No Feeling is Final

When we're depressed, anxious, or otherwise feeling bad, it's often compounded by the belief that our mood is stable or permanent. Even if we remember that we felt differently yesterday, and logically conclude that we'll probably differently again tomorrow, it doesn't seem that way in the moment. 

I'm reading a book on mindfulness and psychotherapy (see sidebar), and a sentence that addresses the fear of enduring emotion jumped out at me: “No feeling is final.” I love it! It’s from a Rainer Maria Rilke poem (copied below) and it made my day. I happened to be feeling sad at that moment, and was pleased and relieved to be reminded that emotions are transient by nature.

Emotions trick us with their pain and intensity. We can feel so angry, so depressed, and so scared that it seems implausible that we'll ever feel differently. "No feeling is final" reminds us that emotions will move through and move on if we let them, easing the unnecessary secondary emotion (e.g., fear about anxiety; anxiety about anger). That doesn’t mean that the intense anxiety you feel during breakfast won’t return at lunchtime--or even as you do the breakfast dishes--but it does mean that the world has other emotions in store for you: sadness, happiness, envy, exhilaration, less intense or more intense anxiety, and a whole host of other feelings. The current emotion is not your new life. 

The next time you're displeased with your current emotional state, remember: no feeling is final.

---

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rest in the Not-Knowing

One of my clients is going through a period of uncertainty in several areas of his life. He's trying to determine whether or not to sell his business; he and his partner are trying to decide whether or not to try to adopt a child; and they are considering moving to another city. None of the issues are near resolution, and my client finds the uncertainty difficult to tolerate.

During our session this week, I suggested that he try to "rest in the not-knowing and see what happens." My comment startled me a bit because I don't usually say things like that. Rather, I'm likely to help clients weigh the advantages and disadvantages of each option, or to guide them in exploring the thoughts and feelings associated with each possibility. This time, I surprised myself even further by following up with "When we make space for not-knowing--rather than frantically trying to allevaiate our discomfort by settling matters immediately--possibilities that might not otherwise present themselves can bubble up to the surface."

As different as this is from some of my other therapy interventions, I'm confident that it's true. Last week I attended a six-day silent retreat, during which there was nothing to do but meditate. During this exceptional week, my mind and body were free from their usual tasks of working, socializing, shopping, cooking, exercising, organizing, planning, and scheduling. Thus liberated, my mind came up with a collection of new and helpful ideas and insights, none of which had surfaced over the course of prior months and years of stressful contemplation and rumination.

When I shared this experience with my client, he remembered that during his three-week vacation over Christmas, he had made a deliberate effort to limit his rumination over a work problem that had been causing him grief for months. He reported that the spaciousness of mind created by that decision had resulted in significant insights that allowed him to consider the situation with greater clarity, and to perceive options that hadn't been mentally available to him before. He concluded our session by assigning himself the therapy homework of tolerating not-knowing, rather than one of our usual CBT assignments like recording thoughts or making a list of pros and cons.

We can't go on a meditation retreat or take a four-week vacation every time we're facing a big decision, so how is the idea of tolerating not-knowing applicable in everyday life? The answer is that even without a retreat or a vacation, we can create mental spaciousness by sometimes choosing to put aside our lists of pros and cons and our step-by-step plans for arriving at a resolution. This choice protects the mental real estate that, given the chance, could house an insight or a creative solution.

The next time you notice that your mind is caught in endless or unhelpful speculation and deliberation, see if you can instead create some mental space for yourself by tolerating not-knowing. What happens? 

Something Will Happen

Take a second to think of the last time you were stressed out and plagued by what ifs? "What if I miss my flight?" "What if I hit 'reply all' instead of 'reply' on that last email?" "What if no one likes the dessert I made for the party?" "What if I made the wrong decision to end my relationship?"

Now think about what ended up happened on an occasion when your what if came true--when you did miss your flight, you did hit reply all, your dessert wasn't good, and you did break up with your partner too hastily? What happened?

You probably either caught a different flight or stayed overnight; your email overshare was probably problematic, embarrassing, or not a big deal; people probably ate your dessert or you went to the corner store to pick up ice cream instead; and you probably either got back together or got over it eventually. That is, something happened. 

In her book "Real Happiness at Work," American Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg writes that when her mind sets off a cascade of anxiety about a hypothetical scenario, she uses the phrase "something will happen" to regain her calm. I love this because it's true 100% of the time! Something always happens.

I wish I had known about something will happen last Christmas: I was taking a long trip with a connecting flight halfway across the continent and there was a blizzard on the eve of my departure. My mind frantically reiterated "What if my flight is cancelled what if my flight is cancelled what if my flight is cancelled??" As always, the answer was that, if the flight was cancelled, something would happen: I'd get a later flight, I'd fly the next day, I'd cancel the trip altogether, but no matter what, something would happen. And it did.

Something will happen also works for bigger issues. One of my friends has trying to get pregnant for a year with no luck so far. She frequently topples into the rabbit hole of "What if I don't get pregnant this month? What if I never get pregnant? What if two or three or five years from now, I still haven't gotten pregnant!" The answer is that something will happen. It might be eventual pregnancy. It might be a decision to consider adoption. It might be a change in how important pregnancy is to her. But no matter what: something will definitely happen.

Something will happen is the answer to any what if question. Next time you're fretting about being late, making a mistake, or any other what if scenario, answer your own question.

Does it help?

Impulsive Generosity

What if every time you had a generous impulse you followed it?

For many of us, generous impulses come up relatively frequently (“They said not to bring anything, but I’ll pick up a bottle of wine,” “I wonder if my mom’s still sick, I’ll call to see how she’s doing” “I could pick up the tab for both of us”). However, our generous thoughts are often immediately followed by reasons to not follow through, such as “I don’t have time” or “I can’t afford it” and sometimes by stingy reasons like “Well, what has she done for me lately?”

Last week I went to a talk by American Buddhist teacher Joseph Goldstein. One of his topics was the impact of generosity on personal happiness and quality of life. He told us that about a year ago, he decided on a new policy: every time he had a generous impulse followed by a non-generous reaction, he would simply watch the non-generous         thought--without judging the thought or himself--and then return to the original impulse and follow through. He said that, without question, this practice had substantially increased the joy and happiness in his life (and probably, the joy and happiness of others).

What would it be like to try this? 

In the past month, I had several generous impulses that I didn't follow through: “I should bring a baptism gift for my niece” followed by “She's two months old, she won't know the difference” and “I should offer to babysit for my friend's birthday so he can go out with his wife" followed by “If they need babysitter, they'll ask me.” When I look back at these instances, my reasons for not following through seem silly, untrue, or workable, and I regret my decision. 

