Health Journal Online

Category: Mental Health

  • Mindfulness and the Rise of Analog Living

    Mindfulness and the Rise of Analog Living

    I recently walked into an abstract art class for the first time. I’m not a painter. I had no idea what I was doing. I stood in front of a blank canvas with a brush in my hand and a small, anxious voice in my head asking, What now?

    With encouragement from the passionate teacher, I dipped the brush in the paint, touched it to the canvas, and watched a streak of colour appear. The voice in my head got a little softer. The studio smelled of turpentine and quiet joy. I could hear the bristles dragging across the surface. There was no algorithm telling me what to do next. No notification. No metric of success for once. Just the paint, the canvas and whatever was about to happen.

    I left that first painting class feeling something I hadn’t felt in a while: fully engaged. Not because I’d done nothing, but because, for three whole hours, there had been nowhere else to be.

    I left that first class feeling something I hadn’t felt in a while: fully engaged. Not because I’d done nothing, but because, for three whole hours, there had been nowhere else to be.

    It turns out I’m not the only one feeling this. Quietly, all around us, something is shifting.

    Revisiting analog living: a cultural turn

    People are buying film cameras again—not because they can’t afford digital, but because they actually want the grain. They want the uncertainty of not knowing how the photo turns out. They’re filling their bags with paper journals and puzzle books and leaving their phones in their pockets. Searches for analog hobbies have surged. Sales of film photography equipment have more than doubled since 2020. Craft kits are flying off the shelves. There’s even a viral trend called the Analog Bag—a curated little collection of essentials (a journal, a puzzle book, a film camera, a magazine) so that when your hand reaches for something to occupy itself, it finds something other than your phone.

    Forbes has called this the year of Analog Living. Design platforms are calling it the year of imperfect visuals: grain, hand-drawn lines, messy textures. Interior designers have moved from sterile minimalism to what they call dopamine decor: bold colours, personal heirlooms, physical collections that make a room feel something rather than merely photograph well.

    A phrase that caught my attention recently is brain wealth. This is the idea that mental longevity comes from slow, attentive activities: long-form reading, writing by hand, making something with your hands. One survey found that around a quarter of Brits are actively looking for creative, non-digital hobbies specifically to help them switch off after work.

    That’s a quarter of a country quietly raising its hand and saying, Something isn’t quite right with the way I’m living.

    Why a brush in your hand changes things

    Here’s what struck me in the abstract art class. The information available to me was, in one sense, far less than what’s available on my phone. There’s no infinite scroll. I won’t find tutorials autoplaying. There’s an obvious absence of comments and likes. And yet I felt more, not less. More awake. More here.

    Every piece of digital technology we use has been brilliantly, expertly designed to remove friction. To make things faster, smoother, more seamless. You don’t have to wait or be patient. You don’t have to sit with uncertainty. On the surface, that sounds wonderful.

    But here’s the thing: some friction is the point.

    Why does holding a physical book feel different from reading the same words on a screen? Why does a handwritten letter land differently than an email of identical content? Why does a grainy, slightly imperfect photograph feel more alive than a flawless high-resolution image?

    I think one answer is friction.

    Every piece of digital technology we use has been brilliantly, expertly designed to remove friction. To make things faster, smoother, more seamless. You don’t have to wait or be patient. You don’t have to sit with uncertainty. On the surface, that sounds wonderful.

    But here’s the thing: some friction is the point.

    When you wind a film camera, you only have thirty-six photos. That constraint forces you to actually look before you press the shutter. When you write by hand, you can’t type as fast as you can think—so you slow down, choose your words, dwell in a thought rather than blasting through it. When you stand in front of a canvas with a brush in your hand, the paint doesn’t care that you’re running late or that your inbox is full. It simply is what it is, and it asks for your full attention.

    In mindfulness, we sometimes call this beginner’s mind. The quality of meeting something freshly, without the overlay of habit or expectation. Analog activities seem to invite beginner’s mind almost by default. There’s no algorithm predicting what comes next. There is only this moment, and what you do with it.

    The deeper question to hold in our awareness

    Now, I could stop here and tell you to go and buy a film camera or sign up for a pottery class. And that wouldn’t be bad advice! But I want to go a layer deeper, because I think this cultural shift is pointing at something that no number of analog hobbies can fully resolve on its own.

    Here’s the question I keep returning to:

    Who is the one who wants to switch off?

    We talk about digital overwhelm as if it’s a problem out there—the apps, the notifications, the powerful and persuasive algorithms. And those things are real. But the deeper discomfort, the thing that makes someone reach for the puzzle book or the film camera, isn’t really coming from the phone. It’s coming from inside.

    It’s restlessness. A constant low-level mental buzz. A sense that you’re never quite here, because some part of your mind is always somewhere else—planning, comparing, scrolling, performing.

    The phone made the restlessness visible. It gave the restless mind somewhere to go, constantly, without relief.

    The phone made the restlessness visible. It gave the restless mind somewhere to go, constantly, without relief.

    So when people say they want to switch off, what they’re really saying, I think, is: I want a break from being so relentlessly me. From the constant commentary. The self-monitoring. The performing. The quiet undercurrent of not-good-enough.

    That’s the beginning of an inquiry that meditators and contemplatives have been pointing at not just for decades, but for centuries. No phones around then!

    The self is exhausting. And somewhere, on a level we don’t usually put into words, we know it.

    Why craft is therapeutic—and where it leads

    When your hands are full, literally full of clay, or yarn, or paint, the chattering mind gets a little quieter. Its attention has been absorbed somewhere more immediate.

    These activities work with the mind’s natural tendency to rest in sensory experience. They give the thinking mind something to do that doesn’t feed the anxiety loop.

    This is why craft is therapeutic. Why gardening is meditative. Why cooking from scratch feels centring in a way ordering delivery never does. These activities work with the mind’s natural tendency to rest in sensory experience. They give the thinking mind something to do that doesn’t feed the anxiety loop.

    In my abstract art class, I notice this every time. There’s a moment, usually about twenty minutes in, when something settles. I’m no longer thinking about whether the painting is good. I’m just there, with the colour, with the canvas, with whatever wants to emerge. It’s not unlike the moment in meditation when the breath stops being an object you’re observing and just becomes something happening, here, now.

    But—and this is the gentle but—analog hobbies are the doorway, not necessarily the destination. Because after the painting class, the restlessness comes back. After the lovely walk without headphones, you get home and the self returns. The deeper practice that mindfulness points towards isn’t to keep busy enough that the restlessness can’t find you. It’s to learn to meet it. To get curious about it. To eventually ask, gently, without demanding an answer: Who is this restless one?

    That inquiry is where analog living and deep mindfulness practice can become something far more profound than a passing trend.

    How to connect to this analog living moment more mindfully

    If any of this lands with you, here are a few suggestions.

    Choose friction on purpose. Pick one activity each week where you deliberately use the slower version. Write a card by hand instead of sending a message. Read a chapter of a physical book instead of an article on your phone. Cook something from scratch that you’d normally order in. The point isn’t efficiency. The point is the friction itself.

    Let the activity be the meditation. When you do your analog thing, resist the urge to put a podcast on in the background. Let it be the only thing happening. Notice the sensations:  the weight of the pen, the smell of the paint, the sound of the page turning. This is mindfulness in plain clothes.

    Don’t pick the impressive one. People often assume the analog hobby has to be photogenic like pottery, calligraphy, vinyl records. It doesn’t. Making a slow cup of tea counts. Folding laundry without a screen counts. Walking somewhere without headphones counts. The hobby is not the point. Presence is the point.

    Pick the activity your hands already want. Notice what your hands do when you’re idle. Some people, like me, doodle. Some people fiddle with objects. Some people are always tidying. Some people are drawn to texture—fabric, wood, soil. Your hands have already been telling you, for years, what kind of analog activity would suit you. Listen to them.

    Pick what your inner critic dismisses. I almost didn’t go to the abstract art class because a voice in my head said, But you’re not an artist. That voice is often a useful clue. The thing it tries to talk you out of That’s silly, that’s frivolous, that’s not productive—is frequently the thing your nervous system most needs.

    Pair the activity with one quiet question. While you’re doing your analog thing, gently hold one question in the back of your mind: Who is the one noticing this? You don’t need to answer it. In fact, the not-answering is the whole point. Just hold it lightly. That question, if you let it, is a thread that leads somewhere extraordinary.

