None Of The Above

 

Have you had an experience like this one? You've been asked to fill out an intake form for a new doctor and it asks mental health questions where none of the options fit your response. Instead, you are thrown back in time to taking standardized tests where no bubble was the right one to fill. (I know I am dating myself with pencils and bubbles). Questions like: 

In the last two weeks have you felt nervous, anxious or on edge?
In the last two weeks, have you found yourself worrying too much about different things?
In the last two weeks have you felt down, depressed or hopeless?

The options are: 1) Not at all 2) Several days 3) More than half the days, or 4) Nearly every day.

These questions and answers left me curious about what is considered a "normal" amount of worry, anxiety, or feeling down. I'm not sure if I know anyone who doesn't worry about more than one thing throughout a day, let alone two weeks. And most people I know, including myself, have anxious moments daily. Does that say something about me or does it just mean I am human? 

At a Saturday morning meditation just after I filled out this form, I shared a daily contemplation from Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh's book Your True Home, which felt like the perfect response, if only it were an option on the intake form. In it he says, "For forty-five years, the Buddha said, over and over again, 'I teach only suffering and the transformation of suffering.' When we recognize and acknowledge our own suffering, the Buddha -- which means the Buddha in us -- will look at it, discover what has brought it about, and prescribe a course of action that can transform it into peace, joy, and liberation. Suffering is the means the Buddha used to liberate himself, and it is also the means by which we can become free." It was a relief to hear these words. They remind us that suffering is a natural consequence of being alive. Not something "wrong" and not a reason to have to be fixed but something we can work with. It is a part of life. It becomes a problem when we think it is "wrong" to be feeling what we feel.

My invitation this week is to meet your undesirable feelings with ordinariness. If you worry, have anxious thoughts, feel sad, or down, doubt or have low energy, you belong. You are human. You are alive and experiencing all of what it entails. No one is exempt from loss, from suffering. What we do with it is what matters and where our true freedom is found. When we feel these things, that's when care is needed. Not to fix it, but to listen to what it wants us to know. There is always something. In that something lies our deepening and is where the gift can be found. Again and again throughout our life, we will be presented with suffering and the gifts of freedom as we find our way through.

If you get a form with questions like this I invite you to smile and remember what the Buddha taught. However you answer the questions, there is nothing wrong with you, simply an opportunity to take a pause with any suffering that might be there and let it have a place at the table without adding on to it. 

Warmly,
Jean

An Empty Nest and an Unexpected Guest

 

(This is not a parenting story).

My first empty nest year has come to a close. It's hard to believe that my kids have completed their first year of college. "Hang on," I want to say as they and all their stuff return for the summer. I'm still processing this change. It seemed more straightforward at first. I wasn't in any turmoil over their leaving. I welcomed the peacefulness of a quiet house and the calm. Oh my gosh, the calm. The simplicity! There was no coming or going at all times. No coordinating schedules, meals, wheels, and no worrying about what was or wasn't happening. No more rushing. Two gone at once and it was like spacious fairy dust had descended on my life. It wasn't until months into the school year that I found myself a bit more turned around.

It wasn't their leaving or their not needing us, (for much of anything!), that displaced me. It was the many changes that were running into each other and compounding which gradually left me in unfamiliar territory. Looking back, in a year and a half my mom had passed away (I was now parentless), we moved, the kids left, and when I looked in the mirror, I wasn't recognizing myself. I had gradually changed my hairstyle and its color is doing its own thing. My body's shape is shifting, but deeper than all of that, I was picking up on something else in my reflection.

Looking at myself at 51. No longer a daughter to anyone here on earth. I'm still a mother, but the role has changed significantly, as if there was a reorg in the corporation. My body is doing the middle-aged thing. I'm aware that the milestone events to come in life are not "mine" anymore. Of course there will be some notable things, but it will be my kids, my niece and nephews, and friends' kids who I will largely be celebrating. It's the natural progression. I see that, even in the fullness of what I do, I am more of a minor player than a major one. Yet, it is still surprising. It seems like just yesterday when I was in my twenties trying to figure out my dreams and plans, with what felt like a long, open path ahead with people older than me cheering me on. Here I am now, settled, no longer striving to get somewhere. There is something wonderful about it and something less wonderful that I still can't quite find the words for -- this is what was surfacing months after the kids left. As I looked in the mirror, beyond the lack of recognition, I saw a sadness in my eyes, something heavy. And so, I started leaning in to understand.  

