A Meditation Reminder List for Thanksgiving

If you've ever thought about trying a meditation practice or you're just looking for a way to smooth out your life without going for the big, dramatic life-altering changes, I have some ideas for you.

A MEDITATION REMINDER LIST

1. Don't ask for something big to happen.

2. Don't ask for something small to happen.

3. Don't ask for anything at all.

4. Remember three things you are grateful for in this moment.

5. Breathe.

5. Notice how your stomach expands and contracts as breath passes through your body.

6. Encourage yourself as you would encourage a small child. You can do it! Good try! Try again.

7. Promise yourself you'll do the thing you just thought of later.

8. Keep your promise.

9. Let go.

10. Repeat.

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We the Vulnerable

Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.  Annie Dillard

After a friend of mine committed suicide, his widow - also my friend -  was obviously left in a state of shock and grief and anger, all of these particular flavors of shock, grief and anger I am grateful to find unimaginable. What could I do? The only thing I could think of was to offer to sit with my bereft friend and show her how to do nothing. 

We went out for a meal and since it was such a pretty day, after we ate we decided to take a walk down by the river in the little town near where we had lunch, and she said: Well? Are you going to show me?

I was taken aback because although when we originally made plans, I had offered to step her through what I did when I meditated, I never mentioned anything about it during our lunch conversation. I didn’t want to be pushy. Yet now she had asked, so we sat down on a bench and I showed her. We did some breathing and I guided her through a body scan and finally we sat for about ten or so minutes in stillness. When we opened our eyes, she looked at me and said: I’ve had a headache for a week and now it’s gone.

That was almost five years ago and ever since that time, whenever someone I care about finds themselves in a place of grief or despair and there is nothing else I can offer, I show them how I find the quiet place within me. It is as if by allowing someone to see how I settle in to observe my own cascade of thoughts, they find relief. A sense of dignity and honor can arise just by the acknowledgment that my struggle to sit in stillness is identical to theirs.

Some ideas need time to develop and one of the most important benefits that has come from my meditation practice is a ratcheted-up tolerance for uncertainty. I’ve learned to rely less on my comfort zone of analytical skills and I pay more careful attention to my intuition. I began to let the idea of teaching mindfulness meditation loll around inside of me without directing it one way or another for several months. Still, just about everything I wrote about or any conversation I had landed upon the topic of meditation.

I had done some teaching in the past. When I was a teaching assistant in graduate school, a beloved professor modeled for me how to be gentle yet stern and to always be humble. Even the worst writer on the planet may someday end up writing something divine. It just happens. Red pens were forbidden and it was always a good idea to pencil in smiley faces next to a student writer’s funny lines. It never occurred to me that I would pursue teaching, but an offer to instruct a personal essay writing course in a continuing education program fell into my lap and I said yes. It turned out to be a much more enjoyable experience than I had imagined and I refined my teaching style into a breezy sort of compassionate encouragement.

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Then a couple of years ago I was at a gathering with my youngest son and some of his friends when I spoke to a young man who was a 3L at Northwestern Pritzker School of Law. When we got to my favorite topic, he told me about his law professor, Len Riskin, who as part of a Conflicts Negotiation class instructed his students on mindfulness meditation. Something clicked. I thought- huh, I’m a lawyer. I have a meditation practice.

I gathered up the courage to email Professor Riskin. He gave me some advice that went something like this. All you really have to do to get started is to get a law school to agree to let you talk in front of their students.

It was a bite-sized task, one I could easily contemplate, and after a few twists and turns and reaching out to lawyers and law firms, my alma mater, Case Western Reserve University School of Law, gave me a chance to stand in front of a group of their students and talk about mindfulness meditation. At the end of my talk, I guided the students through a similar process as I had guided my widowed friend. When they opened their eyes, they sat around for a loopy few minutes before they got up to file out of the room. Many of them came up to me and thanked me. From that place, I went on to get a gig at a law firm, then to teach a continuing legal education class and I eventually became a board member of the Mindfulness in Law Society, where Professor Riskin is also a board member.

Now, the task gets tricky. As it turns out, lawyers tend to be skeptical and are excellent at holding up their resistance to trying this practice. I say this lovingly. I’m a skeptic myself and I understand the drawbacks to an activity that will result in absolutely zero billable time.