    Let it be imperfect. The grain on the photograph. The wobble in the handwriting. The stripe of colour you didn’t plan in the painting. These are not flaws to be edited out. They are the signature of something real having actually happened. A life that has been touched leaves marks. Let it.

    Walking through the door

    The analog movement is giving millions of people a small, daily taste of presence. A moment of real, embodied, here-ness. That taste is the beginning. That’s the door.

    Mindfulness is what teaches you to walk through it.

    So this week, pick one analog thing. Make it small. Make it ordinary. And while you’re doing it, instead of just doing it, get a little curious. Notice the quality of attention that arises. Notice the way the mind settles. And then, very gently, notice the one who is noticing.

    That noticing—that quiet, unhurried looking—is where this all leads. Not back to a romanticised past, but forward, into a life that is actually being lived.

    May you find at least one moment this week that is beautifully, imperfectly analog.

    Join Us: The Seven Strengths Global Event

    Looking for more ways to slow down and anchor in an interior calm—even (or maybe especially) when the world feels so frantic and uncertain?

    From May 13–19, 2026, I’ll be joining some of the most respected teachers alive – including Sharon Salzberg, Rick Hanson, Kristen Neff, Tami Simon, Mamphela Ramphele, and Melli O’Brien – for a free, seven-day online global event called The Seven Strengths.

    The event is hosted by Mindfulness.com in collaboration with Sounds True and DailyOM, and all proceeds support the Global Compassion Coalition’s work to build a more compassionate, resilient world. That means joining is both an act of personal growth and an act of collective generosity.

    Part of this resurgence in interest in analog living is that we are all intuiting something vital: the world doesn’t need more anxious, exhausted people trying to hold everything together. It needs calmer, wiser, more compassionate human beings choosing to show up, day after day, from a place of genuine inner strength.



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  • Building Self-Compassion for Failure in the Creative Process

    Building Self-Compassion for Failure in the Creative Process

    Have you ever found that on some days, no matter how good your intentions, you just can’t manage to get around to doing what you said you most wanted to do?

    No matter what we’re trying to do—say, establish a new habit such as meditation, exercising more often, eating more healthfully, or diving into a new creative hobby—there will be days when life gets in the way. We may feel too tired; some emergency might arise; or we might simply forget to do what we had very good intentions of doing.

    It’s exactly in these moments of failure that we need to offer ourselves some self-compassion. In fact, the whole creative process needs to be a compassionate one. 

    The compassionate road to creativity

    One of the keys to creativity is testing different solutions to a problem—that is, iterating on the solutions and the design that you’ve come up with. Simply put, this means the first few attempts we make are not necessarily going to be the end result. There will be moments of failure, and this is part of the creative process.

    To pick ourselves up after a moment of failure (or perceived failure) and carry on, we need to offer ourselves some self-compassion, and it’s our mindfulness practice that can help us build that.

    Self-compassion for failure simply means turning the lens of compassion back onto ourselves.

    What do we mean by “self-compassion for failure”?

    It simply means turning the lens of compassion back onto ourselves. That is, recognizing our own moments of stress and suffering and being motivated in those moments to come up with a solution to alleviate our stress and suffering. There’s a great deal of scientific evidence now that shows how self-compassion builds motivation: people who are self-compassionate tend to navigate failure better and tend to stick with behavior changes and habits they originally set out to change or establish. 

    Acknowledge, Admit, Accept

    Here’s a three-step process of self-compassion, as outlined by one of the premier researchers in this field, Kristen Neff. This three-step process consists of, first, offering ourselves a moment of mindfulness.

    When we’re feeling a sense of failure or feeling inadequate, or even navigating the stress that arises when we feel things are out of our control—we take a moment in there to acknowledge the facts, admit we don’t like those facts, but accept the way things are. The key things to remember is not to get caught up in the narrative or story about what’s happening and not to suppress any difficult emotions that may come up. We’re simply acknowledging that this moment is stressful. 

    The second step is to connect with our sense of common humanity. Take a moment to acknowledge that no matter what we might be going through, there are many other people just like us who’ve encountered the same difficulty. So, we’re not alone—this kind of failure or this kind of stress is just part of the human condition. This is not only true, it can help us feel less isolated in moments of imperfection. It’s a little easier to foster a sense of self-compassion for failure when we know we are never alone.  

    The third step is offering ourselves some kindness. Consider what you might say to a best friend if they were going through what you might be going through in this moment of stress. 

    A Simple Practice to Foster Self-Compassion for Failure

    Let’s try this model of self-compassion through a practice, keeping a creative goal in mind as we go. Here’s also a guided audio version with Dr. Neff if you’d like to listen instead:

    1. I invite you to sit up in a way that’s alert yet relaxed and close your eyes. Make sure both your feet are planted firmly on the floor to help stabilize you and ensure your back is straight but not rigid. Allow the front of your belly to be soft. You may rest your hands gently on your lap. 

     2. Let’s start by bringing to mind something in your life that’s not going well. Maybe it’s a creative goal you’ve been working on that hasn’t gone according to plan. Maybe you’ve encountered some kind of failure at work or at home. Or maybe you’re just dealing with a painful situation that’s beyond your control. 

    3. Keeping this situation in mind, let’s start the process of self-compassion with mindfulness: Take a moment to acknowledge things as they are, not as you wish them to be. Take this moment to acknowledge things exactly as they are. 

    4. You might say something like, “This is a moment of stress,” or, “I don’t like this, but this is the way it is right now.” Keep in mind we’re not trying to problem solve. We’re also not getting caught up in the story around the pain and stress. We’re simply staying present to what’s happening. 

    5. Next, bring to mind the fact that no matter what you’re going through, there have been many people who’ve been through the same experience before. You might say something like, “I’m not alone in this,” or, “This is simply a part of being human.” 

    6. And now I’d like you to offer yourself some kindness. If this were your best friend or a loved one who was going through what you’re going through, what might you say to them? What advice might you offer? 

    7. As you offer yourself the same kind of unconditional love and friendliness, I want you to send yourself a few wishes of well-being: May I be kind to myself. May I be patient and accepting of myself. May I be strong and resilient in this moment. 

    8. From this place of greater warmth and kindness for yourself, I’d like you to take a couple of deeper breaths at your own pace. And whenever you’re ready, open your eyes and rejoin this conversation. 

    Not Just Nice, But Essential

    One thing that consistently stands out about Neff’s extensive research is this counterintuitive find: without self-compassion, it’s actually harder to change, heal, and grow. And that includes our creative endeavors.

    We tend to think that being hard on ourselves will motivate us to do better—but it in reality, the opposite is true. Relentless self-criticism diminishes not only our enjoyment of the creative process, but also our ability to see into new possibilities. That fear of “not getting it right” stunts our creativity.

    When we take the time to slow down, pay attention to our sense of “not-enough” in creative process, and offer that fear a little extra care, we’re actually holding the door open wider to fresh ideas, inspiration, and creative courage.



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  • Rest Your Body In Gratitude With A 12-Minute Meditation

    Rest Your Body In Gratitude With A 12-Minute Meditation

    Take a restorative moment to release tension and feel deeply into gratitude for your hard-working body. 

    Taking a moment to pause with the intention to simply allow our bodies to rest in awareness can bring about a great sense of restoration and renewal to the heart. Our bodies are so overworked and often ignored. This guided awareness practice will allow us to feel a sense of gratitude for our body, in all of its beauty and mystery. 

    A 12-Minute Meditation to Rest Your Body in Gratitude

    Read and practice the guided meditation script below, pausing after each paragraph. Or listen to the audio practice.