My vocation is still rich with meaning and purpose. My relationship with my husband and kids is as loving as ever. I live in a house I absolutely adore. My health is strong. There is nothing externally I am in want of. But what I am recognizing, that the mirror couldn't hide, was that Loss had come to visit and she made herself a room in my house a couple of years ago. I hadn't really acknowledged that she moved in -- more like a squatter than a guest. With the kids' rooms empty, this visitor became real and she has not told me when she will depart. 

This is an email about grief. Try as we might, we can't get away from it in life. When we lose what we love -- a person, a relationship, a dream, what was giving us purpose, our connection to something vital, Loss takes up residence in our house of self and she will stay as long as she needs. I knew that intellectually before. But, now I really know it. Sometimes she brings with her all the past losses that have yet to be fully dealt with. They, too, are asking for recognition, a seat at the table. 

I share this for any of you who have experienced a significant loss, change, or disappointment and haven't been the same since, and if it is happening at the same time that your life is changing in other ways, just know it's ok if you feel something you can't even name. We don't have to fix anything, but we do need to listen if we want reconciliation. Reconciliation with ourselves, which involves acceptance, forgiveness, compassion, understanding, love. There is nothing wrong with us. We all face a lifetime of letting go of things. If we have the courage to look, of course, who we see in the mirror appears different. Life has changed. It will change again. But, for now, it's like this and it's where we need to be. 

The person I see in the mirror is still Jean. I've matured. I'm not as light and carefree as I'd like to be right now. But I am real. I feel grounded. I am learning that being a good host means I will keep making a place at the table for Loss until she chooses to depart of her own accord. I doubt I'll even see her walk out the door. It won't be dramatic. More likely, it will be a subtle, gracious departure that I will sense one day when I am looking in the mirror as I wash my face and smile.

In the meantime, I am taking in the spring. Delighting in the trees and flowers, the return of life in the house with everyone home. While Loss is here, my goodness, so is Abundance. 

Warmly,
Jean

What if breathing was your most comforting friend?

 

How do you feel inhaling? How do you feel exhaling? Do you prefer one over the other? These are just a few of the questions I have been asking about breathing lately in my groups. I ask them to encourage everyone to be more aware of this fundamental physiological necessity in being alive -- an activity that just happens without our having to make it happen, but one that we can control. How we breathe might be one of the most critical pieces of our health and happiness, and yet how often do I hold my breath when I am doing so many activities in a given day?

I can hold my breath reading a news article, driving in traffic, or reading my email. I'm really good at it! As a child, I would see how many laps I could swim underwater before I would come up gasping for air. It was insane. Didn't anyone look at the pool and wonder where I was? That's for another email, I suppose. I can hold it in and I can hold it out. I prefer exhaling to inhaling. Exhaling feels like a relief; everything relaxes. Inhaling feels effortful, as if I am trying to fill air into a long, narrow balloon—the kind you twist into animal shapes. I prefer to be like a big, round, red balloon like the one I let go of too early in the late '70s on balloon day at school. I cried. That's for another email, too. Thank goodness there aren't balloon days anymore. The poor earth. What we did to it. Back to the breath… what are we doing to ourselves by not being aware of it? It might be just as bad as 100 kids letting balloons with notes on them into the air in pre-school in 1978.

James Nestor, a researcher who wrote a book called Breath (one many of us concurred we read almost to the end but didn’t quite get there), makes many crucial points about why our breath is so important. You don't need to read the book unless you are interested in hearing all of his adventures and experiments; instead, you can watch this short YouTube video of his that captures some of the crucial points. It is worth the 12 minutes. After that, what I want to offer to you is this inspiration: how you breathe can change how you feel in any moment. We often think we have to change our thoughts to change how we feel, but coming from the body to change how we think and feel is just as powerful, if not more powerful. The breath has this power.

If you pay attention to your breathing, it will slow down. It is hard to be aware of the details of anything when we move fast. If I follow my breath in—not just the beginning, but the whole path in and the whole path out—if I notice the transitions between the inhale and exhale, and exhale and inhale, and don't rush to get to the next one, my breathing will slow down naturally, and it will be deeper and more nourishing. And my goodness, who doesn't need to be nourished more? When we feel nourished, we approach ourselves and the world in a softer, more open way. Why cheat ourselves out of this experience because we are grasping to get to another experience? Often in my meditations I will say, “Don’t be in a hurry to get to the next breath; enjoy this one.” One breath at a time. It is all we can take. We don't have to rush it. It brings grounding, calm, and ease. It nourishes all our cells, organs, and muscles.

