Fifteen years ago, during a weeklong silent meditation retreat, our days were punctuated by the sound of a single bell. We moved between sitting meditation and walking meditation, following its invitation from dawn until evening.
I remember sitting in the meditation hall, waiting for the bell to ring so I could finally stand up and walk.
Ding.
I quietly made my way outside and found a patch of ground for walking meditation. Within minutes I was too warm and waiting for the bell to ring so I could go back inside where it was cooler.
Ding.
I settled back onto my cushion.
My back hurt, so I wanted to walk. I got hot, so I wanted to sit. Before long, I was waiting for the bell again. Every time the conditions changed, I wanted them to change again.
At some point it dawned on me that this wasn’t just happening on retreat. I did this in the rest of my life, too. I was forever leaning toward whatever came next, convinced it would somehow be better than what was here now. The next project. The next vacation. The next thing on my to do list. I could suddenly see how much of my life was spent getting through this moment in order to
arrive at another one.
Once I saw it – I was in choice.
Fifteen years later, I still catch myself believing that somewhere out there is a version of life where everything finally settles down. My inbox is under control. The people I love are doing well. My meditation is deep. My body feels good. Work is humming along. I’ve finally figured it all out.
It’s a surprisingly persistent fantasy.
And yet, my practice has changed me. I react less quickly than I used to. I’m more likely to pause before sending an email I’ll regret. I’m more willing to say no, even when it disappoints someone. I’m less likely to call myself an idiot when I make a mistake.
It reminds me of raising my daughters. Just when I thought I’d learned how to navigate one stage with some degree of wisdom, they grew into another. The skills I had developed were still valuable, but they weren’t enough for what came next. Every season required something different.
Then, when the girls left home, I found myself caring for aging parents. This time the journey was moving in the opposite direction. Instead of becoming more independent, they gradually needed more support. And just when I thought I’d found the right balance, their needs changed again.
Life keeps asking me to begin again; to be fully where I am without the delusion that if I could just Get The Thing, I’d be happy. Forever.
In our MBSR classes, we explore Styles of Distorted Thinking together. These are habits of mind that can come in and take us off track when we meet adversity. We look at our tendency to take everything personally, blame ourselves or others, or spin out the worst case scenario. We usually have a good laugh along the way; it’s always a relief to hear that others are being run around by these distortions, too.
This flavor that I’m talking about – waiting for the bell to ring – isn’t on the official list, but it is certainly on mine. I see it when stress arrives: Aha! Once again, I’m waiting for life to be different than it is. I’m in that fantasy that if I just figure this thing out then it’ll be smooth sailing.
And every time I notice, I have the same opportunity I had on that retreat fifteen years ago. To begin again.
That’s what we practice on the cushion. We notice the mind has wandered. We gently invite it back. No criticism. No gold stars. A wry smile. And a sense of friendliness to this one, right here.
It’s Sunday morning as I write this. I’m sitting on the front porch of an Airbnb several hours from home. We spent the night here with our kids for a family wedding. There’s construction on our route home. One daughter has left. One is still asleep. And here is that pull – wanting the bell to ring. Wanting to GO. Beat the traffic. Get on the road. But also to savor this time. There actually is no action to take right in this moment.
There is a choice, though: Be restless and antsy and keep mentally wrestling with what time to leave. Or, look up. Notice the heron that just flew past, listen to the geese calling, feel the summer breeze on my face. Acknowledge the bit of tension in my belly.
These days I’m the one leading the retreats. I often say that it doesn’t matter so much WHAT you’re doing, but HOW you’re doing it. Pushing through to get to the next thing – or softening into right now.
On or off the cushion, we lose our balance. We get caught in old habits. We imagine that happiness is waiting just around the corner if only the conditions would cooperate. What’s so wonderful about our practice is that If we’re paying attention, we notice it – and we can choose to begin again. Leaning into this moment, right here, in all of its messiness and confusion, its simplicity and small joys. Not listening for the bell, but letting this moment ring.