    1. Starting off, find the posture that feels comfortable for you in this moment. There are many different postures that we can choose from. Check in with your body to sense into what posture is best for me right now?
    2. Once you’ve found that posture, just begin to notice and feel your body here and present in this moment, not trying to fix anything or to change anything about the body. Oftentimes, the body can be used just for the purpose of working, striving, and achieving, but in this moment, we’re inviting our bodies to just rest naturally. 
    3. Take a few moments to feel what it means to be alive in your body right now. With attention resting lightly on the body, just notice: How is my body expressing its aliveness in this moment? Maybe that’s with lots of sensation, maybe the body just feels relaxed and at ease, or maybe there’s energy moving through some of our bodies. Whatever is true for your body right now, allow this aliveness to be what you sense into in this moment. This is my body and I’m grateful for my body.
    4. Now, allow your attention to lightly rest on the sensations associated with the body touching whatever is supporting it. Maybe it’s the floor or a cushion, or a bed or couch. Allowing your attention to lightly rest, feel the liveness of the body touching and being supported by whatever is under you. This is my body resting, supported by what’s under me at this moment and I’m grateful for this body and for this support and this moment to rest. Resting just like a newborn rests in the arms of a parent or caregiver. Allow your body to rest, letting the support, the stability, and the comfort of having something holding you really infuse your body and your awareness. In this moment, I’m being held and supported and this support is stable, and unconditional, and I am grateful.  Continue to feel the connection and the support of whatever is holding you in this moment, remaining connected to that experience. 
    5. We’re going to begin to invite our bodies to rest in the feeling of the space around the body. So, we’re really just allowing our attention to rest on the skin of the body. And with each exhale, let your attention begin to relax and expand out beyond the skin, just going out a few inches around the skin, resting in this space. Rather than focusing entirely on the physicality of the body, now we’re inviting the energy in the body—the tingling, the sensations—to actually rest in the space around us. You might use your imagination a little bit to imagine that, with every exhalation, you begin to sense your body being held by the vastness of the space surrounding the body.  
    6. It may be helpful to start with your back, inviting the back to rest. Just let go into the space behind you. And shifting to one side of the body, feeling that side, feeling the skin, and then inviting that side of the body to just let go. To relax into the space around that side of the body. And then going to the front of the body: feeling the skin, the body sensations, and the aliveness, and just allowing the front of the body to be held and to rest into the space in front. And lastly, arriving at the other side of the body, sensing the skin of the body, then letting your attention relax into the space around that side of the body. 
    7. For a few moments, as you’re breathing in and out naturally, allow your attention to rest as the body is resting, in the space around the body. The body can let go now. Breathing in, feeling the body held in our awareness. Breathing out, we’re grateful for the space around the body. It allows the body to relax.
    8. As we bring this practice to a close, the invitation is for you to place a hand on your heart, feeling a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the body, the space around the body, and this moment of resting. And remember that gratitude for the body is a way that we can always reconnect with this sense of rest, presence, and ease.



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  • A Light, Slow, Deep (LSD) Breathing Meditation

    A Light, Slow, Deep (LSD) Breathing Meditation

    Our breathing often becomes shallow, tense, or restricted during the day, and we don’t even notice it. Try this Light, Slow, Deep breathing technique to soften, relax, and expand again.

    Thanks to our autonomic nervous system, life-sustaining processes like our heartbeat, digestion, and breathing all happen without us even having to pay attention. But our environments, stress levels, and other factors can definitely affect the health and efficiency of these processes.

    For example, sitting hunched at our desks and staring at screens often means that our breathing gets shallow and irregular—which of course affects things like focus, energy, cognition, and attention.

    This week, Shamash Alidina leads a guided breathing exercise called Light, Slow, Deep (or LSD), designed to re-set the breath in a way that opens the chest, relaxes tension, and calms the nervous system.

    Most of us breathe backwards: too hard, too fast, and too much. We grip the breath without realizing it. LSD breathing is an invitation to do the opposite.

    • Light means breathing with softness, a gentleness, as if the breath is barely disturbing the air around you.
    • Slow means extending each breath, giving your nervous system time to settle like a pendulum that’s swinging wildly gradually finding its still point.
    • Deep means breathing low in your lower abdomen, not in your chest, but down where the lungs are roomiest and most efficient.

    Together, these three qualities activate your parasympathetic nervous system—the calm, rest-and-digest part of you that so often gets crowded out by the noise of the day. Think of it like turning down volume on a radio that’s been playing too loud. You’re not switching it off, you’re just bringing it to a gentler, more natural level.

    A Light, Slow, Deep (LSD) Breathing Meditation

    Read and practice the guided meditation script below, pausing after each paragraph. Or listen to the audio practice.

    1. Begin by finding a comfortable position. You could be on a chair, cross legged on the floor, lying down. You could even be standing and just gently moving. Whatever allows your body to feel supported and at ease. 
    2. The breath pattern we’ll use today is simple. Inhale for four counts, a gentle pause, and then exhale for six counts. A slightly longer exhale is key. Longer exhalations directly stimulate the vagus nerve, signaling to the whole system that you’re safe. So you don’t need to force anything, you just allow. 
    3. Let’s begin. Take one natural breath first. No need to change anything yet. 
    4. Now place one hand on your lower abdomen, just below your navel. This is your anchor and as you inhale you’re aiming to feel that hand rise like a tide coming in. As you exhale, the hand falls, the tide going out. 
    5. Keep going with that easy breath. Inhaling softly through the nose, feeling the lower abdomen expand. In two, three, four, pause. And exhale slowly. Two, three, four, five, six. And then pause. In, two, three, four, and out two, three, four, five, six
    6. Inhale light and steady like warming mists rising from still water. Exhale, the breath dissolving. Body softening. 
    7. If there is any tendency to grip or control as you’re breathing right now, see if you can loosen your hold on the breath by just a few percent. Inhaling, the lower abdomen is rising. Your chest is barely moving, your shoulders are down. 
    8. Remember to keep exhaling longer than the inhale. All the way to the end. As you inhale, receive the breath rather than taking it in. Exhale and release. Not pushing, just allowing the air to naturally leave.
    9. Now let the breath find its own natural rhythm. Your job is to simply notice it now as the witness, not as the controller. If thoughts arise, and they will, treat them like clouds passing through the still sky. The sky doesn’t chase the clouds, it doesn’t argue with them, it simply holds them. Allows them to be there, and they pass. 
    10. Feel how each complete breath cycle leaves you a little more still, a little more at ease. Like sediment settling slowly to the bottom of a glass of water. The water doesn’t try to clear itself, it just rests. And some clarity naturally comes. Breathing in, slow, light, low. Exhaling slowly. There’s nothing to achieve and nowhere to get to. The breath is simply happening—as it has, without effort, your whole life, long before any thought about it. 
    11. One way to breathe lightly is to breathe quietly. See if you can breathe so quietly that you can hardly hear your own breath. As you do this, you may sense a tiny amount of air hunger, a tiny urge to breathe more. And that’s quite natural. In fact, that’s a good sign. You’re rebalancing your oxygen and carbon dioxide in your body. More oxygen is getting into your cells and into your brain when you breathe lightly. 
    12. When you don’t force yourself too much, you may be able to notice a bit more saliva in your mouth, a bit more warmth in your hands and feet perhaps. This is the sign of the relaxation response engaging, a sign that you’re going in the right direction. 
    13. As we move towards the end of the practice, start noticing the quality of your mind right now. Is it quieter than when we started? Is it more spacious? LSD breathing doesn’t create this stillness, it reveals it. The stillness was always there underneath the movement. The breath simply clears the way. Inhaling light, slow, deep. And exhale, releasing any last effort. 
    14. Remember you can return to this breath at any point in your day—on the train, at your desk, before a difficult conversation. Doesn’t need any special equipment. Just a few moments. 
    15. When you’re ready, slowly allow your eyes to open if they’ve been closed. Take the outside world back into you, and carry this quality into your day. Well done, you’ve given yourself 12 minutes of genuine rest. Thank you for joining me.



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  • Elisha Goldstein on the Power of Tiny Shifts

    Elisha Goldstein on the Power of Tiny Shifts

    Psychologist and mindfulness teacher Dr. Elisha Goldstein has spent decades helping people find their way back to themselves. He’s come to see that lasting change rarely comes from dramatic overhaul, but rather through the smallest possible pivots. His new book, Tiny Shifts, introduces a four-step method for interrupting the emotional loops that keep us stuck, and making real change in the ordinary moments of everyday life. Mindful editor-in-chief Siri Myhrom sat down with Dr. Goldstein to talk about the neuroscience behind the method, why our bodies know things our minds don’t, and what to do when the problems feel too big for a tiny shift.

    The heart of the book is the Four R Method: Recognize, Release, Refocus, Reinforce. Where did that come from? Was a method you’ve always had, or did it emerge from a need?

    I think the Four R Method evolved over time—out of my personal experience and also my teaching. The first R—Recognize—is foundational. It’s in many of the world’s wisdom traditions, psychology speaks of it, neuroscience speaks of it. This idea of recognizing, labeling, noticing. Awareness is on its own a regulation tool. It’s also the very first opening to anything. It’s the foundation of mindfulness.

    We need to rebalance the somatic reaction that’s happening, because that widens the space now between stimulus and response. That moment of awareness on its own is typically not enough. We need a wider space.