My invitation, not just for this week but for all day, every day, is to let your breath be a source of comfort, nourishment, grounding, and safety. When you feel yourself holding your breath, no worries—you get to exhale once you realize it! There is nothing wrong with you. We can retrain ourselves. And often we need to. We go through some pretty big things in life, and sometimes, if we have been in fight-or-flight mode for an extended period of time, it becomes a habit to breathe shallowly. It's okay if you have been doing this your whole life! It’s not the end of the story. Start now.

Meditation is a time for you to do just this, but don't stop following your breathing when the meditation ends. Follow it into your next moment and your next moment. And then start again when you drop it. It shouldn't feel effortful, but wonderful.

Wishing you a week of joyful breathing.

Warmly,
Jean

It Feels So Much Better

 

It has been many years since I watched the Winter Olympics. Something about this particular winter drew me to them. What has it brought me? Tears. Seriously. I find myself in tears.

When it happened the first time, as I watched one of the figure skaters finish their program, I was surprised at myself. But then it happened again and it keeps happening. Tears fill my eyes, and then I laugh at my own over-the-top emotion. What is this welling up of feeling? My family laughs at me. But I welcome these tears. 

There is something about seeing the intimate facial expressions of these athletes at the moment they finish their event. It is brief but unmistakable. The tremendous expressions of relief, or joy, or disappointment have been so moving and deeply needed for my soul. To see genuine, uncensored, unabashed feelings caught up close for us all to witness is a gift in these hardened times. 

In this winter segment of A Mindful Life, which just began, I chose a theme that felt a bit clunky to name: nourishing the qualities of gentleness and softness. I chose it because I know I need it and because the world is anything but that right now. The tendency, in the face of harshness, is to follow suit -- to respond to aggression, dominance, force, distrust, anger, and fear by hardening, contracting, and closing off. It makes logical sense that fight or flight mode sets in, or we shut down (freeze). It takes conscious effort to counteract that energy, but we can and that's what I am focusing on. Doing the opposite of what is coming at us.

Allowing myself to share in the undeniable feelings of these athletes, whether they are young and have years ahead to compete, or the ones who will be doing this for the last time, is such an honor and a gift. What it does is soften me. This is my invitation to all of us this winter -- to keep tuning into that which helps us to soften. That which helps us feel and connect. It might not be Olympians for you, but what softens you? What helps you feel warmth, connection, tenderness -- the joy of someone's joy, the pain of someone's pain? What helps you to move more gently through your life? 

Our nervous systems are all playing off each other. If I help myself to generate warmth and kindness I will be helping you, too. Isn't this what we need more than ever? It is so much nicer than hardening. My body knows that. It would rather exhale and let go than tighten and brace.

All day long we have opportunities to soften and open up. When we do, we receive so much more. It comes in the smallest of moments and actions and sends a different message to our brains. How I pick up an object, open a door, how I walk on the earth, how I drive my car, or put away the groceries. The tone of my voice, the way I see, the pace of my movements and my words all send a message to our own nervous systems and to everything around us. We have power over this. What an amazing thing.

I recently heard a teacher say how mindfulness is a very forgiving practice because there is always another moment. I love the simplicity of that truth. If I harden, as I will at times, I have the next moment to meet differently. Moment by moment we have opportunities and what we do affects the next moment and what we receive. In my touch, in my words, in my movements and actions, I can bring care, kindness, and warmth. I can handle things gently and it comes back to me. To meet everything with reverence.  Why wouldn't we? I know I don't when I am in a rush or when I am fearful. But isn't it exciting, isn't it a relief, to think we don't have to be hard or rough to be in this life? 

This week, may we all enjoy the endless opportunities to soften and open and to be aware of the difference so it grows in us. Remember it is a forgiving practice; there is another moment. Together we can change the energy that is here -- starting now. 

Warmly,
Jean

Working With Our Reactivity Changes What Happens Next

 

I try to be a grounding source. I prefer to not add to hysteria or speak in extremes, but I’ve got to say it. It feels like we are at some critical edge in this country and in this world. And because of that, it means that we are also at a critical edge individually.