In contrast, I can think of several instances when I did follow through on generous impulses: “I'll email my colleague to see how her PhD defence went" and "I could get my friend a copy of that book we were talking about” and it felt great. The urge to not follow through still came up ("I'm busy right now" "He'll probably order it online himself") but I did it anyway.

Think of the last time you had a generous impulse and followed through. How did it feel? What was the impact on the recipient of your generosity--and on you?

Stress Savvy

When I teach mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR) class, we spend a lot of time discussing ways that mindfulness can help us behave more adaptively when we're facing a challenge or stressor. I emphasize the idea of developing adaptive responses to stressors, rather than engaging in automatic and habitual stress reactions that invariably make things worse.

Everyone loves the idea of coping better with stressors, and most people have personal strategies that they apply during periods of particular stress; examples include exercising more, taking extra care to eat well and get enough sleep, going for a massage, spending more time with family, and spending less time with family. Such stress reduction/management strategies help us avoid slipping into the kind of automatic reactions that stress can produce (e.g., smoking, drinking, eating poorly, avoidance, withdrawal, picking fights). But the other night, one MBSR participant raised a key point: What if you don't know you're stressed out?

Good question! After all, we can't implement our stress reduction/management strategies if we aren't aware that we're stressed out. We've all had the experience of making a poor decision, hurting someone's feelings, or otherwise saying or doing something mindless or maladaptive only to later realize that we were completely stressed out at the time. This is where mindfulness enters the picture to help us know ourselves better and recognize our patterns.

Here are two questions we can ask ourselves--right now--that can help us recognize earlier that we're stressed out.

1) What are the first signs that I'm stressed out? For some people, the first sign is physical: shoulder tension, belly agitation, headache, or a feeling of pressure in the chest. For others, the first symptom of stress is mental, e.g., ruminating over an issue long after it's been resolved, getting really indignant over a minor issue. For others, the first sign is behavioural, e.g., they know they're stressed out when they find themselves eating out of the container standing up. One MBSR participant reported that his first sign is that he starts being rude to cashiers, taxi drivers, and other strangers--people he usually greets with "Hi, how are you?"

2) Under which conditions am I the most likely to get stressed out? Examples include "When I'm hungry," "When I'm tired," "Toward the end of the work week," "When I've been fighting with my partner," "When I'm in a rush," "When I feel like my authority is in question."

Knowing the answers to these two questions is mindfulness gold. If you can identify that eating out of the container is a sign that you're stressed, the next time you find yourself standing in front of the open fridge with a tub of yogurt in one hand and a spoon in the other, you'll know it's time to implement your stress reduction/management strategies. If you can identify that you're prone to mindless stress reactions when you're tired, the next time your children or loud neighbours keep you up all night, you'll know to consider how to best care for yourself the following day so you don't fall prey to mindless stress reactions.

Knowing the signs and conditions that indicate stress for us doesn't eliminate our initial stressors, but can help us avoid the added stress generated by mindless reactive behaviour.

What are your signs and conditions?

Lovingkindness

Lovingkindness is a Buddhist practice that involves wishing well to ourselves and others. It encompasses generosity, good will, friendliness, compassion, and benevolence, and is often cultivated through meditation. When I teach mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR), we do a lovingkindness meditation in the session devoted to relationships and relationship conflict. The rationale is that practicing lovingkindness helps cultivate patience, kindness, and acceptance--which can have only positive consequences for our relationships.

The lovingkindness meditation involves sitting quietly and "sending" well wishes, starting by sending them to ourselves. When I guide the meditation, I say the following phrases out loud, one by one, and participants repeat them silently.

May I be safe and protected
May I be happy and peaceful
May I be healthy and strong
May I live with ease and the joy of wellbeing

We then send lovingkindness, in turn, to someone we love, someone toward whom we feel neutral, and someone with whom we're experiencing conflict.

May he/she be safe and protected
May he/she happy and peaceful
May he/she healthy and strong
May he/she live with ease and the joy of wellbeing

I warn MBSR participants beforehand that they might not necessarily feel loving or kind during the meditation--in fact, that they may feel resistant or unwilling--but it doesn't matter. Compassion is being cultivated even if we don't feel it in the moment, and it's always interesting to observe what happens when we practice lovingkindness, even if what happens is struggle.

What's the impact of lovingkindness meditation?

Many people cry when they first send lovingkindness to themselves. Self-compassion isn't always easy and, for some, it's the first time they've ever expressly wished themselves peace, ease, and joy. MBSR participants variably describe the experience as a warm sensation in the chest; a feeling of the heart opening up; a softening; and a movement towards seeing themselves as fallible but worthy and okay.

What's more, the lovingkindness mediation seems to provoke a similar softening toward others, including people with whom we're experiencing conflict. Following the lovingkindness meditation, MBSR participants report that they feel more open and compassionate. Even if they experienced resistance to sending lovingkindness to the person causing them distress, they still feel less angry and confrontational, and more prepared to interact with that person.

How does lovingkindness work?

One way that the lovingkindness meditation seems to work is by snapping us out of the endless cycle of you jerk you idiot how could you I can't stand you. When we're angry or otherwise upset with someone, it's easy to get stuck in a cycle of rumination, telling ourselves stories about how wronged we were, how hurt we are, and how awful that person was to do what he or she did. Whether we're upset with ourselves or with someone else, sending lovingkindness forcibly snaps us out of the rumination cycle. 

A second way that lovingkindness seems to work is by interrupting our tendency to demonize others. When someone upsets us, our minds can turn him or her into a monster who is purposely trying to hurt us or make our life difficult. My experience has been that when I force myself to wish for safety and protection, happiness and health for someone who's hurt me, two things happen: First, my mind retorts I DON'T WISH THAT, I HATE HER; second, I realize that I actually do wish those basic experiences for all people--even someone who's hurt me. This realization shrinks that person from a monster back to a human who is hurt or struggling, dealing with her own issues, and probably doing the best she can--not expressly trying to hurt me or ruin my life.

Developing compassion for ourselves and others via lovingkindness makes us more accepting and forgiving, whether we're dealing with a longstanding conflict or with someone who cuts in line at the grocery store. Lovingkindness doesn't have to involve formal meditation, but can be practiced any time you're self-flaggelating or ruminating about a conflict with someone else. Simply take a quiet minute or two to repeat the phrases above to yourself, and see what happens.

NB: An extra trick that helps me develop compassion is to picture the person with whom I'm in conflict in bed at night. Imagining him curled up under the covers in his pyjamas helps me remember that he--like me, like everyone!--crawls into bed at night wearing comfortable clothes and seeks rest. He is as vulnerable and human as any other person (and is not staying up all night plotting ways to make me miserable!).

