Forgiving Ourselves

Recently, I perused old journals. It was painful to read the vicious words I wrote about myself. Pages and pages of self-judgment (at times, self-hatred) followed by pages of halfhearted self-encouragement, all of this on a repetitive loop. I longed for something different yet wasn't sure how to proceed. In the 20 years since those journal entries, I became unstuck, moving from self-hatred to self-compassion. This process was (and is) complex, effortful, and individual. There's no magic potion that heals our wounds, but I've noticed patterns, essential ingredients in moving forward:

1. Start with self-kindness.
In my 20s, during the heavy self-hatred days, I felt far removed from self-love or self-compassion. They were ridiculous to consider. I read books about loving myself yet never believed it was possible. And this blocked my growth. For most of us, it's hard to make huge internal leaps, but we can take small, ordinary steps. Kindness is accessible. We offer kindness to strangers as well as friends. It's a place to begin with ourselves: How can I be kind to myself in moments of pain? How can I be kind to myself when life is difficult or when I make a mistake? Basic kindness is the starting place.

2. Make well-being a priority.
People ask me, "How did you become so wholehearted, brave, and intentional?" The short answer is this: I committed to myself and my well-being. I just kept showing up as-is (messy, crabby, peaceful, anxious, or happy) and practiced mindfulness in a variety of ways. Instead of looking outward, I began to look inward. Before I could prioritize well-being, I had to understand it: What activities (and people) nourish me and what activities (and people) deplete me? The things that nourish me—meditation, nature, intimate gatherings, photography, gardening, and yoga—may not nourish you. These are individual choices.

Consider the important elements of your own well-being. Make these a priority. There are copious distractions in this world and it takes effort to sustain well-being. People often respond "but there's not enough time!" Indeed, life is full, but if there's time to check a smartphone, "like" things on Facebook, or unnecessarily overwork, then there's time for well-being. Choose with intention.

3. Continue for life.
This is not a one-shot deal, it's a life-long practice. I still experience fear and self-judgment, often daily. I resist uncomfortable circumstances. I get crabby. But I notice these unhelpful habits and redirect my energy. I smile at myself more easily. I practice self-compassion. There's never a time where everything is wrapped up: all neuroses gone, bliss every day. A vital part of mindfulness (of life!) is remembering we can begin again in any moment. We can begin again with self-kindness and prioritize well-being. We can forgive ourselves and trust that—in this moment—we're okay. 

If we accept ourselves as-is, we can finally make the changes we seek. Here's a meditation to get you started:

Forgiving Ourselves

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A Month of Mindful Healing

My e-course, A Month of Mindful Healing, comes straight from my tender, brave, vulnerable heart. Throughout the course, I share personal stories of loss, hurt, shame, growth, happiness, and healing. I've lived and tested all the practices (meditations + writing + daily awareness exercises). If you choose to join me, here's a weekly outline of our journey:

WEEK 1: Healing What's on the Surface
~Small, doable mindfulness exercises 
~Guided meditation on opening to vulnerability
~Writing prompts on vulnerability, feelings, and unmet needs
~Awareness practices to create more nourishment in daily life
~Daily inspirations + meditations + writing prompts

WEEK 2: Healing What's Under the Surface
~Short, encouraging video
~Investigation (meditation + writing) of internal beliefs and letting go of limitations
~Description and guided application of self-compassion
~Awareness practices to create more freedom and choice in daily life
~Daily inspirations + meditations + writing prompts

WEEK 3: Healing What's Around Us
~Guided reflection + writing prompts to discover core values and what matters most
~Four-step process to get unstuck and move forward with intention (includes guided meditation)
~Guidance on healing and changing relationships
~Awareness practices to create more intention in daily life
~Daily inspirations + meditations + writing prompts

WEEK 4: Healing Our Hearts
~Guided meditation on opening the heart
~Writing prompts on joy, happiness, and creativity
~Description and guided application of loving-kindness
~Awareness practices to create more play and happiness in daily life
~Daily inspirations + meditations + writing prompts

EPILOGUE: Meet Yourself Where You Are
~Guided reflection + writing prompts on change, growth, and healing
~Suggestions for moving forward
~Short, encouraging video (includes a loving-kindness chant)
~Additional daily awareness practices
~Short meditation on beginning again

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Chant of Good Will

I first heard the "Chant of Good Will" at a meditation retreat. Each night, a hundred of us chanted the loving-kindness phrases. The simplicity and repetition of these words allowed me to quickly take them into my heart. The practice came home with me. I sing the chant while driving, doing household chores, or setting up chairs for meditation class. And if I'm feeling frustrated or judgmental, I chant. It brings me back to love and intention.