Civilization is awash in so much distrust, anger, fear, conflict, violence, greed, and self-interest. Lawsuits, threats, riots, the dismantling of systems and alliances that humans painstakingly built to protect us, the Earth, and to keep peace, are being thrown out. Among so many leaders, the value of working together, of seeing that our wellbeing is dependent on the wellbeing of all of those around us, has been dropped. Hubris abounds. It is hard to watch what we took as steady and solid now crumbling. It’s like watching a train wreck that could have been avoided. If you feel the weight of these times, you are human. I am with you in feeling like things are not okay. And yet, this is what is. It’s not about fair or right, but our human situation doesn’t feel okay. It will change, one way or another. We have gotten here for a reason, and we have choices we can make. We can react or we can respond, and the two are very different. One is also a lot harder than the other.

In recent weeks in A Mindful Life, we have been working with non-reactivity. How to strengthen our ability to not react habitually so that we can make more empowered, mindful choices in what we think, say, and do. So much destruction, misunderstanding, and suffering comes when we react habitually—when we can’t find the space to step back, listen, sense, and feel so that we know the most beneficial way to respond. Developing that ability is hard work and not something to master. Looking to be free of reactivity isn’t the goal. If there is a truck coming at us, we want to react. But most of the time, that’s not the situation. So how do we practice non-reactivity?

I find that there are 4 components that change our habitual reactivity. They sound obvious, but they aren’t easy! When practiced regularly, they become habits we want. And habits like these I do think change the world. They change what happens next, and that is a powerful thing. I think we could all use something that reminds us that we have an impact in times when it can feel like we don’t. These 4 interconnected practices are:

~ Mindfulness Meditation (staying in the present, observing, and finding space)
~ Slowing down (in every way—words, actions, the breath, thoughts firing)
~ Being more embodied (connected to your body and what’s arising in you)
~ Being curious (when we get curious, we aren’t reactive)

They take repetition, dedication, and reminding. Especially in our world today, when each of those go against the norm. Everything comes at a fast pace. Screens and devices have taken away our ability to sense and feel and be connected to our body. We rely on apps that tell us all our metrics rather than develop an inner listening and inner guide. And when we can’t slow down and listen, we can’t get curious. When we can’t be curious, we can’t learn, understand, grow. We can’t be creative. When there is a complex situation, we need these abilities.

Knowing this is good news! We can start practicing right now.

Meditate Regularly: We practice meditating and staying in the present so that we can strengthen the muscle to not react to thoughts, feelings, and sensations as they come in. We can name what arises, and when we do, we step back from it. We create space. We do it again and again so that in our daily life, it becomes easier to do. If you aren’t meditating regularly, or you got away from it, can you recommit to yourself? (If you need help, reach out.)

Slowing Down: Everything moves fast today, but we can make the choice not to. When we slow down, we have more presence, awareness, more choice; we savor more, and we get to choose what we do. That doesn’t mean we move like a sloth; we are just more present. And when we are more present, we take in so many wonderful things that we would normally miss. Life is too short to miss out. I’ve been asking my groups if they enjoyed their shower that day. Unless you only have cold water, what’s not to enjoy in a shower? So this week, notice when you are moving, talking, driving quickly, and just see what happens if you shift gears and slow it down. How much more do you see and receive when you aren’t fast? Driving slower is especially fascinating. When the car is moving fast, we are moving fast, and our nervous system picks up on it. If we are feeling anxious, why add to it?

Being Embodied: If we are in a hurry or not present, we also can’t listen to ourselves. If I am not aware of what’s alive in me, I will respond in ways I might regret, or I won’t take care of what I am needing, which leads to more suffering. How often in the day do we know what we are feeling? We can check in with ourselves often and ask ourselves, “what am I feeling?” And, “what am I aware of in my body as I do this, or listen to this?” Being aware of ourselves gives us choice. It will inform what we do next.

Being Curious: Lastly, being curious is the opposite of being reactive. When we are curious, we are open; we want to learn and have humility; we seek understanding; we aren’t attached to outcomes or to knowing it all; we aren't judgmental. And to be curious, we need to be present, to slow down, to sense and feel (the other 3!). I had my groups call up a time when someone was truly curious about them—not to get anything from them, just pure interest in who they were. You can think about it for yourself. It is such a nice feeling and, as someone pointed out, when someone is curious about us, it sparks our curiosity. It is so true. We can all be that person. We can create that goodness and be that open. It will bring us together.