But I think there’s something else to it. When I arrived at law school in the autumn of 1979, I knew the course load would be daunting, the academics challenging, and that my fellow students were probably all a little smarter than I was. What I wasn’t prepared for was the way that the law school curriculum left no space for uncertainty, self-doubt and especially vulnerability. There were difficult questions from my professors and clever, often unkind, retorts from fellow students who all appeared to be a lot less intimidatedthan I was. The idea, as I interpreted it, was to shatter any semblance of incertitude that might exist in me and if that was not possible, second best alternative was to scuttle any part of that kind of temperament into the deepest recesses of my psyche, so deep that neither my fellow students nor my professors would ever suspect I was only pretending to be secure and confident.

I’d been an English major in undergraduate and that course of study was at times contentious and competitive, but not nearly at the level of my law school experience where students used to hide books in the library (this was pre-internet) just so other students couldn’t get their hands on the necessary research. I'd practice my poker face in the bathroom mirror, and swallow up the feelings of pain and humiliation to deal with at a more convenient time. Had I been less tenacious, I would have quit. But I stayed and I graduated and thankfully, the practice of law turned out to be more enjoyable than attending law school. 

Law school is the place where I was taught to think like a lawyer, something for which I am forever grateful. The analytical skills I learned there proved invaluable not just for representing clients, but for dealing with any tricky situations that might arise in life. But the lesson that vulnerability was something to be shunned and avoided at all costs, not so valuable. Vulnerability is not something that can be banished, but it can be managed.

My school had no Professor Riskin to broach the subject of mindfulness and the way a mindfulness meditation practice can bolster resiliency and help promote focus, composure and clarity. When you find yourself at your most tender and most vulnerable, there is a way to acknowledge this and to also acknowledge that yes, it’s a brutal place to be but it’s a temporarily brutal place and soon enough there’s going to be another place and then another and then another and to be mindfully aware of all these thoughts that seem to dismantle your emotional scaffolding.

My practice of meditation has led me to share my practice with others. I share it freely and I share it abundantly. Sitting in stillness in a focused, intentional way can help you learn to approach your vulnerability, to look at it with compassion, with courage, with kindness and that, my friends, is what adds up to resiliency.

Start again and again and again

Normally, I sit in meditation for twenty minutes first thing every morning. But sometimes my schedule gets interrupted. I love to travel and when I travel any schedule I’ve managed to establish slips away into the ether. Over the course of a recent two-week trip, I only managed to meditate three times. Upon my return, somewhere between the jet lag and the laundry, I misplaced my meditation practice. Halfway through my day, I'd be sitting in a meeting or working on a project and realize I had forgotten to meditate. 

I've been meditating most days for the past six years. I require time to sit quietly in a mode of being as nonproductive as possible or my nerves frizzle and frazzle, my focus becomes unfocused and I worry about distraction to the point of distraction. Two weeks out of the country and this carefully cultivated habit turned about as precarious as the Cavs grabbing the number one seed in the NBA eastern conference.(Hey guys, maybe a little more focus? Just a suggestion.) 

My conscious mind had completely blipped out on my established practice and as it turns out, my anxieties were patiently lying in wait for just such an opportunity. Sly little things, those. Please don't misunderstand. It's not at all the case that when I keep up with a disciplined daily meditation schedule I experience no anxiety. There are still plenty of thoughts and emotions available to torment me, but I have more patience available to deal with all my exasperating qualities. So I consider it quite an achievement that even though I wasn’t meditating as often as I require, I noticed the subtle shifts in my levels of anxiety and restlessness and jittery discomforts of all kinds. I acknowledged these uncomfortablenesses without trying to ignore them or worse, bury them in some deep dark place I hoped never to excavate. Instead, I opened up a space between me and my uncomfortable feelings.

Think of it as redirection. I disidentified myself with the idea of me as failed meditator. Just because I thought of myself as someone who fell off the meditation wagon did not happen to be (as thoughts often are not) true.

I managed to sit myself down and try once again to find my breath and some stillness. I started my meditation practice over again.

Here's what I know about practicing meditation that you may not know. It doesn't matter how many times you start again. To notice when you've gone astray and gently come back is a metaphor for the entire practice. Sitting in meditation is about noticing when you're not meditating and beginning again. And again.

Mindfulness meditation doesn’t change life. Life remains as fragile and unpredictable as ever. Meditation changes the heart’s capacity to accept life as it is. It teaches the heart to be more accommodating, not by beating it into submission, but by making it clear that accommodation is a gratifying choice.
— Sylvia Boorstein, Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

The Mindful Middle

In a recent episode of  Meet the Press the panel was discussing a change of leadership in the Democratic party and the possibility of Tim Ryan replacing Nancy Pelosi. Mr. Ryan is the congressman from Youngstown, Ohio and has written a book titled Mindful Nation. Panelist Kathleen Parker remarked: Well, one quick note on Tim Ryan, I think his gifts might be better used right now if he could just teach all of us how to meditate. 

