve had.

    Your 32-year-old grand-daughter, a self-proclaimed “workaholic,” rushes in, apologizing for running late, and explaining she only has about 15 minutes to stay, as she really must get back to another meeting.

    Your 92-year-old self smiles at her and radiates peace and love around her busy energy.

    She sits down and takes your frail hand, softening and opening to receive.

    The wisdom flows through you to her, as you say:

    “My beautiful grandchild, if there is one piece of wisdom I can leave with you before my soul returns to the light, it’s this:

    Slow down and be still.

    Every single moment that you spend in a space of stillness will be worthwhile and make your life richer than you could have ever thought possible.”

    Take a conscious breath—and now imagine you have become the 32-year-old granddaughter.

    As that young and busy soul, receive the energy of these words and absorb the meaning into your very core.

    Allow yourself this stillness as you’re in this meditative space right now to begin cultivating the practice of stillness in your every day life.

    When your intuition tells you that the exercise is complete, send gratitude to your higher self and 92-year-old self, then bring yourself back to this conscious moment with another easy breath (and gently blink your eyes open if they were closed).

    Take out your journal, or just a piece of paper if you don’t have a journaling practice, and free write how grounded and peaceful you felt during the above exercise.

    Allow your intuition to guide you to choose one action you can take to support your own stillness revolution.

    Perhaps, like me, you want to formally create the space for an extended period of slowing down and being still by scheduling a retreat in nature?

    Or maybe you want to begin with a simpler practice such as writing the words “Slow Down and Be Still” on a post-it note and putting it up on your car dashboard so that it can remind you of this wisdom as you hustle to and fro?

    The specific action isn’t as important as simply taking any action, so choose one and share in the comments below how you are going to slow down and play your part in the stillness revolution!

    Photo by N I C O L A

  • Creating Peace by Finding a Connection to the Earth

    Creating Peace by Finding a Connection to the Earth

    “You get peace of mind not by thinking about it or imagining it, but by quietening and relaxing the restless mind.” ~Remez Sasson

    In a world that constantly barrages us with information, it becomes a daily struggle to unplug and find peace. The “need to” and “should do” and “must do” of our ever-frantic lives overwhelms us and creates a stress that threatens to unravel.

    As a child my happiest days were those spent outdoors. Even then, peace came while watching the flowers bend in the wind and the clouds stretch across the sky.

    As an adult it became a struggle to unplug and “justify” time to do these simple, fulfilling activities that truly are life’s happiest moments. Even hiking in the mountains close to home, I couldn’t get away from myself and my thoughts about “hurry up and get back to”… the email, business, website, or whatever was waiting on my desk.

    So in order to find true quiet I ventured to the ends of the Earth. The answer for me to find this peace was to become an explorer, seeking peace over the edges of the world, the literal edge of human existence. My soul sought the extreme.

    There is a line that marks the edge of the survival zone of our species. I found that stepping over that edge is both the scariest thing in the world and the most peaceful. The knowing that I am “beyond” allows me to release all “human” thoughts and concentrate on simply “being.”

    In my search, I have found four of the most incomparable and inhospitable places on earth that represent “over the edge” for me. Being in these places, means truly disconnecting with “man’s world” and fully embracing and connecting to the natural world and its rhythms.

    It is immensely powerful and a strange dichotomy, balancing on that line, more alive than ever, yet so near to possible death.    (more…)