We all have the capacity to do these things if we want to.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have heard inspiring examples in my groups of the moments when people made small shifts in these areas and how profound they can be. You will have them, too. I am certain of that. All we need is micro-moments throughout the day of coming into presence, slowing down, feeling connected, and getting curious. It’s a lot more calming and peaceful, even in times like these. There will always be suffering and the conditions for joy at the same time. We can meet all these moments. We are all at a critical edge where we must choose how we want to be in the world to affect what happens next, because whether it feels like it or not, we are all affecting what happens next.

Warmly,
Jean

P.S. It's the last week to sign up for the winter session of A Mindful Life (Feb/Mar)! Some groups are full, but the Monday Zoom and Friday in person groups have some space. 

Making Space

 

Dear Friends,

As we journey through January, I am feeling a strong pull to clear away the thick web of news, events, constant self-talk, busyness. Instead I am drawn to slowing down and feeling myself simply breathe. In everything I do -- simply breathe. It is as though something in me knows there is another way to be in the world, in this time. In this season of winter, in this season of so much worldly disruption. I am being pulled toward the wonderful open feeling of space that is right here when I don't fill it. I write that and I worry it sounds too lofty or overly blissful. Or maybe it sounds disengaged from the realities of what is happening in the world. It really isn't and I am fully aware of what is going on. Much of which is more disturbing or unsettling than not. To not read more news than is necessary, to stay off of social media as much as possible, to enjoy the sound of the wintery wind, to not think of improving, but to rest in whatever this place is -- this has been my siren call in these first days of the year. I share it because embracing it feels so right and I know from experience that if I am feeling this call, most likely so are others. 

A dear friend gave me a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, one that I haven't yet read. It has short daily words of wisdom. One paragraph or two. In the past, with the overwhelm of the busyness of life, I might not have enjoyed the brevity of these passages as I am now. Just taking a line or maybe just a word from it and letting it awaken something in me feels like all I need. Choosing to let it. That is enough these days. Simplicity in a time that is far from simple.  

I stuck to my intention of removing Facebook from my phone on New Year's Eve and don't regret it. I imagine myself going more and more in that direction. Embracing more quiet. The world doesn't need my fight. At least I don't think it does. I'm not a fighter, though I know it is possible for me to be one. It is in me. What I know is that my output is more useful in other ways. It always has been.

The universe desperately needs beneficent energy. Don't you think so? To be a force of steadiness and calm? To be present and therefore, grateful? Isn't that what we need? Too Pollyanna? My critic might say so, driven by fear, but not the part of me that is more connected to the whole of life -- the part that understands impermanence, humility, connection, grace. This part of me knows how powerful it is to be able to clear some space and be present. To enjoy the simple. To stop insisting on having my way or fighting because it is not going my way. You want to go faster than me on the highway, I'll move over. "You go ahead," I say. There is plenty of space. 

What does it mean to you to allow space in your life? In your daily movements, in your interactions, in your thoughts? How does it change your experience to slow down and do just one thing? To receive just one thing?

My invitation this month is to welcome space, which often means we need to clear a space of anything extra that takes away from our experience. Remove the clutter, the extraneous, the opinions, the chatter, the improvements, the lists and just be. You'll still get what is needed done, but it is likely to be a lot more fulfilling. Simpler. Just take one thing and enjoy that one thing. Let your eyes open to enjoy what's here because there is so much that is wonderful to behold, to see, to feel.

The perfect lines in the shadow on the wall as the sunlight streams through the blinds. That is wonderful. The sun rising behind the mountain, casting a pink blaze behind the bare trees in the distance. That is wonderful. The calm voice of my meditation teacher. That is wonderful. Recalling someone's smile. That is wonderful. Can you give yourself the gift of making space to experience these things? How might you clear space so that you may be filled?

I'll close with this poem by Martha Postlethwaite:

Clearing
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself to this world
so worthy of rescue.

Warmly,
Jean

What's Your End of Year Ritual?

 

We have entered the last month of the year and, yes, a new year will begin and we will start another cycle of seasons, but will you take a pause before you begin again? Will you take stock, reflect, digest, let go, and allow yourself to renew? To live life consciously, in this way, is a wonderful thing. This week's pause is an invitation to set aside time to do just that—to not rush the year's end, to not hurry toward a break or a holiday or the shopping, but to savor the winding down of a year and all that has transpired, so you can feel its fullness—so that you might be able to say “wow” before you move on. From that “wow,” you might smile in delight at the wonder of life and all it encompasses.