Laughter ensues.

Underlying Ms. Parker’s droll throw-away line was a dull recognition of perhaps the only thing both the left and the right can agree upon: the American people are a jingle jangle bundle of nerves. We are an anxious nation. 

I dream of a country where we would all take Kathleen Parker’s silly suggestion seriously. What if we all learned to meditate? All of us, including those who govern and those who are governed.

Especially  those who govern. 

Imagine a Congress composed of non-reactive legislators who could maintain focus and composure. Imagine a compassionate Senate. Imagine a president who was an attentive and focused listener. A hostile person can provoke a crowd; a self-possessed non-reactive person can steady them. A calm attitude, like a hostile one, can be contagious. If our leaders could become a bit more mindful, calmness, compassion and empathy might just trickle-down.

I dream about this as I stand out here on the front lines teaching people to practice meditation. I dream of it especially when I'm facing a room full of skeptics who think of mindfulness meditation as a silly past time, something that should be relegated to the venue of a swami or some other patchouli-scented situation where they would never be caught dead. I ignore their  resistance. I ignore their resistance because I’m stubborn which you may not think jives with someone who teaches mindfulness meditation. But you’d be wrong. There’s nothing more enlightened or less anxious about me than there is about you. But I stubbornly believe if I can get someone to try this out despite themselves, they may come to understand how consistently sitting in stillness and not accomplishing a single thing accomplishes quite a bit.

My least resistant students are those whom we politely refer to as seniors. This is probably because there is so little that surprises them. I don’t know the average age in the independent living community where I teach, but my parents ages 90 and 94 live there and they are not the oldest. This group of meditators are struggling to find a way to accept a challenging state of physical affairs. When they enter the room, it takes a while for them to traverse around the plastic chairs with their walkers. Hearing aides are more common than not. I tell them that having a mindful meditation practice helps you to be non-reactive. It helps you to respond more reasonably to aggravating situations. There’s a kind of pause that you can own when you’ve learned to sit in stillness and observe your own thoughts.

A while ago, one of the ladies came in and said to me: You know that thing you told us about being non-reactive. Well, last week someone asked me to do something and I said, I’ll get back to you.  

I love that. 

On the other end of the spectrum are the little kids. I tell them I’m going to teach them to do something they’ve known how to do since the moment they were born. Even babies can do it. We’re going to learn to breathe. They think that’s hilarious. So do I. But even the kids catch on pretty fast. They take a few deep breaths. We do something called square breathing. Tracing a square in the air with our fingers. Taking an in-breath for the top of the square, an out-breath for the side. Another in-breath for the bottom and another exhale for the other side. And after a few squares, they tell me they feel calmer.

The lawyers are my most difficult students They don’t catch on as quickly as the kids and they like to cross-examine me. They just don’t want to believe something so simple could help them be less anxious. Even less do they want to believe it can help them be more composed and focused. But I give them the scientific evidence and I tell them about neuroplasticity and Sara Lazar and her fMRI studies at Harvard. How the brains of people who have a mindfulness meditation practice are different than those who don’t. The gray matter of the brain improves its texture. It’s just like exercise, I tell them. When you exercise, your muscles become stronger and you increase your endurance. I think that makes sense to them, but I’m never sure. Not even at the seminar I taught last week when there were a room full of them, all with their eyes closed and their mouthes closed, and all except for two of them doing exactly as I instructed them.

The two in the corner of the room held fast to their mobile devices and tapped away with gusto. I accept meditation is not for everyone. Tiny screens have a powerful draw. Still, I plan to stay stubborn and to bring mindfulness into as many people's lives as I can until the words of Kathleen Parker are no longer a throw-away comment and the idea of taking a few intentional breaths and sitting in stillness is no more crazy than the idea of going to the gym.

It's not fair to leave it all up to Tim Ryan. It's important and possible for mindfulness to trickle down from the three branches of our government and also possible for it to drift up from the populace. Then perhaps we might all meet in the mindful middle.

It's a Matter of Practice

For the past five years, I've sat down just about every day to practice meditation and only recently have I realized exactly what it is I am practicing. 

