What it means to be mindful

Lately I've been thinking about the terrorist attacks in Paris. Don't worry, I'm not going to get into Middle Eastern politics or whether Islam is an inherently violent religion, although I did have an lively discussion with a Muslim friend about this topic the other day. What I want to talk about is mindfulness, as hokey as it sounds.

Mindfulness seems to be a fad lately, but I've been taking it pretty seriously these days. It started as something to help me during a period of high anxiety, and now I'm finding it is really a way of life. If I did nothing more than work on being more mindful for the rest of my life, it would have a profound impact on everything I do and everyone I encounter. In fact, it already has.

Mindfulness is more than meditating or focusing on the present moment, although those are important components of the practice. The part of mindfulness that I've been working on is reactivity — my automatic assumptions and knee-jerk reactions to things that happen to me throughout a given day. I'll give you an example.

Recently I was shut out of an important meeting at work. The person who had given me permission to attend the meeting had apparently not checked with other important people in the meeting. So when I arrived, all smiles, I was essentially greeted with "What are you doing here?" The person who had given the approval for me to attend was not there yet, and as I tried to explain to the person kicking me out, I felt myself becoming hot with indignation. My voice grew louder, my stance aggressive, my tone defensive.

I caught myself right in the middle of this escalation and tried to take a few deep breaths. Nobody was going to die if I didn't attend this meeting. Except, of course, my ego, which was feeling quite threatened. As I focused on trying to calm down, my breathing slowed and I began to regain my composure.

Mindfulness: One step at a time.

The person who had approved my attendance at the meeting then arrived and quickly became engaged in a series of hushed conversations with those objecting to my presence. Waiting on the sidelines, knowing I was the hot topic of discussion was not fun. Yet I stood there, soaking in the discomfort, waiting to see what would happen.

The person who had given me approval then pulled me aside and said she had made a mistake. Others were uncomfortable with me being there because of the sensitivity of what would be discussed, and I would need to leave. I took a deep breath and explained again the purpose of my attendance. More sidebar conversations ensued. Then they decided I could stay for the first hour of the meeting, but no more. I agreed and took a seat.

I had calmed down but still felt rattled and upset, generating a good amount of anger that I chewed on for about a week. The difference was I didn't say anything more to those involved in the meeting. I didn't make the situation worse. Instead, I sat with the judgments the incident had kicked up. This is what they said:

This firm doesn't value me. 
They have no idea how talented I am. 
I'm never going to get the respect I deserve. 
What a bunch of idiots.

Those thoughts ran through my head on a loop, fueling my self righteousness and distain. It was the perfect material for building a big, fat, juicy resentment, and I was well on my way.

Except this time I was on to myself. This time I was aware of the thoughts that were trying to keep me mad. This time I was also thinking things like, If I don't get access to the meeting, oh well... If they don't think it's a good idea for me to be there, that's on them.

I also started to think about the fact that not everyone would react the way I had. Some people would have just shrugged their shoulders and walked away. How I was thinking, feeling and acting was a choice. I didn't have to buy into the fight my body and mind were calling me to engage in, a habit I've developed to protect myself nearly all of my life.

So I didn't.

It took support from trusted friends, believe me. But I didn't react. I didn't make things worse. That's the thing about mindfulness. It makes a distinction between suffering and pain. Pain is inevitable, you can't avoid it. Getting shut out of a meeting is painful. So is losing a loved one or becoming ill. But how I think about the situation is what will determine if I suffer. That is the part of the process I can learn to rein in.

Here's the other thing about reactivity. It comes with a cost. I've lost friends, jobs, self respect and probably 1,000 other things I'm not even aware of because of it. People don't like when you yell at them or become aggressive. Even worse, it doesn't work. The other person is so busy reacting to my tone and body language they can't even hear what I'm saying. What's the point of that?

The point was self protection. Because here's the other thing. I worry if I'm not clear about the effect someone's actions are having on me, if I'm not loud about the fact THEY WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THIS, what is the alternative? Will I end up becoming a doormat? Do I have to be all chill and stoner-like, as in "Dude, no worries. It's cool....it's cool."

No way.

That wouldn't be respectful of myself or others. Being passive is its own trap. Fortunately, there is a middle way: being assertive. Stating my position without getting overly emotional. Sharing my feelings without freaking out. Taking a break when I am overheating. Getting the support I need to process whatever is going on. Then, when I'm ready, responding to the circumstances.

A week after I was shut out of the meeting, I did revisit the situation with my boss (he wasn't there when it happened, but had played a small part). I asked him questions to fill in gaps in my knowledge of the circumstances. He told me some things that reaffirmed that it wasn't personal. More a situation of red tape. We would lay better groundwork next time, he said. And we started to discuss a plan. I felt a hundred times better. The resentment loop in my head stopped.

What does any of this have to do with Paris? Good question. It comes back to a bumper sticker that was popular back when I was in college in Boulder, which said, "Peace begins at home." When I first learned of the attacks in Paris, I felt helpless and hopeless. I wondered if we would ever be able to achieve anything resembling world peace. I worried that it's not worth bringing children into this world where they could be killed attending a rock concert or eating outside a restaurant. I felt scared.

So I came back to the only thing I can control: how much violence I contribute to the world through unkind words, criticism, judgment, impatience, selfishness and other unpleasantness. According to one of my favorite spiritual teachers, Pema Chodron, learning to be less reactive isn't just something I should do for my own well-being, but for the greater good of the world. In her short, insightful book, Taking the Leap, she writes:

For many, spiritual practice represents a way to relax and a way to access peace of mind. We want to feel more calm, more focused; and with our frantic and stressful lives, who can blame us? Nevertheless, we have a responsibility to think bigger than that these days. If spiritual practice is relaxing, if it gives us some peace of mind, that's great — but is this personal satisfaction helping us to address what's happening in the world? The main question is, are we living in a way that adds further aggression and self-centeredness to the mix, or are we adding some much-needed sanity?

Pema suggests starting with something as simple as traffic, working with how irritated we get about other people's driving habits. She says if we don't practice with the smaller annoyances, when the big crisis comes, we won't have enough experience sitting with the discomfort of non-reaction to resist falling into old habits.

I try to keep this is mind not only at work, but when I'm frustrated with the kids, Dave, family members or myself. I am far from perfect at it. But perfection is not what it's about. It's about the willingness to notice what I'm feeling, take a few breaths and relax into it, then respond. It's simple, but not easy. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go meditate.