There's a lot of noise in our world: righteousness and self-promotion; angry chants at peace rallies; loud music filled with empty words. The good-will chant provides a different avenue. It expresses wishes of loving-kindness, peace, and happiness for ourselves and others. Not as a way to ignore what's difficult, but as a way to wholeheartedly live in this complex world.

One of my meditation students asked me to record this chant, so she could know it in her bones. My initial reaction was fear: I don't have a nice singing voice; I can't stay on pitch. But my final response was "yes, I'll record it." The process itself a practice in humility and loving-kindness. Imagine if this chant—imperfect and wholehearted—were sung by 1000s of people. It begins with just one of us. Play my recording and sing along. Let it be messy, real, and from your heart.

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May I be filled with loving-kindness, 
May I be well. 
May I be peaceful and at ease, 
May I be happy.

May you be filled with loving-kindness, 
May you be well. 
May you be peaceful and at ease, 
May you be happy.

May we be filled with loving-kindness, 
May we be well. 
May we be peaceful and at ease, 
May we be happy.
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The Chant of Good Will:

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Open to Possibility

The past few weeks, I've been focused and productive: revamping my website, finishing a new e-course, and teaching mindfulness workshops. Amid abundant yet busy days, I recognize my need to pause; to take a break; to gain a fresh perspective. When I don't pause—when I try to push through and work harder—my creativity wilts, my writing weakens, and my ideas stall. 

As always, the trick is to remember to remember. To prioritize short pauses: a walk around the block, a 5-minute meditation, or a heartfelt connection with another person. These ordinary actions widen my view. Instead of seeing deadlines and limits, I see possibility. I better understand when it's time to stop and when it's time to keep working. It's my own awareness calling me back: slow down and pay attention. What's the next most skillful step?

External sources rarely tell us to rest, pause, and slow down. We must do this for ourselves. It's beneficial to our health and well-being and, as importantly, it sparks creativity, compassion, and insight. We can practice together, in this very moment (our chance to remember to remember):

Open to Possibility
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Unique Expression

Some wise words from Martha Graham: "There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it."

There are many ways we block our unique expressions; ways we hide our own light. It's easy to list our faults, but difficult to see our beauty. Yet if we allow for our own goodness—if we see it, embrace it, love it—it touches everyone around us; it touches the world. When our unique expressions live and dance together, the world is bigger, brighter, and more beautiful.

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Practicing Peace

I'm a pacifist with a big heart. I want peace for our communities, our country, and the world. Many of us seek more peace in life, yet peace doesn't arrive without effort. It's unrealistic to think peace will magically appear. As individuals and communities, we can actively practice peace.

This has been on my mind and in my heart. There's a note displayed in my office: "In this moment, how am I practicing peace?" It's perhaps easier to describe the ways I practice war: tightening muscles, trying to control life, judging myself and others, wanting things to be different from how they are, allowing frustration and anger to build, pushing myself too hard. All of this is resistance—being at war not peace with life. If I let resistance run the show, then my interactions with others suffer. Peace begins within.

So, in this moment as I write, how am I practicing peace? I notice my body posture and soften my jaw and shoulders. I let go of my sense of urgency, taking pauses when needed. I feel my breath, listen to the wind, and watch the squirrels, even as they dig in my new flower bed. Letting go, opening my heart and mind. That 1-minute practice helped. These steps needn't be grand, but they do need to happen. Small, regular doses of awareness.

I cultivate peace when I sit in meditation, walk in nature, or hug a loved one. I practice peace when I pause—making space for a considered response rather than a habituated reaction. I practice peace when I forgive myself (for all the ways I forget and distract) and then choose to begin again.

Resistance is exhausting. We might not love our current situation, but we can stop resisting, little bit by little bit. Soften our muscles, release expectations, and open our hearts. With honest and gentle effort, we can cultivate peace within ourselves. And it's from this place that we better serve the world. 

PS: We often think there's not enough time. "I don't have time to listen to a 9-minute meditation. I have important work to do!" These thoughts are forms of resistance. It can be a great relief to practice peace, even now amid the busyness:

Practicing Peace
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Acceptance

For years, I’ve practiced letting go—letting go of old stories of shame, responsibility for the world, and wanting things to be a certain way. I’ve sat multiple silent meditation retreats, feeling sensations in my throat and heart, trying to let go, release, and receive. Just recently, I started acupuncture as a new experiment in letting go.