For Better or for Worse

Warning: Mindfulness isn't always fun.

Often when I recommend mindfulness practice to a friend or client, we end up talking about the joys of being more present and less distracted, the wonderful feeling of really connecting during a conversation, or the gratifying experience of actually paying attention to what you're seeing, reading, or eating. Mindfulness is associated with pleasure, and rightfully so.

Mindfulness isn't always that pleasurable, though. Being mindful involves willingness to be present and aware of all of our experience--even when it isn't fun or exciting, and isn't what we hoped for. This includes awareness of what's going with the people around us and what's happening in our environment, but it also means being aware of what's going on inside us, i.e, our thoughts, feelings, and body sensations.

But what if what's going on inside is unpleasant? Do we really want to be aware of hateful or embarrassing thoughts, unpleasant body sensations, and painful feelings? My answer is yes and here's why:

It's a beautiful sunny day and I'm working from home and actually being quite productive--yet I don't feel good. I woke up with belly and chest pain, and the physical sensations and accompanying anxious mood persisted through meditation, breakfast, errands, and several espressos. Because I've been practicing mindfulness for a few years and because I meditated this morning, I know what's wrong: I'm upset about a conflict with a friend that happened last week, an issue I thought was resolved. Because I checked in with my thoughts, feelings, and body sensations, I know that I feel sad and uncertain, that there's a paring knife slicing through my chest and something heavy and round sitting behind my belly button, and that my mind is repeating "It's your fault" over and and over.

You might be thinking that all of this sounds quite unpleasant and you're right. The physical sensations hurt, it was uncomfortable to realize that I'm still upset about the conflict, and it's irritating that the discomfort is present on an otherwise nice day. In this case, mindful awareness is only making me aware of physical and emotional pain. So why am I glad to have tuned in to it?

Despite the discomfort, awareness of my distress is worth it because the awareness
a) helps me avoid making it worse, and b) helps me decide what to do. A few years ago, if I woke up with this feeling I might have eaten an entire jar of peanut butter for breakfast, gone to work in a zoned-out state of anxiety/peanut-butter stomach discomfort, been short with my colleagues, called my sister at work to complain about my undiagnosable free-floating anxiety, come home and automatically gone for a run whether or not I felt like it, and then gone to bed and woke up feeling even worse the next day. I might even have spent time with the friend I'm in conflict with and acted passive-aggressive or self-effacing without realizing it.

In contrast, today I noticed that something was weird as soon as I woke up. I purposely selected a guided meditation designed to help me look closely at my feelings and physical sensations, which made it clearer what was wrong. I made a good breakfast, decided to work from home, and strategically chose to work in the living room rather than the kitchen to avoid my habit of mindless overeating when I'm stressed. I resisted the temptation to call my friend and frantically make amends. I'm making decisions based on the fact that I know I'm upset; in so doing, I'm exercising self-compassion and avoiding making things worse.

Mindful awareness that I don't feel well doesn't take away the not feeling well. None of this is pleasant and I would much prefer to enjoy this gorgeous day without symptoms of anxiety and without a stressful conflict. But given that this seems to be what's happening today, I'd rather know about it.

Mindfulness can be unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as mindlessness and its repercussions.

Strike When the Iron is Cold

In a conflict, is it best to strike while the iron is hot and try to identify and resolve the problem as it's happening? Or is it better to address it later, after you've cooled off a bit?
 
A couple weeks ago, I attended a mindfulness retreat. During a discussion of mindful stress management, the teacher informed us that in the moment of a stress reaction (e.g., mind racing, heart pounding, blood pressure skyrocketing), access to the rational and reasonable part of our brain is essentially cut off. While this initially seemed counterintuitive, it makes sense in evolutionary terms: When we face a threat, all of our body's resources are allocated to the fight-or-flight response, helping us either fight with all of our might or escape. Survival is the only objective and our attention narrows to focus exclusively on the threat; the part of our minds that can consider and deliberate isn't needed.

This resource allocation system is adaptive when it helps us escape from a sabre-tooth tiger or lift a car off a trapped child; however, our minds and bodies do the exact same thing when we're facing everyday hassles, delays, slights, and other stressors. Not recognizing the stress reaction, we often push forward with conflict resolution and problem-solving, making things worse. 

Earlier this week, I received what I perceived to be an unprofessional, insulting, and just plain mean email from a colleague. My body immediately launched a stress reaction--hot face, pounding heart, tensed muscles. My mind racing with righteous indignation, I dialed my colleague's number and then, remembering what I learned at the retreat, hung up and decided to step away from my desk. Sitting in the lunchroom a few minutes later, I observed what was happening in my mind ("Who does she think she is! That's so mean! After all I've done for her!") and in my body (see above), and dug around to see which emotions were present (hurt, anger, frustration). This information led me to believe that I was having a stress reaction and helped me decide to put off respond to the email for 24 hours. This decision definitely led to a more satisfying resolution of the conflict!

The concept of addressing conflicts and problems once you're temporally and emotionally removed from them isn't new. But learning that half of our brain is missing when we're in the throes of a stress reaction really hits home: It explains why it's so hard to think when we're upset and why, when we're mad or scared or sad, we can't consider alternative perspectives, and often miss information that's easy to see once the stress reaction passes. But how can you tell when you're having a stress reaction? This is where mindfulness comes in: Sit or stand still for a minute and become aware of your thoughts, emotions, and body sensations. Tune into how you're feeling and then use the data to decide what to do.

NB: Strike when the iron is cold applies equally to the other parties involved in your conflict. That is, you may be calm or have moved beyond your stress reaction but you need to be sure that the other party has too. You don't want to problem-solve or conflict-resolve with someone who's missing half their brain!

Naikan

Two weeks ago, I attended a psychiatry conference on mindfulness in cultural context. Many of the talks were about contemplative practices from cultures outside North America, and one in particular caught my attention:

The Japanese practice of Naikan (tr: inner-looking or introspection) is a structured method of reflection designed to help people broaden perspective, gain insight about themselves and their relationships, and increase appreciation of the kindnesses of others. Practicing Naikan involves sitting for long periods and reflecting on the following three questions as they relate to various significant others (e.g., parents, children, partners, friends, teachers):

What have I received from this person?
What have I given this person?
What troubles and difficulties have I caused this person?