Sometimes, in a moment of joy or deep contentment, I stop and think, “If this were my last moment, I am okay. I am full enough, and this life has been enough.” It’s not a wish for anything to end; it’s simply the feeling of having been filled in so many ways. I feel complete. It’s a great feeling. I also know I have no say in it—I may live a very long time and have to let go of much more before I let go. I don’t get to decide when is “enough,” but still, it is nice to feel so complete. When we do, we make different choices; we see with different eyes. We aren’t searching as much, but savoring more. We have to give ourselves a chance to feel that by reflecting.

A whole year of life holds an incredible amount within it. It is amazing, really. We are not the same people we were a year ago. We shed that skin, literally and figuratively. Who are we now? What does our heart know about how we wish to spend our time and energy in this next cycle? Are we listening?

Many of you know the rituals I keep at the end of the year because you have taken part in them. My Mindful Reflections & Inspired Intentions Workshops and the New Year’s Day Meditation & Bell Ringing (though I am taking a break from it this year) are part of that process. They are essentially rituals that bring mindful presence to what we do. We all have rituals, but if you don’t have one to close the year, I welcome you to create one of your own.

What would it look like? What would feel good to you—something that brings forth a sense of reverence for your life? Because your life is amazing. It is a wonder to appreciate. It might be as simple as taking a solitary walk in nature on the eve of the New Year or the day itself. It might be writing about the experiences of the year (or taking my workshop and doing it in community). It might be something spiritual that calls to you. It might be making a piece of art, music, dance, or poetry—or simply improvising and playing. It might be meditating or sitting quietly for some time without mindless rumination. Your life is worth honoring in this way.

May these days of lessening light be rich in fullness and possibility. I welcome hearing what you choose to do.

Warmly,
Jean

P.S. For a number of reasons, I have decided to pause my yearly offering on New Year’s Day. I am sorry if that has become part of your ritual. However, I welcome you to join me for one of the two workshops (see below), and I will be offering a recorded meditation for the New Year—so keep a lookout for it!

How Much Challenge Is Enough/Not Enough?

 

Just before the retreat, a longtime and dear member of A Mindful Life asked me if I was more comfortable now leading retreats. My response to her was that I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable. I am simply more comfortable being uncomfortable.

I told her that every group I lead each week at the studio is uncomfortable. I have greater tolerance for it and I find that, though it is a challenge, it is worth it. And yes, some parts of leading a retreat or conducting weekly groups are certainly easier. I know the routines, the structure, and the people involved. But I never know how the material I present is going to land—if the questions I am curious about will be the questions others are curious about. And, of course, I can never know what is happening inside each person, which will inform how they receive what I present.

That alone is a challenge we all face daily when we encounter other people. If we are awake and aware, we realize how complex any single interaction is. We have our own feelings, thoughts, perceptions, and needs—and the person before us has their own. That’s a lot! Put a group together and it becomes a complex stew.

I recently came across Dr. Arthur Brooks (Harvard professor, writer, and researcher on the subject of happiness) talking about how feeling a sense of satisfaction comes from doing hard things—and I would add, doing meaningful things. I know in my life that if I want to feel a sense of meaning and purpose, I’m going to have to challenge myself to some degree. And so, I am willing to take on the challenge of facilitating weekly groups where I bring in themes and questions, hoping they will invoke reflection, curiosity, and insight in those who contemplate them.

Sometimes it feels like a daunting task to do this every week for years on end. As I approach my 51st year, what I am starting to discover is how much of a challenge is enough. I’m starting to realize that the groups and retreats I lead are enough of a challenge. I don’t want any more—at least, not right now. My body is starting to indicate clearly when I ask myself to stretch any further and take on a new request. I’m seeing that I need to say “no.”

It’s not that I’m just afraid. There is fear, of course, but it’s not a lack of courage or confidence in the face of it. It’s an understanding that what I currently have before me is enough of a challenge. My entire adult life has been about facing challenges—about being outside my comfort zone more often than not. I'm guessing yours has been, too? I know I am ready now to have a little more ease and just enough challenge to feel a sense of satisfaction.

My invitation this week is to reflect on your own life and the current degree of challenge in it. Is there enough challenge so that you feel engaged and alive, and feel a sense of satisfaction in meeting it? Is there too much challenge, where the pressure is relentless and it might be showing signs—in your body, your sleep, your joy? Is there anything you would like to add, or anything you would like to take away, to find a more balanced middle ground?