Last week, my acupuncturist did a front-body treatment, including a needle in my heart. She described how that heart point is where we hold our old, deep grief; grief that we think defines us. She wiggled the tip of the needle, then left the room. I cried the whole session. A good cry, where I both released and received.

Afterward, I realized that letting go has become a project for me, another way for me to push and strive: Joy, you must let go before you can be free. Yet another option—or perhaps just put a different way—is to accept. To accept my shame and grief; my vulnerability and flaws; my wanting things to be a certain way while trusting that things are just as they should be. If I accept all this, knowing that darkness helps my light shine brighter, then I’m whole. The resistance is exhausting. The acceptance opens my heart. My old stories don’t define me, but they’re part of me. They’re part of my empathy and compassion; they’re part of my bravery. I no longer want to listen to shame or fear, but I can accept they’re in the background, helping me remember what it’s like to be human.

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Back to Basics

Meditation isn't just time spent on the cushion. It's equally about bringing awareness to daily life. At the Y, I bookend my meditation class with suggestions for everyday awareness. Speech and relationships are rich places to pay attention. I pose these questions about speech: Is it truthful? Helpful? Kind? (And is this the right time and am I the right person?) These are deep questions. So much of our cultural chatter is unhelpful, untrue, and unkind. It makes a difference when we attend with care to what we say. The more years I meditate, the less I speak. 

My friend Peter took these questions to heart and wrote a lovely song about skillful speech. When he shared it with a neighbor, he got this response: "Isn't that too simplistic? It sounds like kindergarten." This exchange made me wonder: perhaps all we need are basic lessons learned in elementary school.

I recently met with a group of educators of young children. The preschool director said, "Many days, we don't get into curriculum because we're helping kids resolve conflict. We let them know it's okay to disagree but they must treat each other with kindness and respect." Wisdom from preschool. If we all practiced this, our world might heal.



Karen Maezen Miller is a meditation teacher who resurrected a Zen garden in her backyard years ago. Now people flock to her house for garden tours. Her basic rules: 1) Be kind; 2) Don't throw rocks; 3) No running; 4) Pay attention. Ostensibly, these rules apply to young children, but if we overlay them on our adult lives, they're wonderful instructions. 

We spend so much time in our thoughts. Thinking, judging, analyzing, planning, and replaying. In doing so, we can over-complicate life. We blame (throw rocks), busy ourselves, and speak unconsciously. We see life as a puzzle to solve rather than a mystery to be lived, moment by moment, with our whole being.  Our way back home is through simple lessons we learned as kids:

Slow down.
Pay attention.
Be kind.
Tell the truth.
Apologize.
Get outside.
Take quiet time.
Help each other. 

Back to basics. We don't need much more than this. Simplicity is a beautiful thing. We can practice awareness with the next breath:


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Mindfulness Practices for Work

When I teach mindfulness courses, my students often say, “I feel present and aware when I’m here with you, but I lose myself at work. How can I stay mindful in a busy work environment?” This is a great question, whether our work is done in cubicles, at home, inside classrooms, a studio, or within volunteer organizations. It’s easy to “lose ourselves”: to forget our breath, body, and awareness; to get caught in busyness. Yet we can remember in small, regular ways. With practice, we can return to mindfulness.

Change your perspective.

If you feel sluggish, scattered, stuck, or anxious, change your position. If you’re seated, stand up. If you’re standing, sit down. Take a short walk. Look out a window or, even better, get outside. Sit on a chair in a different room. Twirl or dance. Make a conscious choice to change your perspective. New ideas often arise in the shower, walking to the bathroom, or during an afternoon workout. We need breaks from the overthinking; we need space for creativity. Physically change your position, take a few deep breaths, and try to see the world anew.

Connect in person.

We’re constantly connected through technology. We ask questions via chat clients, email, or text. But complicated questions are asked and answered best in person. One email message can generate an hour’s work, when a phone call completes the task in ten minutes. The way we communicate makes a difference. Connecting in person helps reduce workload and strengthens relationships. The next time you have a non-trivial question, pick up the phone or walk to the person’s office. Engage with each other.

Do something kind.