The objective of Naikan is to generate a realistic view of our behaviour and of the give and take in our relationships. The obvious fourth question (What troubles and difficulties has this person caused me?) is purposely excluded, with the rationale that most of us are already quite adept at pinpointing and obsessing about the inconveniences caused us by others--and that our focus on this aspect of our relationships is responsible for much day-to-day stress and unhappiness. 

What happens when we practice Naikan? Research demonstrates that the practice increases our sense of connectedness with others and improves quality of life. If we once believed ourselves to be alone or to be "self-made," recognition of the kindness and contributions of others increases feelings of security, connection, and gratitude. Insight into the troubles and suffering we've caused others can create change in our behaviour and in our relationships.

In traditional Naikan retreats, practitioners sit in silent isolation for fourteen hours per day for two weeks reflecting on the three questions. This is described as a profound and life-changing experience, but when a week-long retreat isn't accessible or desirable, we can try daily Naikan. Daily Naikan practice means taking time at the end of the day to reflect on the three questions as they relate to the day’s events. What did I receive today? What did I give today? What troubles and difficulties did I cause today? Even trivial-seeming instances of give and take such as "My colleague brought me a coffee" and "I cut off a guy in traffic" are included.

Daily Naikan may not be as profound an experience as a week-long retreat, but I noticed that just keeping these questions in mind as I went about my daily life in the past two weeks changed my perspective. I was more mindful of the kindnesses I received and more aware of the hassles and difficulties I caused--with the end result that my behaviour was more flexible and more giving. I drove a friend to the airport, agreed to give a presentation as a favour to a supervisor, and offered my apartment to visiting friends so they won't have to book a hotel. I softened my stance against a colleague who gets under my skin, changed my schedule to accommodate a client, and called up friends just to see how they're doing. The first two Naikan questions helped me appreciate the love and guidance I receive and less apt to focus on the support or attention I don't receive. The third Naikan question helped me recognize times that I was needy, irritating, or rude--which will help me change my behaviour.

Thoughts?

NB: Naikan has clear parallels to the What Went Well exercise and other positive psychology exercises such as keeping a gratitude journal--and the same reported outcome: improved quality of life. Naikan can also be considered to be a form of mindfulness practice in that it involves attention and awareness, and making an effort to see ourselves and our circumstances clearly.

Sunday Neurosis

You know that creeping anxiety that develops on Sunday as the weekend draws to a close?

It's not just you! So many friends, patients, and mindfulness students have mentioned the "Sunday night feeling" recently that it merited a Google search. It turns out that Sunday-specific anxiety is a ubiquitous phenomenon: sources as diverse as Psychology Today and Victor Frankl--an Austrian psychiatrist famous for finding meaning in his concentration camp experience--have written about the Sunday feeling, with Frankl coining the term "Sunday Neurosis."

Sundays can be difficult for multiple reasons, including the following:

1) They're unstructured. Although we complain about workday constraints, many of us prefer routine and schedules. Saturdays are often filled with errands and chores, but Sunday is often a looser, lazier day--which is not comfortable for everyone.

2) We have to return to work the next day. Even if we're relatively happy with our job, the looming return to the office can be enough to stimulate apprehension. If we aren't happy at work, or left tasks undone on Friday, the Sunday feeling can intensify to dread.

3) We're still carrying childhood school anxiety. For many, the sad Sunday feeling has its roots in childhood, when we faced homework, the end of two days of play, and an early bedtime. If we were bullied or otherwise unhappy at school, Sunday night angst could intensify to outright fear.

4) We didn't accomplish all of our weekend goals--including relaxation. As Thursday and Friday roll around, we often build up our expectations of our precious two days off and generate unrealistic to-do lists. For example, we plan to--over the course of two days--catch up on reading, go to the market, visit our parents, sleep in, take the kids to the park, finally fix the leaky shower head, do a bit of freelance work, clean out the closets, and cook a couple dishes to freeze for dinner later in the week. Above all, we plan to relax and unwind--while accomplishing everything on the list above! Failure to meet our improbable goals contributes significantly to Sunday angst.

How can we decrease or manage Sunday Neurosis? Here are some solutions:

1) If your Sunday Neurosis is generated by unrealistic expectations for your two days off, try treating your weekend to-do list as a loose game plan, not a strict program. Better yet, identify two or three priorities and let go of the rest. For example: this weekend I will grocery shop, have dinner with a friend, and call my mom. Or: this weekend I will clean the bathroom (not the whole house), register the kids for summer camp, and take one hour to sit and read for pleasure.

2) If your angst is generated by the unstructured nature of Sundays, make a loose schedule for your day. For example, plan to go to the gym in the morning, catch up on personal email in the afternoon, and do laundry after supper before relaxing with an hour of TV. You don't have to schedule every minute of your day, but a general plan can alleviate anxiety created by lack of structure.

3) If your Sunday Neurosis is related to the upcoming return to the rush of the week, consider ways you can use your day to alleviate weekday stress. You might feel better about Monday if you took some time on Sunday to do laundry, make lunches, run errands, and otherwise prepare for the upcoming week. Getting the household to bed on time can also help.

4) If your Sunday stress is the result of a focus on Monday, try practicing mindfulness. Monday may feel looming, but today--now--is actually still the weekend. If your Sunday feeling is an echo of grade-school angst, remember that today--now--is 2013 and you're not in grade six anymore. Don't miss what could actually be a lovely day off by launching your mind back to elementary school or forward to tomorrow.

5) If your Sunday Neurosis stems from the upcoming return to work, consider some of the things you like about your job or are looking forward to. Are you going for lunch with colleagues this week? Finally submitting a big project?

6) If work-related Sunday apprehension persists, take the time to identify what is making you unhappy about your job and whether or not you can do something about it. For example, if having to be at work at 8am on Monday triggers your Sunday angst, can you negotiate to arrive at 9am and stay an hour later? If you feel isolated at work, is there a way to introduce more social contact into your workday?

Any combination of these strategies may be helpful in treating the uncomfortable Sunday night feeling. Since we tend to believe that our neuroses constitute a personal and idiosyncratic problem, just knowing that Sunday Neurosis is a common and known phenomenon may be helpful for some.

What's your strategy?

Stress Reduction for Normal People

Last post, I wrote about the benefits of taking time out for relaxation, meditation, or other forms of non-productive downtime. But what if you want to be less stressed, and more relaxed and mindful in everyday life without setting aside time to officially relax or meditate?