As always, I welcome your thoughts and insights. Wishing you a beautiful week filled with just the right amount of challenge—and much joy.

Warmly,
Jean

Ask This One Question Often

 

Last week, 14 brave souls attended my retreat at the Dharmakaya Center for Wellbeing in the Catskills of New York. From Friday evening through Sunday afternoon we explored aspects of growing old, the inevitability of the body's decline, the fact that we will eventually be separated from everything we love, and that what we do here, in body and mind, is all we truly own. They are not subjects for the weak of heart, yet our lives are often driven by the fear of them, which makes them so necessary to reflect on. The unaddressed fears of our impermanence lead to stress, sickness, unhealthy relationships, all kinds of addictions, endless material consumption, and, yes, wars. Being willing to have these conversations with oneself and with others deflates the monster out of them. Like a blow-up Halloween decoration, once unplugged, it simply falls away and loses its fright. We did a bit of that unplugging on the retreat. I want to share one simple prompt from the weekend with all of you. It's one that I think makes us more alive, which is ultimately the point of it all.

Inspired by the work of the late Stephen Levine and his book A Year To Live, (of which there are courses on the subject should you be interested), I invited everyone to keep asking themselves, throughout the weekend, this simple question: if this were the last time I could do this thing, how would I do it? If this was the last time I could take a shower, look into this person's eyes, go to bathroom on my own, taste this blueberry, walk this path, how would I do it? I can't think of anything that brings us into greater presence than that contemplation. Not to be used as a threat, but as an awakening. I likened it to imagining doing something for the first time. Experiencing something fresh and being delighted. Why not ask it all the time and be delighted moment after moment. We get to do this thing called living. The hard moments and the pleasant ones. What an amazing thing.

My invitation this week is that simple. Throughout the day, ask this of yourself, "if this were the last time, how would I...?" And then enjoy it. Gratitude will naturally spring forth. See the monsters deflate as you feel full from your experiences all day long. And when you forget, as you likely will, you get to ask it again.

Wishing you many happy treats this week.

Jean

What We Can Do With Worry

 

I think it is fair to say that if you are human, you likely worry. With everything always in flux it is only natural that we tend to worry. Some of us are in the habit of doing it more than others, but that’s all it is, a habit and we can change our habits if we want to. Not overnight, but with practice, we can change the direction of our thought patterns and give ourselves a break.  

The practices of meditation and mindfulness are about being present and aware. The more we practice observing ourselves, the more quickly we can catch ourselves in a moment of worrying. So much worrying happens with us unaware that we are actually doing it, but whether we are aware or not, it takes a toll on us. We have to recognize that we are worrying in order to make a different choice. It’s not enough to know that we tend to worry, we have to do something to intervene. Like any habit, it won’t stop on its own. My husband would cringe at my “talking football” but the image of an interception in football is the perfect one for what to do with a worry. I can intercept my worry and go in a different direction. 

I started doing something that feels like a very simple, but powerful shift and I welcome you to give it a try. It goes like this…

Let's say I am worrying about someone I love. Maybe I'm worried about their actions or I'm worried about their health. The first interception is the moment I realize that I'm spinning on all the “what ifs”. Already, I’ve stopped worrying to have another thought –  the awareness that I am worrying. The second intervention is to ask myself, “why do I care; why am I worrying about this?” If I answer that question honestly, it is going to come down to the fact that I love this person. I really love this person. When I acknowledge that truth, I shift my attention onto that love which has a warm sensation, maybe a joyful sensation. I’ve just radically changed my experience. I move my attention away from the worry toward what matters and to what is real. The thoughts of my worry aren’t real (they are future oriented thoughts, not actuality), but the love, joy or warmth I feel is real. I can sit and rest in that love, in that joy, and recognize what a gift it is to have. Even if just for a moment, it is far different than sitting in the anxiety of worry. I’ll probably need to repeat it, but at least I stop feeding it every time I do this practice and I can get better at catching it sooner, even as it is brewing.

You can do this practice with anything you worry about. If I'm worried about my health –  let's say I find out that my cholesterol is high, I can spin in all directions over the “what ifs” or I can stop and I can say “why does it matter?” It matters because I love living and feeling good. I move my attention to the fact that I love being alive and I actually feel great and appreciate feeling good. What a nice thing! I can smile at that. I intercept the worry and I replace it with what is at the core of it, which is a very good thing, not a bad thing. I can then breathe with and savor the good feeling. 