Life can be difficult and work can be challenging. Our brains have a negativity bias that we must consciously tilt back. If you feel frustrated, disappointed, or just need a break, start looking for the good in people. Compliment a coworker. Give a genuine thank you. Tell someone’s boss what you appreciate about the person. Get coffee for your team. Write an inspirational message on a whiteboard. Listen deeply to a colleague. Do some small act of kindness.

Regular pauses throughout the day help us stay focused, aware, and more at ease. The busier we are, the harder it is to pause, yet it's vital for our well-being and our productivity. Take these pauses: notice your breath and body. And be willing to begin again and again.

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End of the Day

Evening comes. The day is done. If I stay aware, I do something that settles and nourishes. If I'm distracted, I often do something that overstimulates and depletes. (This is a life-long practice.) Either way, I'm met with thoughts as I lie down to bed. When I follow my thoughts in their endless loops, I stay awake. When I transform my thoughts, from blah-blah storylines to heartfelt gratitude, or when I move away from thoughts and gently into my body and breath, I fall asleep. Letting go at day's end is a powerful practice. Letting go of things undone or plans for tomorrow; letting go of tension, bit by bit; letting go of the copious methods we use to control the uncontrollable.

Short, regular pauses throughout the day—connecting with body, breath, and awareness—help us rest and sleep more easily. But we don't always remember and life interrupts. Whenever you feel anxious or unsettled at day's end, come here—to this post—and listen:

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Small Steps

Over 15 years, I've made huge leaps. Yet each leap contained countless small steps. The path from self-aversion to self-compassion is gradual. It's hard to pinpoint a single moment, but eventually I had appropriate tools and enough practice, and my heart shifted. When I revert to old habits, I trust there's a safe space within me: I re-connect with breath and awareness.

In last night's mindfulness class, I shared a story about my journey. For years, I looked externally for approval. I asked my loving husband repeatedly some version of "Am I okay?" His reassurance was never enough, and not because he wasn't genuine, but because I was looking in the wrong place. What I needed—in the core of my being—was my own approval: my own love and acceptance. And once I found this, I stopped asking him those questions, because I trust that I'm my own anchor; my own friend.

One of my students responded, "How did that transformation happen? Can you describe it?" These processes are difficult to pinpoint. There were many small steps along the way, and the way is zig-zagged, not straight. But I made a commitment: I truly wanted to befriend myself. My tools were meditation, journaling, therapy, self-portraiture, gardening, mindfulness, listening, and being. During one of our unplugged sabbaticals, I went out for a run to the end of the island, not a single person in sight. I sat on a rock and sobbed, feeling old and new wounds. This experience didn't provoke shame nor did it provoke external focus: I didn't want to hide nor did I need help. I could stay with myself. I trusted that everything I need is inside me. As my meditation practice deepened, so did this sense of trust. (I still need human connection—love, hugs, and support—but my true ground comes from within.)

Small steps have huge impact. Small steps pave paths of great awakening. Each person has their own journey; their own deepest intentions. What's most important is to listen to our own heart and then begin: take the next small step and then the next. Forgive ourselves when we falter—which we will—and have the courage to begin again. Bit by bit: this is how we change.

With this in mind, I created two short guided-meditations. Small steps toward awareness:


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Lessons from My Garden

Yesterday, I spent two hours in my yard. I made new flower beds last fall, using compost and cardboard. I worked in one bed: digging out dandelions (how do they still exist in no-light conditions?), cleaning grass from edges, and loosening soil. It felt good to place my hands in dirt; to connect with the earth. It also felt good to be outside: to hear birdsong and talk with neighbors.

After planting groundcover in the front bed, I walked into the backyard. My intention: obtain an overview of my other garden spaces. But my “overview” turned into a focused mission: get rid of weeds. I was hijacked by some primal part of my brain, and although I was tired, I went to the garage for a trowel and began digging out weeds. Once I started looking, I saw weeds everywhere.

I credit my mindfulness practice with bringing me back—back to patience, perspective, and gratitude. I dropped the trowel, stood up, and walked slowly around the yard. Having released my grip, both literally and figuratively, I felt ease and wonder. I looked at copious plants, in different states of development. I saw possibility: open spaces where I can transplant or plant anew. I felt satisfaction with my careful work in the front bed. 

Gardening provides me important life lessons. Here are a few from yesterday:

1. When I focus on weeds, I ignore beautiful flowers. Where I regularly place my attention becomes the habit of my mind. When I cultivate peace, compassion, and generosity, I feel better. When I feed resistance, irritation, and judgment, I feel worse. Sometimes I incorrectly believe there’s no choice: I see only weeds and work angrily to get rid of them. Most times, I recognize the choice: yes, there are weeds—in the ground and in my mind—which I'll never eradicate, but I can be with them differently, and I can also consciously savor the flowers.