    That first R is really about stepping outside of the emotional loops that are patterned and conditioned within us—often unconscious, whether that’s anxiety, overeating, snapping at people, road rage, or just generally feeling overwhelmed. These loops happen because there’s so much repetition over years of our lives. We just don’t notice we’re in them. How many people, since 2007, have been programmed to fall into the gentle scroll—typically as some form of soothing, with boredom or dis-ease or restlessness underneath? To wake up to that has been foundational for me.

    But what typically wasn’t there—and what’s not taught systematically—is what I learned later as a psychologist: the somatic piece. That moment of awareness gives us a little wedge. But we can lose that wedge pretty quickly. What we need to do is rebalance the somatic reaction that’s happening. That’s what widens the space between stimulus and response. We don’t just need to step into the space—we typically need to widen it.

    Can you say more about what Release actually means? I think when people hear “letting go,” they imagine it means not feeling the hard thing anymore.

    So that’s a good question, what you’re pointing to here, because release is not about getting rid of the feeling. If you think about tiny shift, it’s like an emotional pivot. We’re just trying to pivot. It’s not about the outcome so much. Think of it more like a verb.

    It’s not whether the emotion is legitimate or illegitimate—it’s here. Release is taking a moment—taking a breath, a slightly longer exhale out, allowing the shoulders to drop, letting the muscles elongate—to feel a little more softness in my body around the activation.  

    I’ll give you an example—a hypothetical moment that has happened many times. My teenage kids had agreed to clean up after themselves after their midnight snacks, and I came downstairs one morning to dishes everywhere. I notice myself really frustrated. Shoulders up, hands tense, face kind of scrunched, heart rate up. I’m about to storm into their room and let them know.

    And release is more about taking a moment to soften around that feeling. It’s not to get rid of the feeling, because the anger is actually justified. They crossed a boundary; there was an agreement. That anger is a healthy feeling. It’s not whether the emotion is legitimate or illegitimate—it’s here. 

    So I recognize the frustration loop. And release is taking a moment—taking a breath, a slightly longer exhale out, allowing the shoulders to drop, letting the muscles elongate. That activates the parasympathetic nervous system. What’s happening there is that I’m taking that space between stimulus and response and widening it. The anger is still there. But I’m able to feel a little more softness in my body around the activation. 

    Sometimes, too, I’ll notice a story in my mind that’s not serving me—something rigid, something about what was done to me—and as I take that exhalation out, I might see that story and say the word “release” and allow it to kind of come out. That doesn’t mean it magically disappears. But it does help soften the activation. It helps turn the volume down on the story a little bit. That’s what we’re after. Whether we’re going to use the anger constructively or destructively—that’s the important piece. And the release is what gives us enough space to choose.

    There’s a phrase in the book — “embodied cognition” — that gets at knowing through our bodies. Where do you think our disconnection from the body comes from?

    I think it’s cultural. Western culture, in particular. You see it from a young age—how we train kids to favor and prize thinking. And our bodies, how we feel, sensations—this type of stuff is implicitly taught as unimportant. So we don’t get a lot of reps with it.

    We’re also wired to problem-solve. So if we’re feeling anxious, frustrated, like something’s wrong—we’re going to try and problem-solve that. And the way we problem-solve is we start thinking. We think about all the problems in front of us, or possible problems that aren’t in front of us, or we reach back to our Rolodex of history and think about problems in the past. Meanwhile, we feel more anxious or upset, because that’s the emotion it feeds.

    The insight doesn’t translate into change until it drops down into the body. That’s the piece that’s so often missing.

    The pause can give us a moment of recognition, but then it’s gone. The insight doesn’t translate into change until it drops down into the body. That’s the piece that’s so often missing.

    There’s a study I keep coming back to, by Norman Farb and Zindel Segal at the University of Toronto. Segal is one of the creators of mindfulness-based cognitive therapy. They showed emotionally difficult film clips—clips from Terms of Endearment and The Champ—to two groups. One group had gone through mindfulness training and one who hadn’t. Both groups showed the same perceived sadness. But the mindfulness group scored statistically significantly lower on the Beck Depression Inventory. 

    We’ve got two basic networks in our brains: the narrative network [also called the Default Mode Network], where rumination and worry live; and the present-focus network [also called the Task Positive Network], where problem-solving occurs. And what the brain imaging showed is a kind of seesaw effect: when one network goes up, the other goes down, and vice versa. 

    When people were paying attention to the sensation of sadness and saying “sadness” in their mind, their narrative network was coming down. They didn’t get caught in the rumination as much. That’s how mindfulness works. And similarly, when we recognize a loop and soften around it in an embodied way, it dials down that narrative default mode network. That’s the neurology behind why this works.

    Can you give another example of how this works in your everyday life?

    This method is basically how I cured my insomnia, because understanding the neurology of this has helped me trust, to come back to my body any time I have sleep troubles. As an example, my dog recently woke me up in the middle of the night, barking. So I had to go get the dog, and on the way back to bed, I banged my hand on the banister in the dark, and cut my hand. It’s the kind of thing that just wakes your whole body up. By the time I got back to bed, my mind had latched onto a work problem. And I could recognize what was happening: I was in a worry loop. There’s something called the Zeigarnik Effect—the mind keeps trying to close unfinished loops. So I knew that if I just tried to push the thought away, it would keep coming back.

    I recommend this to anyone: really deeply listen to a practice with massive repetition, so that you memorize it. Because the higher your emotional activation, the more your thoughts are convincing, the more you kind of go under a spell. If you have some level of mastery, you’ll be able to break that spell—because you can trust the neurology.

    What I did instead was recognize the loop, and take a moment to soften the physical tension. My stomach was clenched from the worrying, so I took some deep breaths—not to “activate the parasympathetic nervous system” as a technique, but because my abdomen was tense and I needed to do the opposite. I needed to stretch those muscles. So I took deep breaths, my abdomen expanded, and that was the release.

    Then my refocus was: I know the seesaw effect. I know that even though my mind is telling me I need to worry about this, if I come back and attend to something in the present moment—for me the body is the most tangible anchor—I can activate that steady gear and bring the spinning gear down. And because I’ve done a body scan hundreds of times, my body just knows what to do. I don’t need to turn on an audio. I recommend this to anyone: really deeply listen to a practice like that with massive repetition, so that you memorize it. Because the higher your emotional activation, the more your thoughts are convincing, the more you kind of go under a spell. If you have some level of mastery, you’ll be able to break that spell—because you can trust the neurology.

    The third R is Refocus. You describe it as “taking the steering wheel.” What does that look like in practice?

    Our brain is already reactively asking us questions—and it’s steering. What’s the worst case scenario here? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t my kids love me anymore? Whatever it is, refocus is about consciously redirecting that question-asking capacity. When we ask our brain questions, it searches for answers. So instead of those reactive questions, we ask something like: What’s most important for me to focus on right now? What do I actually need right now that’ll move me in a healthier direction? What’s something I can do that’ll enhance the next five minutes of my life? Something like that will completely change the moment.

    Sometimes refocus doesn’t even require a new question. After you’ve recognized and released, you often just have access to wisdom you already had—a phrase from a teacher you love, an intuition about what you need. The emotional loops don’t erase our wisdom. They just block access to it.

    And sometimes refocus doesn’t even require a new question. After you’ve recognized and released, you often just have access to wisdom you already had—a phrase from a teacher you love, an intuition about what you need. The emotional loops don’t erase our wisdom. They just block access to it. That’s why so many people say, I’ve done so much work, read so many books, why isn’t it sticking? This is why. When we’re in those emotional loops, we lose access to what we know. The release is what restores that access.

    The fourth R—Reinforce—is the one you say that’s most often skipped. Why does it matter?

    Yes, it’s the most often missed—and the reason there’s a fourth R at all is because after we have an experience, we need to do something to emotionally tag that moment so we remember it. It might be a meditation or interrupting a moment where you were about to snap at your kid, or you were in traffic hating being in traffic and you loosened your grip on the steering wheel and remembered something Sharon Salzberg said—you are also the traffic—and suddenly felt a whole lot more ease. The reinforce is saying: I need to do something that emotionally tags this moment. That’s a term from neuroscience. To emotionally tag the moment so my brain remembers it. I want to install it in my short-term working memory so that the next time I’m in this context, my brain will automatically bring it up and interrupt the old pattern.

    Emotional tagging is acknowledging: Wow, look at what I just did, and how I’m feeling right now. That gives it a little extra emphasis. It’s like hitting the save button on a document you just created. You take a beat with it. Just let the moment land. That’s the reinforce piece.