It is such a small but powerful thing we can do to change the way we feel in any moment. We can move the dial, change the song, redirect and help ourselves. The trick is that it has to be felt, not just thought so that the warm feeling of goodness changes us. Give it a try. More than once. Let me know what you find.

15 of us are heading to the A Mindful Life retreat this weekend at The Dharmakaya Center in upstate NY where we are diving into the Five Remembrances. My hope is that in looking at our impermanence, we will be opening the door to more joy and freedom while we are here. I look forward to sharing what we discover together. 

Wishing you all a week full of joyful moments and as much ease as possible.

Jean

Having A Daily Intention

Do you awake each day and remind yourself how you want to live that day? With all the unrest of this time, getting clear in myself and not lost in all the blame and distrust feels more necessary. I would like to stop and take that time. It's not a lot of time. It's a pause to remember. To get clarity. Meditation is also a pause, a way of stopping the habitual, resetting, slowing down, and getting connected. But lately, I have been wanting to have something I say that captures what I really want to bring into each day. My gift to you this week is just that -- in a recording, as well as an invitation. 

Today, I have uploaded a daily intention meditation that, should the words speak to you, you can play for yourself at the start of the day. I suggest closing your eyes and feeling yourself breathe as you listen. And because these are my words and my intentions, you may find that you have different wordings and intentions, and so, I welcome you to write your own and to go so far as to record them so you can play it back to yourself each day. It doesn't have to be fancy. You could simply use the voice recorder on your phone. Talk slowly and genuinely and feel what it is you are saying so that when you play it back, it feels true and meaningful. Welcome your own insight and care, or feel free to simply use what I have made. I've been listening to it and following it with a period of meditation.

Our intentions set everything in motion. They can set peace, love, and inspiration in motion or their opposites. It is easy to feel launched into our day without taking a moment to recognize that we can be purposeful in how we meet it right from the start. How does it sound to you to connect to what you value before you are faced with the "full catastrophe" each day? Let me know what you think, and/or please share what yours are. I am happy to receive them. Click the button below to listen to the meditation. It should be available on the Insight Timer app in a few days. Or go directly to Soundcloud.

For those of you observing Yom Kippur, I wish you a meaningful holiday and an easy fast.

Jean

What's Changing?

 

There are changes that happen that are life shifting. Those events where everything feels different afterward, at least for a while (until that, too, changes). The loss of someone, the birth of someone, a move, a job change, a health scare, a new hip, a new relationship are some of the big ones. But in reality, everyday, in every moment, everything is changing. You might ask, "why does it matter to recognize this?" 

When we see with the eyes of impermanence, we gain a new perspective which I find helps us do two significant things. 1) We become more grateful for what we get to experience and we savor moments because they are fleeting. We savor the small things -- the things that if we were never able to do them again (like go the bathroom on our own, run up a hill, see someone's smile) we would wish we could do it again. 2) We strengthen our ability to let go because we know we are going to have to let go of everything at some point. Rather than live life in fear of that moment, we can look now at how things are always changing in a single day and become more comfortable with change. What this helps us do is to live not so contracted, but free, open, generous, and kind because what better thing is there to be if we don't get to take anything with us? How we act now is what continues on. 

Change and impermanence are the theme of my groups and retreat this fall. My invitation this week is, throughout your day, pause and recognize that whatever is right before you is, in fact, changing. Whether it is a person, an animal, a leaf, your skin, your food. They are all on their way to becoming something else. What is it like to savor these people, objects, animals, moments in these forms, even as they are changing -- to practice not attaching, but being present with their becoming. Change can be full of possibility and wonder, even the hardest changes.

To this end, I recorded a meditation on Allowing Change which you can use whenever you feel something shifting and want to open, rather than tense up to it. You can listen to it on my website, on the Insight Timer app, or on Soundcloud. There is another very similar meditation called Grounded Through Change which I previously recorded and you can also find on the sites above.

Wishing you a beautiful week of welcoming change. Catch it in the leaves as they are visibly in the midst of becoming!

Jean

P.S. Meditation helps us not react to our thoughts, feelings and sensations which are always changing. It takes practice though. Join us every week for drop-in meditations to stick with your intention to practice. And, if these subjects interest you, you might be a good fit for A Mindful Life. Fall segments are underway, but be sure to inquire about the late fall/early winter segments which start after Thanksgiving.