2. Everyone has weeds. When I inhabit the small-mind of ego, I take things personally. My thoughts feel real but aren’t true: “My yard is the only one with weeds—it’s a personal failing; I'm the only person who feels shame and inadequacy.” These untrue thoughts isolate me when I most need connection. We all have weeds. We all feel pain. It’s part of our shared humanity. Deep connection comes when we show each other our “weeds” and accept one another as the beautiful, imperfect creatures that we are.

3. Persistent effort is important; patience is even more important. My garden brings me satisfaction, both in short-term effort and long-term results. Still, I get tugged by impatience: I want all the weeds gone now; I want all the planting done now. These are just thoughts. And they aren’t actually true. My true intentions: to enjoy my experience; to feel satisfied but not exhausted; to work, not from fear or anger, but from love and creativity. This requires patience. I need to put in effort, but I also need the gentle reminder that everything takes time. 

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Where in the World is Joy?

Tomorrow, Mark and I leave for 5 weeks away, completely unplugged. We travel to Nevis, West Indies and stay in a small cottage by the sea. We're "off grid": no Internet, television, email, social media, news, or screens. And we're also deeply plugged in: to ourselves, each other, and nature. Our days are filled with books, yoga, music, writing, meditation, cooking, long walks, ocean swims, and just being. This fills our spirits in inexpressible ways. We spend copious time cultivating our “doing” selves. It’s nice to nourish the being.

If you landed on my website looking for mindfulness opportunities—classes, presentations, or something else—you came to the right place. Please contact me now, while your question is percolating, and I'll respond to you on May 1.

Time is a "thing" in our culture: not having enough time. But in this moment—when we pause—there's enough time. There's space. It's all okay. If you need a gentle reminder, listen to this short guided meditation:



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The Straight Scoop on Mid-Life Crisis

While in academia, fresh after tenure, I remember walking with my dad and asking the question, "What is a mid-life crisis, really? What's it about?" He responded that as people reach middle age it's natural to reflect on life; to notice if their lives are meaningful and fulfilling. I paused, then blurted: "But if your career and your values are inline, then everything should be okay, right?" In hindsight, I felt defensive when I spoke these words, as if making the case to myself. Indeed, my core values—then and now—are to teach, express, connect, learn, grow, help, and serve. Ostensibly, my career and values were inline. 

Years later, I sat with my husband in our favorite Mexican restaurant. It was the first week of classes and I felt soul-tired. I described my feelings in raw detail. He looked at me and asked, "Is this your mid-life crisis?" Again, I felt defensive: "No. It's more like mid-life deep reflection." He looked at me in that knowing way, and I smiled even through my tears.

In the ensuing weeks, as I made the decision to resign, Mark stressed to me, "You're getting caught on the wrong detail. Within the phrase 'mid-life crisis' the most important word is not 'mid-life,' it's 'crisis.' You are in crisis." I opened (again and again) to my vulnerability and realized his words were true. I was in crisis. My inner and outer lives were severed. I was trying to "solve" a puzzle by re-arranging pieces within my career. But this wasn't a puzzle to solve, it was a life to live, with intention and care. 

I no longer react defensively to the phrase "mid-life crisis." (In fact, it makes me smile.) After dropping my identity as an academic, I let go of many limiting beliefs that stunted my growth and narrowed my view. And I see this as an important, life-long process. 

To learn more about my transition from statistics professor to mindfulness teacher, you can read this interview in River + Bay: "Dispatch from Midlife." (Deep thanks to my friend, Joanna, who saw me as an interesting subject. Thanks also to River + Bay, which is a beautiful place to connect with community.)

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Fleeting

"A solid rock cannot be moved by the wind, the wise are not shaken by praise or blame." The Buddha spoke these words 2500 years ago. And they're still relevant today. We seek praise and resist blame. We're shaken, not unmoved. I find it interesting when we receive both praise and blame for the same action. This dissonance—when we're "wise"—tells us to take everything with a grain of salt. We grow from feedback, positive or negative, but it doesn't define who we are. 

Social media is complex territory. It allows for connection across continents. And it also feeds into a primal part of us that seeks external approval. It magnifies our need for praise. What's popular becomes more popular, sometimes viral. And still we're not satisfied: we need the next thing to go viral and the next. This is being "shaken by praise."