    The way to do that is quite simple. Just acknowledging: Wow, look at what I just did, and how I’m feeling right now. That gives it a little extra emphasis. Or you take a moment and put your hand on your heart and sense the shift—whether it’s relief, ease, warmth, whatever the positive shift is—and you let it land. It’s like hitting the save button on a document you just created. You take a beat with it. Just let the moment land. That’s the reinforce piece. And that’s how we really enhance the process toward more implicit change—not just knowing something, but having it available to us the next time we need it.

    As I was reading, I was thinking, too, about our current cultural moment. I live in Minneapolis, and we have had a hell of a year. In the realm of overwhelm, there was both the feeling and the message: We need to be doing something, and it has to be more and more and more, and it’s not enough, and everything’s on fire. How does a concept like “tiny shifts” work when the problems feel so big and so urgent? How can this tiny thing be enough to meet what is asking so much of us?  

    First of all, just acknowledging that, yeah, Minneapolis has been through the wringer this last year in gigantic ways. A friend of mine who’s been diagnosed with cancer said exactly that to me after I gave him the book, Do you have anything called Big Shifts? Because that’s what I need. And I really felt that.

    A friend of mine who’s been diagnosed with cancer said to me after I gave him the book, “Do you have anything called Big Shifts? Because that’s what I need.” And I really felt that.

    But here’s what I’d say. In your example—the feeling that I’m not doing enough, there’s so much to do, everything’s on fire, and it’s still not enough—that is an emotional loop. What I’m noticing is that I’m activated. My mind is running stories. My body is tensing. It’s a not-enoughness loop, a save-the-world loop. And a tiny shift is saying: What’s happening within me right now? Because I’m not grounded and balanced in this moment. And that’s what we’re after.

    So I recognize the overwhelm loop. I release. I soften around the activation even as all of that is still here. Then I refocus—and in this moment I could go a lot of directions. I might ask: What are some things I’ve been doing in the direction of this that I feel a sense of accomplishment about?—redirecting attention from the lack to what I’ve actually done. Or: What’s one thing I can do that moves in this direction? 

    The tiny shift isn’t pretending the big thing is small. It’s gathering yourself—recognize, release—so that when you refocus, you’re steering from a more grounded place.

    The tiny shift isn’t pretending the big thing is small. It’s gathering yourself—recognize, release—so that when you refocus, you’re steering from a more grounded place. And then if you notice even a little bit of relief or clarity, you reinforce it. Okay. I can do this. This is also part of me. I can walk through this incredibly difficult time with more groundedness. And that might take thirty seconds. Or it might open up the realization that you need to take a half an hour this evening. That’s okay too. Because that’s a need you have, and the method helped you find it.

    Following up on that question of What do I need right now?—What if what we need is truly unrealistic or impossible—say, a more loving parent, or for more people to step up, or for more hours in a day? How do you get at what’s underneath all that so you can get to what can actually be addressed?

    Often when we’re overwhelmed, we struggle to even name what we need. So we can ask, What do I need right now? And if the honest answer is, I’m confused, I don’t know, I’m just so over it—then the actual need is “clarity.”  That’s always a one-to-one: confusion means the need is clarity. So then the question becomes, What’s going to support me in the direction of clarity? Maybe a conversation. Maybe journaling. Maybe space and time—and there’s no getting around that sometimes we just need to take time to reflect. You’re not going to get it without taking time to sit and be with something. We can do that together or we can do that individually, but there is a need, and there’s no getting around taking space for that. So the next layer is: What’s going to support me in creating that space? 

    Speaking of that, you do have a class coming up. Do you want to talk about? 

    Yes, we have this great program called the 21-Day Tiny Shift Experience, starting on May 11. I realize that change happens in the everyday moments of our lives, and this is a program of one- to three-minute daily voice notes delivered through WhatsApp—for people who want support in layering this into everyday life. People had incredible results the first time we ran it: more relief, more ease, more calm, real insight—without taking time out of their day, just by weaving in these tiny shifts over three weeks.

    And remind us—where can people find your  book and learn more?

    The book is Tiny Shifts, and there’s a free resource bundle at elishagoldstein.com/tiny-shifts—a quick guide to the method, three shorter meditations, and a needs and feelings inventory. 

    There’s still time to join the upcoming 21-day Tiny Shifts program, which starts on May 11, 2026. Register here.



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  • When Insight Isn’t Enough: An Interview with Juliana Sloane on Imagination, Hypnotherapy, and Deeper Transformation

    When Insight Isn’t Enough: An Interview with Juliana Sloane on Imagination, Hypnotherapy, and Deeper Transformation

    Meditation practice can bring remarkable clarity. Over time, practitioners often become more aware of their thoughts, emotions, and recurring patterns. But awareness alone does not always translate into change. Many meditators can clearly recognize habits of mind such as anxiety, self-criticism, or people-pleasing and still find themselves repeating the same patterns.

    Maybe it is the same relationship dynamic that keeps returning. Or the same inner voice of doubt that appears again and again during practice.

    What happens when recognizing a pattern still does not shift it?

    So what happens when recognizing a pattern still does not shift it?

    Juliana Sloane, a meditation teacher and hypnotherapist, works with practices that explore how deeper, subconscious layers of the mind and nervous system shape our behavior. In this conversation with Mindful, she discusses why understanding our patterns does not always lead to transformation, how imagination and altered states can open new pathways for change, and how mindfulness practitioners might recognize when something arising in practice is asking for deeper attention.

    Angela Stubbs: The topic I originally pitched for this conversation was “when insight isn’t enough.” Many people can recognize their patterns or understand why certain behaviors repeat in their lives. But insight alone does not always lead to real change. From your perspective, why is that?

    Most of the people who come to work with me already have a great deal of self-awareness. But despite that awareness, they still feel stuck. They cannot stop the anxiety. They cannot stop holding themselves to impossible standards. They keep entering relationships that are not right for them.

    Juliana Sloane: There are certainly situations where insight alone can be enough. Someone has an “aha” moment, something shifts internally, and the pattern loosens. But honestly, that is a fairly small percentage of cases I see, especially when it comes to deeply entrenched patterns and habits.

    Most of the people who come to work with me already have a great deal of self-awareness. They often have meditation practices, they have been to therapy, and they are interested in personal growth. They can clearly articulate what their patterns are.

    But despite that awareness, they still feel stuck. They cannot stop the anxiety. They cannot stop holding themselves to impossible standards. They keep entering relationships that are not right for them.

    These kinds of patterns are not just intellectual. They are deeply embedded habits of the mind and nervous system. People have often been repeating them for years, sometimes their entire lives. Over time those repetitions form very strong neural pathways that steer someone back into the same familiar pattern.

    Understanding the pattern can be helpful, but we also need ways to work with the deeper conditioning that keeps recreating it.

    A very common thing I hear is, “I have done a lot of work on this issue. I understand it intellectually. But something still feels stuck.”

    Angela Stubbs: How do people begin to recognize when something might need deeper exploration rather than continued observation or reflection?

    Juliana Sloane: Usually, by the time someone comes to see me, they already have a sense that something deeper is going on. A very common thing I hear is, “I have done a lot of work on this issue. I understand it intellectually. But something still feels stuck.”

    The feeling that there is ‘something deeper’ to explore is often a good sign someone might benefit from working with these layers of knowing and experience that lie further beneath the surface.

    The biggest time someone might not be ready is when they are hoping for a quick fix that doesn’t require their active participation. We’re not waving a magic wand, we’re actively engaging with the mind, body, and nervous system to create the change that’s needed.

    The work I do is about helping people develop tools to navigate their own inner worlds and access their own resources, insight, and wisdom. Ultimately, the goal is for people to feel more empowered in their own process and to realize that many of the answers they are looking for are already within them.

    Angela Stubbs: If many of these patterns live outside conscious awareness, what is happening beneath the level of the thinking mind?

    We tend to think that if we understand something intellectually we should be able to change it. But most of our behaviors and emotional responses are shaped by processes happening beyond the level of conscious thought.

    Juliana Sloane: A lot of the patterns people struggle with are operating outside conscious awareness. We tend to think that if we understand something intellectually we should be able to change it. But most of our behaviors and emotional responses are shaped by processes happening beyond the level of conscious thought.

    Over time repeated experiences form strong patterns in the mind and nervous system. Those patterns can become automatic, even to the extent that they begin to simply feel like part of who we are. Even when someone understands the pattern, they can still find themselves pulled back into it again and again.