Here are a few simple things that I've been trying lately:

1) Not jaywalking. A lot of us automatically cross the street as soon as it's clear, regardless of the colour of the traffic light. Last year, as part of a one-month mindfulness challenge, I resisted jaywalking for 30 days, and enjoyed it. I recently returned to this practice and have concluded that not jaywalking decreases stress and promotes relaxation and mindfulness in three ways: a) It's relaxing to realize that no matter how rushed you feel or how important your destination, you actually can afford to wait twenty seconds for the light to change; b) The twenty seconds of waiting at a red light is an opportunity to get out of your head, check out your surroundings, and ground yourself in the present (I sometimes say to myself things like "Here I am, this Tuesday morning at 9:15 in March 2013, walking to the bus stop"); c) It's relaxing to cross the street without having to suddenly sprint to avoid a car that came out of nowhere.

2) Going out without your phone. I'll admit this usually only happens by mistake, but it's undeniably relaxing. Cell phones are really good at taking us out of the present moment. When I pass an adorable kitten in an apartment window, I can notice and appreciate it and experience an awesome moment of kittenness. When I take out my phone to take a photo of the kitten and text it to my sister with a cute comment, I'm no longer present. Similarly, if you're having brunch with a friend but keep checking your phone for updates on dinner plans, you're not really experiencing brunch with your friend because your mind is already at dinner. Not having your phone on you can admittedly be inconvenient sometimes, but there are few things that actually can't wait; wouldn't it be nice to sometimes, instead of returning a call or posting on Instagram while we wait for the bus, actually just... wait for the bus?

3) Moving more slowly. If you don't jaywalk or engage in compulsive cell phone use, you probably still have the nearly universal habit of moving more quickly when you're stressed. I observed this on a recent morning when I was rushing around trying to eat breakfast, pack my lunch, brush my teeth, and get out the door. My movements were speedy and frantic and inefficient (e.g., picking things up and putting them down in the wrong room, banging my shoulder on the door frame), and I realized that moving my body on fast-forward was reinforcing the URGENT! LATE! message from my mind, amplifying my stress. In moments like this, simply returning to a normal pace lets your body send your mind a different message, instantly decreasing stress. 

Let me know how these work out!

Dying to Relax

One of my mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR) students has three kids, a husband, and a demanding job. On occasion, she stops at a cafe on her way home from work to have a cup of tea and take a 30-minute breather before launching into her evening of dinner, homework, lunches, and bedtimes. When she makes the stop, she notices that she feels relaxed and grounded afterwards, and that she's more patient and present with her husband and kids. Despite the obvious benefits of the cafe pit stop, she hasn't made it a regular habit; it's too hard to justify "doing nothing" for half an hour when she could be completing one more task at work or getting a head start on dinner before her husband gets home. It feels indulgent, selfish, and like a waste of time.

This client isn't the only person who finds it hard to be unproductive for a few minutes, or who feels like they simply don't have time to relax. Friends, patients, and MBSR students struggle to find a few minutes per day to breathe, meditate, read, or simply be. So do I. How can we spend fifteen minutes sitting quietly and watching our breath when we have emails to send, texts to answer, and dishes to wash? How can we read a novel when we have a backlog of articles to read for work and the laundry isn't done? Not only is there a lot to do, but often each item on our to-do lists feels absolutely urgent--as if it needs to be checked off right this minute.

Even though we intuitively know that down time is good for us, many of us are unaccustomed to being unproductive, and find relaxing difficult to prioritize. When you're struggling between sending one more email and having a quiet cup of tea before bed, or between your morning meditation and getting to work a few minutes early, consider the following:  

a) Non-productivity is productive. The minutes you "waste" relaxing or meditating return to you several-fold in productivity. The relationships between relaxation and productivity and between meditation and productivity are well established--but research aside, most of us have experienced how much better we work when we're relaxed, when we're well rested, when we're able to focus. This is one reason that successful companies like Google, Sun Life, Ford, General Mills, and Twitter have established mindfulness training programs for employees.

b) Dying to relax. In his book Wherever You Go, There You Are (WYGTYA; see right sidebar), MBSR founder Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to meditation as "dying" to the world for a few minutes. He reminds us that if we died right this minute, our personal agenda would dissolve immediately. That is, some of our projects would be absorbed by others, but most of our oh-so-important goals and must-be-done-right-this-second tasks would simply evaporate. JKZ says "So if this is true, maybe you don't need to worry about it in any absolute way. Maybe you don't need to make one more phone call right now, even if you think you do. Maybe you don't need to read one more thing or do one more errand. Stopping for a few minutes--dying on purpose--to the rush of time, you free yourself to actually have time for the present. You become more alive now, and once you do decide to go again, it's more deliberate, more vivid, richer."

I love this! A friend recently reminded me of this passage from WYGTYA, and I used it the other night: I was getting ready for bed after an evening of baking, and as I turned out the kitchen light long past my bedtime, I noticed that there were still crumbs on the kitchen table. As I picked up the dishcloth, I stopped to ask myself what would happen if I died and the table didn't get a second wipe. Answer: nothing. Result: I put down the dishcloth and got in bed. Reminder: sometimes you just don't need to do one more thing.

Do the ideas of productivity via relaxation or meditation, and dying to our responsibilities mean we should all spend our days relaxing, meditating, and not answering emails or cleaning up after ourselves? That our personal agendas aren't important? No, of course not. But next time you're considering eating lunch at your desk, remember that taking a real lunch break isn't a waste of time. Next time you're sending work emails from your phone while you brush your teeth before bed, consider that managing your inbox at 11pm might not be as urgent as it feels.

NB: If you want to try adding ten minutes of mindfulness meditation to your day but aren't sure how, I recommend this free and easy guided program. 

First World Problems

Are you distracted from the truth that everything is basically okay? I often am. 

I didn't get my favourite seat on the bus yesterday morning; it was snowing and there were no cabs when I left home to go out for dinner last night; I woke up this morning feeling anxious about work; a friend said something that hurt my feelings; the market didn't have the kind of cheese I wanted; and my hair doesn't look right as I'm getting ready to go out tonight.

I know what you're thinking: rough life, right? Yet each of these things bothered me, however briefly, and created annoyance or hurt or stress or disappointment.

When I teach mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR), one of the classes in the eight-week program is dedicated to coping mindfully with unpleasant emotions. In the discussion about mindful emotion regulation, we identify that negative feelings often stem from wanting--and not getting--things our way. That is, we want there to be taxis at the taxi stand, we want our favourite seat on the bus, we want our friends to be sensitive to our feelings, we want to look good all the time, and we want to be in a good mood. We want things our way.

It's easy to get so caught up in wanting what we want that the smallest deviations make us all worked up and unhappy. What's more, as soon as we get what we want, we usually want something else or something more. On the bus yesterday morning, I was initially pleased to get a seat on a very busy route that usually has standing room only. But no sooner did I sit down than I was distracted by the thought that I would prefer to sit further back. This morning I definitely was getting my way as I leisurely drank my coffee and read a magazine before heading to the gym--yet I was irritated and upset by my lingering anxiety. Although my Saturday morning was actually pretty lovely, I wanted it to be completely lovely. I wanted it my way.

