If you prefer to watch rather than read, the video version is posted below.
When I work with others or speak to groups, I try to be clear about something:
I am still very much a work in progress.
When I talk about mindfulness or meditation practice, I do not want anyone imagining that I am somehow floating above the group like some kind of meditation guru. That is not my life.
I can still be sarcastic and short with my wife. I can still get frustrated when things are not going my way. I can still catch myself expecting my dog to know exactly what I want from her, as if she were not, in fact, a dog.
And one place I really notice my anxiety rising is when I am trying to work on something tech-related and it just will not cooperate.
Trying to set up a reflection or fix what should be a simple problem and running into one glitch after another.
A frozen screen. An app acting up. Something disappearing.
I can feel myself getting locked in. Tunnel vision. Everything else fades out until I can get it to work the way I want.
It does not take much before I can feel my serenity slipping.
What has changed is something quieter.
I catch it sooner now.
I notice the tension building. I notice that urge to force things and make the moment go differently than it is going. And when I notice it, I get a chance to begin again.
Not dramatically. Not perfectly. Just honestly.
Maybe that means stepping away for a minute. Taking a breath. Letting the moment be what it is.
That, to me, is what practice looks like.
I touched on something similar in Learning How to Stay, where I reflected on what it means to stop running from discomfort and simply come back to the life that is here.
I used to think that if I had to keep coming back to the same lessons, something must be wrong. Now I see it differently.
Beginning again is not proof that we are failing. It may be one of the most ordinary parts of change.
Because this is real life. We get frustrated. We get reactive. We get tired. We get thrown off by small things.
And then, if we are paying attention, we get another chance.
Another chance to soften. Another chance to come back without turning it into a personal failure.
Real growth, at least in my life, has not looked heroic. It has looked repetitive.
Notice. Pause. Reset. Try again.
Again and again.
In ordinary moments.
In real life.
Wishing you a peaceful and grounded day.
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