    Awareness can help us recognize what is happening, but the deeper conditioning that drives those patterns may still be operating underneath.

    In many ways the conscious mind is only a small part of what is shaping our experience. If we are only working at that level, we are leaving a lot of the mind untouched.

    Angela Stubbs: You often use the word trance in your work. For readers who may not be familiar with that idea, what do you mean by trance?

    Juliana Sloane: When people hear the word trance, they often imagine something unusual or mysterious. And it certainly can feel magical, but that doesn’t mean it’s inaccessible. Trance is actually a very natural state of consciousness that people move in and out of all the time.

    People’s ideas about hypnosis typically come from stage shows or older models where someone appears to ‘take control’ of another person’s mind. But that is not really how modern hypnotherapeutic work functions. Hypnosis is much more collaborative and empowering than people often imagine. The person entering trance remains aware and engaged in the process the entire time.

    For example, when you are completely absorbed in a movie or a book and lose track of time, that is a kind of trance state. Your attention becomes focused and the usual analytical thinking mind quiets down.

    In those moments the mind becomes more open to imagery, emotion, intuition, and deeper layers of experience. In trance-based practices we are intentionally working with that state of focused awareness so people can explore those deeper layers of their own inner experience.

    Angela Stubbs: There are a lot of misconceptions about hypnosis. What do people often misunderstand about it?

    Juliana Sloane: People’s ideas about hypnosis typically come from stage shows or older models where someone appears to ‘take control’ of another person’s mind.

    But that is not really how modern hypnotherapeutic work functions. Hypnosis is much more collaborative and empowering than people often imagine. The person entering trance remains aware and engaged in the process the entire time.

    What happens is that the analytical thinking mind begins to relax a little. We start to get out of our own way, which allows deeper layers of the mind and our own awareness to become more available.

    Rather than controlling someone, the practitioner is helping create conditions where a person can explore their own inner experience in a different way and become an active agent of change in their own subconscious mind.

    In many modern contexts we think of imagination as something childish or unserious. But imagination is actually one of the most potent ways the mind communicates.

    Angela Stubbs: You speak about the role of imagination in this work. That can be surprising for people who tend to think of imagination as something unreal.

    Juliana Sloane: In many modern contexts we think of imagination as something childish or unserious. But imagination is actually one of the most potent ways the mind communicates.

    During a focused meditative or hypnotic process, things like imagery, metaphor, and archetype are often steeped in meaning. They’re not just ‘our imagination’ running wild, rather, they are symbols encoded with our beliefs, experiences, world view, memory, and so much more. In our day to day life, we often gloss over the power this holds. When people go into a hypnotic or trance-like state, those hidden metaphors, somatic experiences, and images naturally emerge for us to actively work with them. 

    Rather than dismissing those experiences as “just imagination,” we can begin to see them as powerful tools. Sometimes these experiences point us to deeper emotional patterns and allow us to process and integrate our experiences more fully. Sometimes they allow us agency to experience what it’s like to overcome obstacles or respond differently to things that used to trigger anxiety, self-doubt, or fear. For example, professional athletes do this all the time when they mentally rehearse breaking a record or performing at their best. Your brain doesn’t actually discriminate all that much whether you’re shooting the basket or envisioning shooting the basket– it takes that information and it runs with it. So when you’re working with a hypnotherapist, you’re using these tools to help your mind, body, and nervous system explore and integrate new options and ways of being. 

    Angela Stubbs: How do you see this work relating to mindfulness practice?

    Juliana Sloane: I don’t see this work as replacing mindfulness practice. In fact, I think mindfulness creates the foundation for this to be possible in the first place.

    Meditation helps people develop awareness of their thoughts, embodied experience, emotions, and patterns. That awareness is incredibly valuable because you cannot work with something if you don’t notice it.

    What often happens is that when people develop a meditation practice, they begin to clearly notice patterns in their thinking, reactions, and the way they approach their world. They find they can observe those patterns clearly, but it does not necessarily shift things in their day-to-day life.

    Practices that engage deeper layers of the mind can allow people to explore what might be underneath those patterns in a different way. Rather than replacing mindfulness, this kind of work can deepen the process that mindfulness begins.

    Practices that engage deeper layers of the mind can allow people to explore what might be underneath those patterns in a different way. Rather than replacing mindfulness, this kind of work can deepen the process that mindfulness begins.

    Angela Stubbs: Are there signs that something arising in practice might be inviting deeper exploration?

    Juliana Sloane: Often it is when a pattern—for example, anxiety, or self-criticism, or a repeated issue with work, relationships, or life—continues to show up again and again, even when someone is very aware of it.

    A person might recognize the pattern in meditation or in therapy. They understand where it comes from and they can see it happening in real time. But despite that awareness, it keeps repeating.

    That can sometimes be a signal that the pattern is rooted in deeper layers of the mind or nervous system.

    Those moments can become invitations to explore the pattern in a different way and to approach it with curiosity rather than trying to force it to change through understanding alone.

    Editor’s note:

    In a forthcoming article for Mindful, Juliana Sloane explores how meditation and hypnosis practices can support people living with chronic illness, including ways these approaches may help individuals relate differently to pain, fatigue, and the emotional challenges of long-term health conditions. Keep an eye on our homepage.



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  • Cultivating Courage and Confidence in Motherhood

    Cultivating Courage and Confidence in Motherhood

    My memories of motherhood are filled with moments of self-doubt. No mother alive doesn’t go through some self-doubt. Given all of the ideas of what is best for children, it is easy to doubt your decisions. From the mundane to the seemingly “big decisions,” it is easy to spiral into negative emotion doubting ourselves. 

    A client of mine spent some time talking with me about the fact that she and her son and husband didn’t have a ritual for dinner together. It made sense for her family and their schedule that her son ate before her husband got home, yet nearly every day she would have thoughts of doubt about whether that was really okay. Turns out it was just fine, as now he is a wonderful young adult and they are very close. It seems silly looking back that we can get so hung up on things like this but it’s easy to do. How do we know it’s going to be okay?

    Magazines, newspapers, and websites often produce stories out of research findings that show how some action or behavior is linked to some outcome, even when there is no definitive evidence that it was the cause for the outcome. The best test of how something works for your family is how it works for your family, over time!

    How nice it would be to have a crystal ball to be able to know for sure that any given choice would be the “right choice,” and that everything would turn out okay. The mind can blow things way out of proportion and make the risk to their development and well-being seem enormous. In our grasping for certainty and our fear of our doubt, we may create a lot of optional suffering. It is helpful to kindly remind yourself that kids are resilient and that you can be too. You can always make new choices after seeing the outcome.

    When Fear Is Present

    Like self-doubt, fear is another major topic in parenting. From the barrage of news reports about terrible things happening to children, mass shootings, catastrophic weather events, wars, etc., there is plenty to fearfully focus on. Add to that “time travel” in the mind, thoughts of what might or could happen, and that’s a whole lot of optional suffering in motherhood. Using mindfulness, especially a regular practice of mindfulness of thoughts and feelings, can help you step out of autopilot to see if you are actually suffering unnecessarily.

    You can shift the focus of your mind at any time. Fear is not a sign that the feared outcome is going to happen. Trying to imagine how you would face something you are afraid of that isn’t happening right now is often a waste of energy and can lead to self-condemnation. My favorite mantras, “Just this moment,” and “Just here, just now,” really help me to get out of my mind and get back into the flow of life. When you find yourself trying to “think it away,” you have to choose to redirect the mind to just be with now, to be with what is right in front of you and let fear fade into the background. It may arise again, and you can refocus again.

    I have come to understand that when fear is present, I must dig deep to move toward the thing I value. I don’t need to be rid of the fear to get through it.

    I have come to understand that when fear is present, I must dig deep to move toward the thing I value. I don’t need to be rid of the fear to get through it. I can decide to dig deep anyway, giving myself positive self-talk along the way.

    Uncovering Your Courage 

    Being brave or having courage is often described in a way that looks like having no fear. Motherhood calls for courage from the very beginning. We may go into it with sweet ideas, but we soon come to see how much we are needing to face that’s frightening or intimidating. Just like with appreciation, it is useful to stop and recognize where you were courageous. Acknowledging when you were afraid and did stuff anyway helps grow a sense of confidence.

    A client of mine was worried about whether she could be brave in the face of helping her four-year old daughter through a surgery and an overnight stay at the hospital. She noticed that she often took her fearful thoughts to mean that she wouldn’t be brave. They were some kind of bad sign. If she thought these things now, how could she do it?