The revelation came a few months ago when I was about to undergo some outpatient surgery. Deep in the vast cavernous space of the surgery prep area, a nurse with a well-practiced monotone directed me to remove all my clothes, place them in the plastic bag and change into the hospital gown, opening in the back. There was a clue that I was in the subordinate position. Still I followed her orders, hopped up on the gurney, pulled the thin sheet over me and waited to see what the next person would do to me. The next person was a nurse anesthetist with a cool surfer dude personality and even though he put me at ease a little bit, it was really starting to sink in that someone would be cutting something off of me soon. By the time the anesthesiologist came around to approve the silly sauce about to be injected into my veins, I was at full tilt worry and anxiety. She introduced herself and then remarked to me how unusually calm I appeared. What was my secret, she wanted to know. 

That’s when I realized something about my meditation practice. I do sit down daily to practice something, but calling it meditation makes it seem a little loftier than it actually is. Most of the real estate in my brain has been staked out by anxiety and fear, grief and despair, doubt and uncertainty and misgivings. It's not that I'm calm while I'm sitting in stillness, I'm just practicing remaining calm as my emotions toss me around.

So when the nurse pulled the curtain shut behind her and separated us into the very clear categories of patient and healthcare professionals, I felt my anxiety level shoot up and I observed my thoughts race to terrifying conclusions. This was stress and this was appropriate for anyone about to have surgery. I was not feeling calm. In fact, I was extremely anxious. But there was something different about me than the other people hooked up to IVs in the pre-op center whom this doctor was about to anesthetize. I was comfortable with my anxiety. I was comfortable with my anxiety because for the past five years I have practiced remaining calm as emotions roil through my body.

Substitute in any anxiety-producing situation of your own for my stint in the land of outpatient surgery. It might be a client asking you the one question you dread; it might be your co-worker throwing you under the bus. Lots to choose from here. Being on intimate terms with your own anxiety might just shift the way you handle stressful situations.

You can say I meditate, but I say I observe the anxiety while I cultivate the calm. This takes a lot of practice.

Learn One, Do One, Teach One

Last week, I attended a meditation class at MNDFLmeditation in the East Village in NYC. As it turns out, coastal cities have drop-in meditation studios and they are lovely. MNDFL is a graceful little studio-- a bright clear space with white-washed brick walls, comfy furnishings in soothing shades of gray and shiny wood floors.

 

The class I took was for beginners-- a heart-based meditation. I attend meditation classes for a couple of reasons. So I can learn and so I can steal ideas to bring to my students. There were about twenty of us arranged around the  studio room with a variety of props. The props were similar to what you might find in a yoga studio: woven Mexican blankets, cushions, blocks and also a meditation chair which is a cushion with a back rest attached. I like to have back support and was almost peer pressured into not grabbing one, but at the last minute I did and I did not regret it. 

The teacher, Marcela Clavijo, talked to us for a while and encouraged self-acceptance and other useful concepts before having us settle in for the guided meditation. During the guided meditation portion, Marcella suggested going back and forth between two emotional goal posts. She told us to think about a situation where we might feel ashamed or guilty. She suggested trying something fairly superficial like that time you forgot to send a thank you note and you're still dwelling on it. From there we were to pivot to a time when we felt proud or accomplished like the time when someone tells you one of your blog posts really resonates for them. Then we practiced flashing back and forth between the two posts. 

Marcela cautioned us not to go too deep too quickly. Staying superficial at the beginning is important and I can see why. Just remembering a couple of trivial situations (one that triggered shame and one that triggered  pride) stirred up an onslaught of emotions. 

This was a very different experience for me. I am used to looking for the stillness when I meditate. This meditation agitated me. It made me uncomfortable. I say this not as a criticism, but as an objective observation. I'll try this again sometime on my own, but I will be cautious. It's a really powerful meditative venture and one that demands the respect of the practitioner.

If you get a chance to stop by MNDFL, I highly recommend it. Can't wait until I can go back! 

Mediocre Meditator

I am proud of being able to sit and meditate every day for twenty minutes. 

It may be the biggest accomplishment of my life and people admire me for it.

People say: I can’t do it. 

People also say: I meditate when I go for a run. It’s the same thing.

It’s not. 

I like to go for runs. I like to do yoga. I find both activities useful on both physical and mental levels. But neither activity or anything else is a substitute for sitting in stillness. 

I tell them these things and the reply is usually the same. 

I've tried. I can't stop my thoughts.

I fall asleep.

It's not for me. 