What helped me snap out of it was one of the phrases we use in MBSR in the meditation related to painful emotions. Participants are asked to sit quietly and reflect on several questions, including the following: "Am I distracted from the truth that everything is basically okay?"

This question is great because in 99% of cases, the answer is YES. Yes, everything is basically okay and yes, I'm distracted from that truth. Yesterday, I was distracted from the pleasure of getting a seat on the bus by the existence of a "better" seat. Today, I was distracted from the truth that I was having a lovely morning by the prospect of the even lovelier one I wasn't having. Last night, I was distracted by the lack of cabs from the truth that I was happily headed to nice restaurant to enjoy a meal and a bottle of wine with good company. In each case, there's no question that the truth was that everything was basically okay.

The examples above are mostly minor upsets, but the lesson is equally applicable to weightier matters. Consider expecting parents, for example: All they want is for their baby to be healthy. Once a healthy child is delivered, though, it's easy to immediately switch to unhappiness with the hospital food and irritation with the grandparents, forgetting the truth that everything is basically okay. 

Asking yourself "Am I distracted from the truth that everything is basically okay?" is a genius cross between getting over yourself and counting your blessings. The next time you're fretting, moping, or seething, try asking yourself the question. If you're like me, most of the time, the answer will be yes.

Let me know what happens!

PS: You can also try "Does everything have to be perfect in order for me to be happy?"

I Love Ya, Tomorrow

Last month, I went to see Annie on Broadway. Annie is the story of a plucky orphan living in New York City during the Great Depression. She escapes from the orphanage on a quest to find her birth parents and ends up adopting a dog, meeting then-president Roosevelt, and getting adopted by a billionaire.

One of the things that makes orphan Annie so beloved is her unshakable and infectious optimism; despite being destitute and having been abandoned by her parents, she always keeps her chin up. Several times during the show, Annie belts out her signature song, Tomorrow: "When I'm stuck with a day/that's gray/and lonely/I just stick out my chin/and grin/and say/tomorrow, tomorrow/I love ya, tomorrow/you're only a day away!"

Watching the 12-year-old actress playing Annie sing her heart out at centre stage, I was overwhelmed by emotion and optimism. I decided to adopt Annie's anthem as my personal theme song, convinced that the simple wisdom of Tomorrow could help me cope with everyday hassles and major life stresses. I sang the song in my head for days, confident in its optimistic message.

The following week, a friend who had been going through a tough time called me up for tips on using mindfulness to manage strong unpleasant feelings. She told me that her current strategy was to try not to think about it, to pretend the feelings weren't there, and to tell herself that tomorrow would be a better day--but that is wasn't working.

I put on my mindfulness teacher cap and suggested a new strategy: rather than ignoring or avoiding the unpleasant emotions, I proposed that my friend try to identify and acknowledge them, and even try to cultivate curiosity about her uncomfortable feelings. I reminded her that mindfulness means accepting and working with whatever's happening in the present moment--even when we don't like it.

After we hung up, though, I felt conflicted. What about Annie? What about "I love ya, tomorrow?"  Mindfulness explicitly advocates being in the present moment, and optimism is generally future-oriented. So on bad days, can you live mindfully in the present and still comfort yourself with the prospect of better days to come?

I had to think about it, but the answer is yes. While mindfulness means residing primarily in the present moment, it doesn't mean never thinking about or looking forward to brighter days. The key is to be optimistic about the future without avoiding the present.

Example: Say you wake up feeling anxious. You head to the office as usual and dive into your work, doing your best to ignore the continued roiling in your belly and tightness in your chest. If you avoid addressing the feelings and sensations and just tell yourself that tomorrow will be better, you're being optimistic, and you may be right--you probably will feel better tomorrow--but you're also avoiding experiencing your feelings. In contrast, say that rather than plowing through the day ignoring your symptoms, you decide to use half your lunch hour to sit quietly, identify what's going on, and practice experiencing your emotions. You can still be optimistic and remind yourself that tomorrow will probably be better, but you're not avoiding your emotional experience (a strategy that doesn't usually work it the long term).

Second example: Say you and your partner are going through a rough patch. And say you reassure yourself with vague optimism about the future of the relationship, rather than exploring your feelings and identifying the problems. With this blind optimism strategy, you can avoid uncomfortable or unpleasant feelings, but the relationship problem might remain. Say that instead you optimistically hypothesize that you and your partner love each other enough to make it through a rough patch, and decide to try to identify the problem, investigate your feelings about it, and discuss it with your partner. Such optimism combined with your mindful acceptance of the problem will probably lead to an open conversation, increasing the likeliness that your hypothesis will come true.

I was relieved to determine that Now this is happening and I love ya, tomorrow are not incompatible and that I can keep Tomorrow as my bad-day theme song without renouncing mindfulness. So if you're having a tough day, go ahead and remind yourself that you probably won't feel this way tomorrow. The only catch is to not use optimism about tomorrow to avoid experiencing today--unpleasantness, discomfort, and all.

Capacity for Composure

How come one day your computer melts down and deletes half your files and you cheerfully back up the remaining files and continue your day, yet on another day you have a tantrum when someone steps on your foot on the subway? Isn't losing your files inherently more upsetting than brief foot pain? What explains the difference in reaction?

The book I'm reading (The Mindfulness Solution; see sidebar) says that "what matters for our sense of well-being is our capacity to bear experience relative to the intensity of the experience." That is, our well-being depends on the intensity of our stressors, but perhaps depends even more on our capacity to bear stress.

Example: Last week, I was waiting outside for a friend to pick me up in her car to go for brunch. It was a lovely day and my friend was doing me a favour by driving, but I found the wait intolerable and spent most of the all-of-ten-minutes fussing and fuming. Thinking about it later and taking into consideration my capacity to bear experience, I was able to identify that I had been hungry, dehydrated, underslept, and in physical pain. This explains why a non-intense stressor such as waiting for ten minutes felt intolerable. In contrast, this week I remained calm and relatively cheerful during a two-hour drive in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic to pick up a parcel from an incompetent courrier service in a distant corner of the city. I was well rested, I wasn't hungry or thirsty, and I wasn't in a rush; that is, my capacity to bear experience was high and I was able to take a deep breath, accept the traffic, and enjoy singing along with the radio.