    Anxious anticipation can undermine any of us.

    She also felt terrible about herself for dreading it. I encouraged her to validate herself, when she noticed the dread, by saying, “This is really hard. It’s okay.” She found it really helpful to acknowledge that simple fact, rather than to indict herself as a bad mother for all of the fear and negative thoughts. No one wants to go through hard things, and there is so much that is hard. It’s really okay to acknowledge it.

    Choosing to Be Brave

    I will always remember one of the more profound moments when I decided to be brave; where I showed myself that I could be courageous. I was finishing up the bath with my toddler son when I heard my toddler daughter fall in the other room. I ran to see her and found she had fallen and split her chin open. Blood was everywhere and I was freaked out. Here was one of the moments as a mother I had feared I wouldn’t be up to when it finally arrived. I was terrified.

    Despite the urge to cry and run the other way, I soothed her and cleaned her up anyway. After calling the pediatrician’s office who recommended I take her to the emergency room to see if she needed stitches, I called my husband to tell him to drop everything and come home. I told my husband he would be going to the ER with her!

    We can choose again and again to turn toward what we want for ourselves or our child, regardless of the mind’s first reaction.

    It dawned on me a few minutes after I hung up with him that I wanted my kids to see me be strong. I wondered what kind of message I would be sending my daughter, who was leaning on me and my soothing, if I sent her off with her dad who had just come home from being gone all day. Certainly, it wouldn’t have hurt her, but I realized here was an opportunity.

    So, as much as I dreaded it, I asked my husband to stay with our son and I took her to the ER. A few stitches and several hours later we were back home and doing fine. Courage and confidence are not something you have or not. Remember the growth mindset. We can choose again and again to turn toward what we want for ourselves or our child, regardless of the mind’s first reaction.

    When we string together moments like that, those choices lead to courage and confidence. Another gift of motherhood! Where I once went running away, I tamed my fears of spiders, bees, and snakes as well! Motherhood can show us how brave we can be.

    Excerpt reproduced with author’s permission from Just This Moment: A Guide for Moms Who Want to Enjoy Parenting, Raise Great Kids and THRIVE! by Elizabeth Torres, Psy.D. ABPP. (2019). 

    Mindfulness for Kids 

    When we teach mindfulness to kids, we equip them with tools to build self-esteem, manage stress, and skillfully approach challenges. Explore our guide on how to introduce mindfulness and meditation to your children—at any age. Read More 

    • Mindful Staff
    • June 11, 2020

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  • 5 Lessons on Vanity: An Invitation to Awareness and Letting Go

    5 Lessons on Vanity: An Invitation to Awareness and Letting Go

    I was once considered beautiful. Perhaps, by some, I still am.

    At fourteen years old, I took a modeling course with two of my girlfriends. The ultimate in turning the body into an object to be adored. After three weeks of learning how to walk, sashay, and twirl, we sat down to paint our faces. The palate consisted of endless brushes and shadows—pinks, browns, golds, and glimmering sparkles. 

    Now, I think of it as war paint. We were being trained in the art of disguise, heightening our beauty, to use sexuality as an enticing weapon, and as a means of power. But at the time, it was playing dress up, like a six-year-old getting into mum’s make up and smearing it all over her face, making garish designs that can look cute on children. I didn’t understand the implications. 

    As part of this evolution, thin eyebrows were a necessary part of the mask: pull out all those unsightly and unwanted hairs to create a narrow arch of both surprise and slight disdain, to disarm with a slight tilt of the head, gazing upward and flirtatious.

    One of the instructors, Mary-Anne, was moon-faced, large lipped, and fish-eyed, with long lashes. She came at me with relish, gleeful, saying, “I’ve been waiting for weeks to get at you.” 

    As she carefully tugged out each hair my eye muscles contracted into an excruciating spasm. The tears poured out of my tortured left eye while I endured this in the pursuit of iconic beauty. 

    Lesson One: Vanity Is Costly and Finite

    This was the first indication, although I didn’t get the message, that vanity has a price. 

    This attachment to the body, the idealizing of our skin bag, ultimately comes at great cost. 

    Women so often are defined by, and get their power from, physical characteristics that have a built-in expiry date. But at fourteen we can’t fully know this. It is impossible to feel what will become inevitable; we understand it as happening  to others but not to us. 

    Smiling, she handed me a mirror. I looked and saw that I was a little more hidden—that what I thought of as me, was not really me. 

    So, I sat very still, passive, while my eye cried, fascinated that this eye had a mind of its own. Finally, the teacher finished. She examined her creation and was proud. Smiling, she handed me a mirror. I looked and saw that I was a little more hidden—that what I thought of as me, was not really me. 

    Lesson Two: Desire Leads to Suffering

    When I was fifteen, Judy Welch, a diva of the modelling scene, and the owner of an agency, entered me in the Miss Chin Bikini contest that took place annually on Centre Island in Toronto. 

    We were twenty-two heads of cattle going up for the beauty auction. While uncomfortable, I was still too young to know what I was feeling. I still didn’t fully realize that we were up for scrutiny and judgment. Each of us was an object of comparison, to see who would be most valued. 

    It was 1971, and I wore a white crocheted bikini with daisy-like nipple coverings and brown platform strappy sandals. The contestants lined up before the judges in a back room behind the stage. We were twenty-two heads of cattle going up for the beauty auction. While uncomfortable, I was still too young to know what I was feeling. I still didn’t fully realize that we were up for scrutiny and judgment. Each of us was an object of comparison, to see who would be most valued in this competition of the female form. 

    Following this inspection, we swished along the runway in that contrived, lithe and pseudo-sexual manner to catcalls and Italian exclamations, and it was finally dawning on me that I am an object. It felt a little dangerous. I came in third place. Not the most beautiful, but still in the running. I won a bottle of Baby Duck that I was too young to drink, and my picture was in the Toronto Sun showing me walking, ash blonde hair, sharp jawed, bikini clad. I was a success.

    Obscene breathy phone calls followed this win, until they stopped. Some version of me was wanted. I was repulsed and afraid, but clearly also wishing to be seen. It was confusing to do what was being asked of me  and then putting myself at risk. 

    Thankfully, even then, the news was short-lived. Everything passes. This was the second lesson on vanity: As we attach, so do others, and this grasping is problematic. 

    Lesson Three: The Need for an Inner Life

    The third lesson came when I went to see a photographer to create my modelling portfolio. 

    Every model needs a book of photos to display her various looks to potential employers. These are her wares.

    Derek told me to go into the bathroom and ice my nipples and then put my tight black, ribbed cardigan back on. He directed me to partially undo my sweater. Dutifully, I complied. Already, I knew to do what men tell me. I was fifteen years old. The photographic image conveyed something unrecognizably coquettish in black and white: long hair, head tilted and mouth in a pouty kiss. 

    I see now how quickly we get lost in the appearance of things, hooked by the illusion of sex for sale, reinforcing the manufactured desire of the viewer. 

    It became important to cultivate an internal life so that when I ultimately arrived at the invisibility of middle age and beyond, there would be something more than the loss seen in the mirror. But this was a slow and painful learning.     

    My very brief modeling career soon ended after that experience. I didn’t have what it took to pretend in this way, to completely buy into the dream. 

    I realized early that my moment as a focus of male attention, and the power this gave, was time limited. It became important to cultivate an internal life so that when I ultimately arrived at the invisibility of middle age and beyond, there would be something more than the loss seen in the mirror. But this was a slow and painful learning.      

    At 28 and 34 years old I was pregnant, becoming a woman of substance, gaining 65 and 45 pounds respectively. I stopped traffic in the street when crossing, because I believed I was indestructible. 

    It was a fascinating time. My body was not mine. It did what it wanted and there was freedom in this choicelessness. The body was morphing while these creatures grew inside. I was a temporary accommodation for them. We were symbiotic while they were both inside and out, until they started running away. 

    Mindfulness and parenting are wonderful ways to develop an inner life. You come to know your experience inside and out.

    Lesson Four: Learn to Let Go

    Motherhood is a continual process of letting go. It is unfortunate that I didn’t let go of my attachment to my body and its changing appearance when I had that first opportunity. 

    Varicosities abounded as a result of pregnancy. I had one long, wriggling and twisting vein that traversed my lower leg removed for an obscene price. 

    In my forties, I started running long and fast away from the Grim Reaper, following my husband who is five years younger than I am, trying to hang on to a youth that was already gone. 