Fair enough. Here's what I think these people are really saying: I've tried to meditate, but I'm not much good at it. I prefer to do things I can do well.

Myself, I’m a mediocre meditator. If meditation were an Olympic event, I would not be invited to participate. No one would ever pick me to be on their meditation team. 

At home, I sit in a chair when I meditate. When I go to a group meditation and sit on a cushion with my back unsupported, mostly what I try not to think about is how uncomfortable I am sitting on a cushion with my back unsupported. 

I try to convince myself to sign up for a meditation retreat. How disagreeable to sit in silence for hours or even days. To take a break from all my creature comforts and submit to discomfort, boredom, probably hunger sounds so unpleasant. It’s not like they’re offering a chocolate milkshake with their inner peace. 

The idea of going someplace where where the participants are trying to deepen their understanding of self and increase their well-being terrifies me. It all sounds so serious and a little depressing. I suppose my resistance stems from a fear of the uncomfortable and the unknown. If I knew I could survive or even enjoy a meditation retreat, it’s possible I might sign up for one. 

People might say: Stay tuned.

Position Yourself for Success

Karen asks: I’m a larger person. Do you have suggestions for meditating in positions other than on a comfy chair?

Yes. Of course. Lying down, legs crossed in double lotus position on a cushion, one leg bent with ankle pressed against thigh and other leg stretched long either with back supported by a wall or unsupported, feet flat on the ground and butt on a hard chair. Whatever position works for you is the perfect position in which to practice meditation. That is strictly my opinion and not the opinion of many a practitioner. 

After I'd been meditating for a few months, I attended a class in the Brahmrishi Yoga tradition in meditation and philosophy taught by a well regarded teacher. He'd studied in India with an even more regarded teacher, a swami who had reached enlightenment, something it seemed everyone in this class was very much interested in achieving.

Meditation was an enigma and as far as I could tell, our teacher was not interested in making it any less mysterious. The other students were a mix between meditators who had already studied with this teacher and those who were just beginning to try to crack the meditation code. There was a lot of discussion about how difficult it was to stop the distracting and continuous parade of thoughts in our heads and some advice as to how the repetition of a mantra word could be used to tidy up the mind clutter. This teacher's path to meditation required a strict adherence to difficult tasks that might eventually, if practiced enough, lead to Nirvana.

The first thing we were instructed to do as we began to meditate was to sit cross-legged on cushions, our backs unsupported. If your nose started to itch, you were not to scratch. As thoughts formulated in your mind, you were to repeat the phrase sohum (pronounced so-hung), a Sanskrit word loaded up with mystical properties. 

Of course, my nose itched as soon as I closed my eyes and within two or three minutes, my back started to throb. I repeated the mantra over and over and tried to avoid concentrating on not scratching my nose or rearranging my legs to better support my back. The Sanskrit mantra did not allow me to transcend my discomfort. When the twenty minutes of meditation had finally passed, I opened my eyes wondering if the other students would admit they had been as uncomfortable as I had been.

Some did, although they assigned more blame to themselves than I thought necessary. Sitting in an uncomfortable position is painful and although perhaps one day we may find ourselves in a position where we can meditate without regard to the physical sensations in our bodies, it may not be productive to start out that way. 

I sense Karen might think the comfy chair method of meditation is not quite a respectable way to meditate. That somehow to meditate authentically requires a specific posture andmindset few of us are capable of achieving. I can't say whether sitting uncomfortably increases the quality of your meditation. I don't do it so I don't know. The first couple years of my practice I sat on a couch with a pillow under my feet to bring the floor closer. I'm not large, but I'm short. The pillow helped. Now I usually sit in a cross-legged position on my bed, my back resting against the head board. 

Occasionally I meditate in the overstuffed arm chair I inherited from my grandfather. It is an important piece of furniture (ball in claw wooden arms and legs) and the place he would go when he wanted to relax. I can picture him perched in his chair, smoking a cigarette, jet white hair swept straight back and looking at me as I entered the room as if I were amiracle. I find security in Grandpa's chair and I fit quite nicely with my legs crossed, but my legs are short and this works for me. For now. 

I am far from the poster girl for meditation. The image of the blissed out chick in yoga pants, sitting straight and unsupported on a cushion --that's not me. If that position works for you, I'm impressed. But if you're starting a meditation practice to impress me, you can do the comfy chair method and I'll still admire you. 

Truthfully, I'm kind of a sloppy meditator and casual about my practice except for one thing: I sit in stillness for twenty minutes just about every day. 