I share my photographs on Flickr. Sometimes I post a photo with trepidation and everyone loves it. Other times I post an image that resonates deeply within me, yet doesn't resonate with others. There's no "blame," but the lack of praise has the same feeling. I see my craving for "favorites" or "likes," and—if I'm wise—I step away, because I'm on Flickr for community: for sharing images, being inspired by others, and building relationships. When my focus moves from relationships to "favorites," I'm off track, not living by what matters most. Popularity is fleeting. Meaningful connection is lasting. When I'm not shaken by praise or blame, I feel more at ease and my work rings true. 

When I gave the Lawrence baccalaureate address in 2013, I ended with words that seem appropriate to end this post: "My students will recognize this mantra: you are not your grade. You are also not your job or your title or your number of friends on Facebook. Your self-worth is not connected to these externals. You are all worthy, as is. And you decide how to live life true to yourself. You have choices—important choices. Because how you spend your moments is how you spend your days is how you spend your one precious life. Make it count; make it real; pay attention; start today, in this moment. Live your life, and know I'm living my own life right beside you."
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Commit to Yourself

While working as a professor, I remember telling a friend, "I'm not creative." It seems a strange statement now, but at that time it felt real. I viewed creativity in a narrow way: painting, drawing, or being crafty. Though I was a creative teacher, I didn't notice because it felt like science not art. (Upon reflection, I see art in science and science in art, but I needed a wider perspective.)

Gradually, I grew the dormant pieces of myself. I gardened, cooked, meditated, and started this blog. I took online courses: photography, poetry, and writing. This was an important leap. First, I prioritized time for myself and my personal growth; second, I tried something new: creativity.

We often put ourselves at the bottom of the list:
Work
Family
Required events
Laundry
Errands
Creative/personal practice that fills my soul

To connect with our passions—to live a meaningful life—we must commit to ourselves. This can be in meditation, art class, a garden, a journal, the yoga mat, or a hammock in the backyard. If we don't attend to ourselves, something eventually gives. We get sick or fed up or become numb to our lives. A more wholesome path is to make time for ourselves now.

If you're like a previous version of me and think "I'm not creative," or "I'm not capable of being mindful" or "I don't have time for anything," please pause and consider your choices. Maybe you are creative, if you expand your definition. Maybe you're capable of mindfulness, if you have helpful guidance. Maybe you do have enough time, if you give up other things.

I welcome you (and a friend) into my e-course, "Coming Home to Yourself." But more importantly, I encourage you to take a leap: make one small step toward soul-filling activities. Carve out time for yourself. Commit to whatever practice feels right to you. Show up, just as you are. But show up: for yourself.

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Staying Awake

My last post was about staying put: sitting on the meditation cushion, staying with whatever arises. This is an important practice, worthy of a lifetime. Equally important is taking mindfulness into daily life. 

In 1965, Martin Luther King Jr. gave a commencement address at Oberlin College. It's called "Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution." Fifty years have passed, yet his words still resonate: "Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals. Without this hard work, time becomes an ally of the primitive forces of social stagnation. We must realize that the time is always right to do right."

I meditate so I can better understand myself: the relationship between thoughts, emotions, and sensations. I meditate so I can cultivate awareness and compassion. And I meditate so I can move through this complex world in more skillful, kind ways. It's not only about staying put on the cushion. It's about staying awake during a great revolution. It's about "doing right."

We are interconnected, all of us. Fear and blame constrict us—they clip our wings and close our hearts. Each day, I ask myself: How can I stay present, discerning, and compassionate in this complicated world? What’s the next skillful action to take?

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Staying Put

In order to grow, I need to stay put. I taste freedom not by flying, but by sitting down. Meditation trains my brain and opens my heart. Still, I sometimes resist. I find other things to do. I push away what I most need: staying put, with awareness and love.

Human nature is curious. We resist activities that cultivate well-being, while we hone habits around short-term comfort. And then (perhaps unconsciously) we berate ourselves for not being better people. This loop continues until we invest again in well-being; in becoming more aware and whole. Until we forgive ourselves and begin again.

Deeper wisdom: Time to meditate.
Distracted self: Nope.
Deeper wisdom: When you meditate, you're more kind and open.
Distracted self: You're bugging me. Go away.

If this inner-conversation resonates for you, try my new guided meditation:



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