The moral of the story is that sometimes when we're all worked up and certain that our situation is unbearable, it may simply be that our capacity to bear stressful experience is low at that moment. The good news is that we can improve our ability to bear stress and distress, both in the long term and in the moment:

In the moment: We can often increase our capacity to bear experience by decreasing physical discomfort. If you're waiting in a long line in a stuffy building, try putting down your bag and taking off your sweater. If you know that hunger makes you cranky and intolerant, carry a granola bar in your bag at all times. Use the washroom before you leave the house so you don't get stuck in traffic with a full bladder. Keep Advil in your desk at work so you don't suffer through the day with a headache. Consider calling someone to vent for a couple minutes or asking for help. Or, if you're overtired today, consider putting the situation aside until you can get a bit of sleep. Not being rushed also helps: it's easy to tolerate the bus being a few minutes late if you're not already running late for the first of five back-to-back appointments.

In the long term: Mindfulness is an attitude of acceptance, openness, and non-judgment in the present moment; mindfulness meditation--one of the primary practices through which mindfulness is cultivated-- is essentially practice bearing experience. During mindfulness meditation, you sit and pay attention to yourself and to your surroundings as they are, accepting what's happening without piling on secondary emotions and without telling yourself stories about what's happening. It's called meditation practice because it's practice for real life; when stressful situations come along, you're better equipped to bear the experience with equanimity.

Further good news: You don't have to meditate to be mindful--all you have to do is pay attention and differentiate between the fact of what's happening (e.g., my computer deleted my files; a guy stepped on my foot) and the stories we tend to tell ourselves about what's happening  (e.g., my entire life's work has been deleted; that guy has no respect).

Anecdote: Jon Kabat-Zinn

I recently attended a CBT conference where I participated in a mindfulness meditation workshop led by Jon Kabat-Zinn. Kabat-Zinn is the founder of the Center for Mindfulness and the Stress Reduction Clinic at the University of Massachusetts medical school and the founder of mindfulness-based stress reduction; he is widely credited with having pioneered the integration of mindfulness and Western medicine and psychology.

At the conference, I had the pleasure of speaking with Kabat-Zinn during the workshop lunch break.  During the hour, a small and funny incident related to mindfulness and acceptance occurred:

Kabat-Zinn, the two other workshop attendees sitting with us, and I had finished eating and were discussing mindfulness applications. It was a hot day and the noon sun was beating down on our unprotected table. After a few minutes, Kabat-Zinn suggested moving to a nearby empty table in the shade. This prompted teasing from me and the two others: after all, the non-judging aspect of mindfulness prescribes not labeling some experiences (e.g., being in the sun) as bad and others (e.g., being in the shade) as good; mindfulness also involves letting go and accepting experience as it is, rather than struggling to change things all the time.

Teasing aside, this tiny incident demonstrates an important point about acceptance and about problem-solving. Acceptance doesn't mean that you don't do anything about your problematic situation--it just means that you try to maintain a non-judgmental and relatively objective perspective about what's happening (e.g., It's really hot and sunny at this table versus Oh my God I'm melting, I'm in hell); you try to maintain an awareness of your reaction to the problem (e.g., I'm having a hard time concentrating because I'm physically uncomfortable); and if there's a reasonable solution (e.g., switching tables), you go for it.

In the problem-solving quadrant, being unable to concentrate because of the heat was a "taking charge" type of problem, and there was nothing unmindful about switching tables. If we had sat in the sun sweating and being unable to connect due to physical discomfort, we would have been mistakenly placing the problem in the "giving up" quadrant and failing to take action in a situation over which we had control.

This is a minor but poignant example of identifying the type of situation and making a mindful choice about what to do. That it happened with a renowned authority on mindfulness only makes it more fun for me to retell.

Letting Go

What is letting go?

We use the phrase "let it go" all the time, encouraging our friend to stop emailing his ex-girlfriend six months after the break-up or our partner to stop bringing up that thing we did that time. Letting go isn't easy--we're all attached to our ideas of how things should be, and we all have feelings, experiences, and relationships that we don't want to see end--but becoming too strongly attached or holding on for too long can create problems.

How does holding on create problems?

When we're holding on with all our might to a person, idea, or era, we become rigid and inflexible, and we miss out on opportunities. Think of the guy who passes up job offer after job offer while he continues to pour money into his failing start-up. Think of the former competitive gymnast who continues to train religiously into adulthood, trying to preserve her identity as an elite athlete. Think of the time you didn't enjoy a party or a vacation because you couldn't let go of your idea of how the party or the vacation should be or how you thought it was going to be.

The first step in letting go is to realize that you're holding on. There's a story about letting go that we tell in the mindfulness-based stress reduction course: in India, a clever way of catching a monkey was to attach a coconut to a tree, cut a small hole in it, and place a banana inside. The hole was large enough for a monkey to put his hand through to grab the banana, but too small for the monkey to remove his fist. All the monkey had to do to get free was to let go of the banana, but most didn't, remaining stuck to the tree. The moral of the story is that we often act like monkeys, not realizing that our own clinging is what's making us stuck.

Letting go can be exciting and liberating. The day the start-up guy files for bankruptcy is the same day he can accept an exciting new position; the day the gymnast hangs up her leotard is the same day she can register for the beginner's piano lessons she's been thinking about for years. The moment you let go of the vacation you hoped for, you can start enjoying the vacation you're having.

The next time you feel stuck, try asking yourself what's my banana? What can I let go?

Allowing

Emotions can be inconvenient. Sometimes we experience intense and difficult feelings at work, during a social occasion, or at some other awkward moment. It's not a convenient time to explore the emotions in depth or to sit and have a good cry, so what's the best strategy? Ignoring feelings? Suppressing them?

Like thought suppression, emotion suppression doesn't usually work; paradoxically, it can make feelings more intense. The trick is simply accepting that the inconvenient emotions are happening and allowing them to be present. It doesn't make feelings go away, but allowing eliminates the struggle against the feelings, freeing up your energy and attention for other things.

Here are two strategies for allowing:

1) Replace but with and. Say you're at a a great social event that you really want to enjoy, and you can't stop worrying about something stressful you have to deal with the following day. You're saying to yourself I'm at this great party, but I'm really anxious. Replacing but with and means telling yourself I'm at this great party and I'm really anxious. Whereas the original phrasing implies that there's no way you can enjoy the party with anxiety present, replacing one small word creates a new sentence that implies that the two can co-exist: you're anxious and also, the party is great.