Whatever you can do, Karen, to make this a less awkward and more accessible practice is excellent. What I do, I do not consider difficult. I believe in sitting (or lying if that works for you) in any position that makes it easy to sit in stillness. 

Make it less awkward, make it less stressful, meditate comfortably, but meditate. 

Might I Suggest?

As a lawyer, I’m trained to give advice only when I’m being paid for it. Lawyers are counselors. We dispense advice based on facts and on law. Clients are free to follow or not follow the advice they receive. On the other hand, I've always been fascinated with advice columns— Dear Sugar (Cheryl Strayd’s fabulous online column at The Rumpus), Carolyn Hax (Washington Post), Lena Dunham (Ask Lena on You Tube). Check them out if you're not familiar. It's the compassion which most impresses me. These women take life questions from others and apply their experiences to guide the advice seekers in a thoughtful and provident way. I don't think I could ever do what these counselors do, although it fascinates me.

But I do have a passion to help others develop a meditation practice and I have opinions, strong opinions, about how accessible meditation is and how it's possible for anyone to do. And I know there are people searching  for a way to develop a practice and are looking for advice on how to do that. Still I get a little queasy about giving advice. Suggestions are more to my liking. Suggestions are softer than advice. So, in my hope to make meditation a little less intimidating, I invite your questions and I'll do my best to make thoughtful suggestions. 

When it comes to teaching meditation, the answers to my students’ questions come from my own experiences. What works for me may or may not work for you, but if you’re interested in hearing about what works for someone with a cluttered and chaotic mind just like yours, I invite you to ask me your questions.

This question was recently posited by Karen who is trying to cultivate a meditation practice.

So often when I sit, I get very distracted by worries, and I can’t just acknowledge them and watch them waft away. The worries are about important things. Do you have any advice for calming down, for a beginner?

There are two parts to Karen's question. The first is that she is immediately distracted by worries. The second is that these are not just any worries. These are important worries. 

In my experience, as soon as I sit down to find stillness, the first thoughts to alight in my brain are pesky, negative, critical thoughts. Sort of a worry/criticism combo. Here’s a typical thought to pop up when I first sit down: “You idiot. You forgot to go to the bank. AGAIN.” Have I ever approached the stillness and immediately found a moment of peace, of greatness, of joy? No, I don’t think so. I often hear the loopy tape of conversations that never have and never will occur. When he said that if I would have said this, then he would have said that, and then I would totally have had the opportunity to say this thing I will never have the opportunity to say. Or will I? Can I manipulate the next conversation to provide me the opportunity to say this most brilliant and poignant comment that will finally and totally explain to him why he is so wrong? Of course not.

Karen, your worries are distracting and will always be distracting. The issue is how to accept the distraction without judgment. Observe the worry thoughts. See what emotional response you feel in your body. Do you feel a tightness in your heart? A buzz in your head? Breathe. Repeat whatever phrase you've chosen as a mantra to coax the thought away. The worry may subside for a moment. Be proud of this tiny bit of success.

This is my suggestion based upon my personal experience. Pesky critical thoughts are familiar to me. I know these thoughts better than any other kind of response in my head or my body. The voice that chastises me is the most familiar voice in my head. I know this inner critic isn’t going anywhere, but if I concentrate on my breath and my mantra, I can often get it to take a little break knowing that it has permission to come back later. It’s like your crazy Uncle Harry. He often gets drunk, he frequently says the wrong thing, but he’s still invited to Thanksgiving dinner. I observe the criticisms and the worries and I TRY not to become involved with them. This experience of observing thoughts as opposed to thinking thoughts is a radical thing to do and is very powerful.

The other part of the question is that these worries are about important things. Important things deserve important time. Sometimes before I meditate I’ll ask for an answer to an important question. This doesn’t mean I concentrate on the question or try to think about the answer. I simply ask the question and observe whether or not an answer materializes. Sometimes I think of something brilliant while I’m meditating. Something very important and a perfect little ball of words or a precise way to phrase something. I’ll think of it a couple of times. I make a promise to myself to come back this thought later and I keep my promise. This is a bit of a trick and it’s important to find a way to trust yourself to come back to these important thoughts or worries. Trust takes time to develop.

The power of meditation is that it gives you a short break from the worries that plague you. It’s a reboot. Just like with anything electronic, the easiest way to fix a problem is to simply turn off the machine and then turn it back on. Power it down, then restart. It’s simple and you don’t need to be an expert to do it.