2) Draw a picture. A client told me this story recently: At work one morning, he received a personal email that provoked intense sadness, fear, and jealousy. He tried to ignore his emotions and turn his attention to his tasks, but the feelings got stronger and stronger. The client needed to focus on his work; remembering the concept of RAIN, he decided to switch strategies and try allowing his feelings to be present. He wrote sadness, fear, and jealousy on three respective post-it notes and stuck them to the side of his computer monitor, illustrating each word with an emoticon-style face.

What happened? Emotion post-its turned out to be a great way of simultaneously defusing from emotions and allowing them to be present. The feelings/notes remained present in the corner of the client's mind/computer monitor, but the struggle to get rid of them was over, allowing him to redirect his attention. The feelings/notes became less and less distracting and after half an hour, the client was absorbed in his work. When he returned to his desk after lunch and saw the post-its, he laughed.

Neither replacing but with and or drawing a picture involves ignoring, suppressing, or denying feelings, and both strategies can help manage intense emotions at inconvenient times. Let me know if you try either of these tricks!

There's an App for That

Cognitive-behavioural psychologists encourage clients to not believe everything they think. One way to apply this suggestion is to imagine your mind as an email inbox and some of your thoughts as spam. In the same way that you don't take seriously every email informing you that you've just won £20,000,000, maybe you don't need to take seriously every thought that runs through your mind.

When you believe everything you think and react to your thoughts as though they were facts, you're experiencing what psychologists call cognitive fusion. Say I have a tough session with a client and I have the thought "I'm a bad therapist." If my heart sinks and a knot of shame forms in my belly, I'm fused with my thought--that is, I'm reacting as if the thought were a fact, rather than a mere string of words my mind created. What's problematic about fusion is that we can get so wrapped up in a fused thought that we fail to notice or incorporate any information that disconfirms it. For example, say a depressed client were fused with the thought "Life is hell." Cognitive fusion would maintain his grey-coloured glasses and prevent him from noticing anything pleasant about the world around him.

Cognitive defusion is used in psychotherapy to help clients unhook from painful and stressful thoughts. A lot of defusion techniques involve using mindfulness to see thoughts and emotions as transient external events, observing them in the same way you would observe a bus drive by or a pen fall to the floor. You might picture your thoughts like leaves on a stream, each one just floating into and then out of consciousness, or you might add the words I'm having the thought that to the beginning of your sentence, so that instead of saying to yourself "I'm an idiot," you would say "I'm having the thought that I'm an idiot." In so doing, you acknowledge that your thought is just a thought, not a fact.

Other defusion methods include saying the fused thought out loud over and over until it loses meaning, saying it in a silly voice, and singing it. I went to a conference a couple weeks ago where I attended a workshop on cognitive defusion techniques; the presenter showed us an iPhone application called Songify that he uses to help his clients defuse from thoughts. The app records you speaking, analyzes your speech, organizes it into a chorus and verses, and maps it to your choice of melody, adjusting your pitch and syncing your words with the beat. He played us a demo of a client saying "I'm a loser." It was impossible not to laugh at the electronic but melodic "I'm a loser" song and it really made the words seem like just words. Apparently the client felt the same way.

I tried Songify recently with colleague, testing some of the thoughts we sometimes find ourselves fused with. It worked! Not only did we have a good laugh, but hearing our thoughts sung out loud to a melody gave us some distance from them, letting us see them for exactly what they are--mind spam, rather than literal truths.

Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction

This winter, as part of my new job at a mindfulness and psychotherapy clinic, I lead a course in Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR). MBSR was developed by Jon Kabat-Zinn at the University of Massachusetts medical school. Mindfulness--a state of accepting and non-judging awareness and attention in the present moment--is originally a Buddhist concept, and Kabat-Zinn is credited with integrating it into mainstream medicine and psychology.

MBSR is an 8-week group course. The group meets weekly and each class involves a discussion of mindfulness as applied to a particular topic (e.g., emotions, physical pain, relationships), in-class exercises, and a guided meditation. The goal of MBSR is for participants to develop a daily mindfulness meditation practice ("formal mindfulness") and to become more mindful in daily life ("informal mindfulness").

How does mindfulness reduce stress, improve mental health, and increase quality of life?

1) Appreciation of experience. When we function on automatic pilot, we miss out on many of the moments of our lives. Mindfulness means paying attention to the depth and richness of the present moment--really noticing what's happening, with all five senses. Many MBSR participants report that they now notice things they didn't notice before, like a pretty garden they walk by every day on the way to the bus, the pleasant drumming of warm water on their back in the shower, or how good food tastes when they aren't wolfing it down.

2) Fewer symptoms of anxiety and depression. Increased focus on the present moment prevents us from spending all of our time in the past, ruminating and regretting, or in the future, inventing anxiety-provoking scenarios. In this way, mindfulness cuts out a lot of symptoms of depression and anxiety, improving mental health. MBSR participants often report that they're now quicker to catch themselves ruminating or creating scenarios, which allows them to consciously bring their attention back to the present rather than getting carried away with their thoughts.

3) Responding rather than reacting. The more attention and awareness you bring to your behaviour, the more you can notice patterns and modify automatic reactions that aren't working for you. With greater mindfulness, you might start to notice that your post-dinner trips to the fridge aren't random but rather are almost always directly preceded by feelings of loneliness or sadness; you might realize that you automatically tense up every time your boss walks by your office door, making you constantly jumpy and on edge. One MBSR participant reported that greater mindfulness allowed him to realize that his first reaction to any request or proposal--at work or at home--was "No, I can't, I don't have time" and that he often missed out on opportunities because of this automatic reaction. He began consciously giving himself 24 hours to respond to requests, cutting out his automatic reaction and giving himself the chance to consider his availability and interest and respond accordingly.

4) Decreased avoidance. Mindfulness involves bringing a receptive curiosity to all experience (e.g., "Oh look, my stomach clenched the instant the phone rang, before I even saw who was calling. What's that about?"), whether pleasant or unpleasant. Conceptualizing all of our experiences as interesting phenomena means that even doing things we dislike, fear, or avoid can be fascinating. MBSR participants report that experiences that they formerly avoided, like one-on-one time with their in-laws, public speaking, or going out to eat alone became opportunities for mindfulness awareness; they used the experience to learn about themselves by observing their physical, cognitive, and emotional responses to the situation. 

NB: Mindfulness is effortful. In MBSR, we often say that mindfulness is easy, but that remembering to be mindful is hard. No matter how many hours we meditate, there are still times when we snap at someone automatically, avoid a painful-but-necessary experience, ruminate all day, or (ahem) stand at the front door for fifteen minutes freaking out because we think we left our keys at work, without noticing that they're actually hanging in the lock directly in front of us. The good news is that each time we become aware of how unmindful we're being, it creates a "mindful moment."