    I ran four marathons, culminating in Boston in a 90-degree Fahrenheit heat wave. I finished. So many do not. I have perseverance and pacing. I managed to develop a bleeding gut, from dehydration, and a bacteria called campylobacter picked up a month before in Guatemala. It turned my body into a vomiting, excretive, bloody mess. When this healed, I got pelvic cramping whenever I ran more than five kilometers.    

    Many years have been devoted to the mirror. I sometimes now think of hanging a black cloth over it so I can stop the compulsion to look and mourn the loss of my good looks. 

    I asked an esthetician friend of mine what she thinks are the best anti-aging products or techniques. She says, “Honey, hold back the hands of time and stop them before they start moving.” 

    Every day I examine myself through the looking glass and take in each tiny detail—the fine lines around the mouth, the darkening under the eyes, the fat herniation in my eye lids, and the gentle sagging of the jaw. 

    I asked an esthetician friend of mine what she thinks are the best anti-aging products or techniques. She says, “Honey, hold back the hands of time and stop them before they start moving.” 

    We could also consider accepting the inevitable. Just let go of hanging on to what is already gone. But we revere our youth and beauty, as do others, for so many reasons. If females need protection, it is much more likely we will get it if we are young, gorgeous, and reproductively viable. We can avoid presenting the reality of sickness, aging and death that we desperately want to ignore. Our culture, unlike some, hates aging and the aged. They are a frightening reminder of our end. We push away what we don’t like. We behave in defiance, avoiding the unavoidable truth: that we are mortal. 

    We push away what we don’t like. We behave in defiance, avoiding the unavoidable truth: that we are mortal. 

    I note every wrinkle that has begun to engrave its way into my face and see the effects of gravity over time. I see the development of the estrogen pouch as my waistline thickens. The varicosities increase, and my skin thins. Sunspots creep over my hands. Red dots pop up on my chest and belly. Thank medicine for liquid nitrogen. We can burn a lot away. Hairs sprout from my face.

    I make a pact with my friend that she will pull those hairs out of my chin if I am dying in a hospital bed. Why stop then? I see my nails thicken, skin dry, my hair grey, my libido decline. 

    Lesson Five: Acceptance Is More Helpful Than Resistance 

    I look good for my age. In that sentence there is the gripping on to that which is passing before my eyes, the need to look makes me feel good. I never tell people to guess my age. What if they are right? 

    Unable to let go, I hang on with hair colour, tweezing, exercise, vitamins, estrogen, testosterone, vein removal, facials, botox, and filler. I am careful not to cross the line into looking freakish. No duck lips or chipmunk cheeks for me. I want to look natural. To pretend on top of pretending. 

    A lack of willingness to embrace the impermanence and decline of the body is an expensive practice. Acceptance would be far more skillful than resistance, and this absurd continuous re-modelling of an aging bag. I am still chained to this body and an idea of who I think I am or who I think I should be. 

    What is acceptance if not resignation? I don’t understand it is not a battle.

    Three of my friends are turning fifty. I have three gifts for them. A care kit for the future. These are: a magnifying mirror, Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck, and Larry Rosenberg’s Breath by Breath. 

    The mirror is such an interesting companion on this journey, and avoidance of its reflection is as much an act of hanging on to your view of self as is the gazing at and manipulation of your image. It can also prevent eye trickery if one can see clearly. The books have two functions. One is for lightening attachment to the body with humour, and the other is an instruction for working with the truth that change can be a friend, rather than the enemy. 

    I have understood this lesson in acceptance, but there is still the looking glass, and I remain bound to its glitter and my image.

    This futile attempt to freeze the march of time on my face and body is the cause of suffering. Intellectually, I know this, but the idea of giving up on my body is currently aversive. The cosmetic surgery business is booming. Women in their 20s and 30s are taking the plunge into myriad injections, surgical removals and implants, spawning a generation of females who are more like Barbie than Barbie herself, with their immobile faces, large eyes, and protruding lips. If only the body were perfect, we would be happy—and yet another part of me knows this is not true. 

    I have understood this lesson in acceptance, but there is still the looking glass, and I remain bound to its glitter and my image.

    I am in my 60s now, still measuring myself against my cohort. I see these bulges of back fat, falling biceps, and increasing fatigue. My bones and muscles, however, carry me lithely and my sight and hearing are still almost perfect. I await the time when I can no longer keep up with the maintenance and am completely unseen. It would be a good time for a second career as a spy.

    Alternatively, as an 80-year old woman I knew once said, I could let it all go, “…wake up every morning, look in the mirror and laugh, shake my head, and say, How did I get here?”



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  • On the Other Side of Sadness: Teaching Our Kids (and Ourselves) That It’s Okay to Feel Anything

    On the Other Side of Sadness: Teaching Our Kids (and Ourselves) That It’s Okay to Feel Anything

    My six-year-old daughter, Opal, wants nothing more than to go to the Humane Society to visit the dogs that “need the most love.” So we leave right from a half-day of school to do just that, eating almond butter and jelly sandwiches on the way.

    The entryway of the Boulder Valley Humane Society smells like wood chips. There is a stack of hamster cages by the front door, placed like intended impulse purchases, like Chapstick and breath mints at Target.

    “May I help you?” The pleasant lady behind the counter says with a mouth that is more gums than teeth.  I tell her we’d like to visit a dog or two that are especially in need of love.

    “Hmmm,” she says, thinking, with a close-mouthed smile. “Yes, Leo could use a visit. He’s big, that ok?”

    We have an 85-pound lab at home. I assure her we are accustomed to Big.

    We find Leo asleep on a bed in a very large crate with a bone-shaped sign marked “Sweetie pie.”  He is a five-year-old pit bull with a face as wide as a loaf of bread and fur the shade of sand. We return to the front room where we wait for a staff person to bring him out.

    I notice as we walk through the halls, many—but not all—of the dogs have the same bone-shaped signs hanging from their cages, but with all different descriptions: “Playful!” “Timid.” It occurs to me that the ones without the signs must not be as forthcoming in their nameable characteristics. In my mind I imagine hosting a party in the New Year where I’ll have each guest wear a little sign around their neck that states one of their prominent qualities: People pleaser. Observer. Perfectionist.

    Leo busts through the swinging doors, pulling a staff member behind him on a pink leash. This should be an indication of what we’re in for, but I grab the leash anyway and out the front doors we go. Walking this dog is essentially like walking a linebacker who is heading in the opposite direction. I desperately try to keep my footing while he pulls me down a muddy decline and we leave Opal behind, yelling MOM!

    Giving this dog love is proving to be an arduous task. So we start to head back towards the building where we came from.

    As we walk, I notice the fur is missing from the tops of both of Leo’s ears and there are chalky mushroom-shaped lumps on his skin where the hair should be growing. Same on the backs of his legs. There are pin stripes in his short fur where the hair doesn’t grow, much more subtle than the scars that would have come from the mouth or claws of another animals.

    Opal says, “Why does he look like that?”

    I tell her it looks like he’s been in a fight with another dog. Harmless enough—animals fight. I don’t say that it looks like he has probably been in dogfights. That he was likely rescued from a rough situation with either an abusive owner or an owner who condoned violence. The kind of scenario that gives pit bulls a bad name. He is horrid on a leash—left both of my hands red and burned from the yanking—but he doesn’t seem to have any fear of or aggression towards people. This, to me, is a marvel.

    Upon our return, we catch sight of a man playing with a pit bull puppy, smiling and laughing as the pup climbs into his lap then flops over the side. I can see that Opal wants that experience, so we give Leo a final head-scratch and then ask to trade him in for a puppy.

    The Discomfort, the Squirming Away, the Return to Presence

    We take one of seven pit bull puppies to a fenced-in area outside. The fresh air and the puppy-energy feel like a relief. He’s as small as a football and slick-black except for his belly and the tips of his paws, which are pure white. Watching him teeter and fumble from point A to point B is pure comedy. Opal is beside herself with delight.

    Then she asks the inevitable question: “Can we take him home?”

    I tell her no.  A puppy is way too much work. They poop and chew on everything. But we can come visit him next week.

    “What if he’s gone by then?”

    Opal doesn’t say much on the way home. “Blackbird” by the Beatles is playing on the radio—Take these broken wings and learn to fly. I can see her in the rear-view mirror gazing out the window with a million-mile stare.

    I tell her that if he’s gone, that would mean a good family adopted him. These puppies would probably get adopted really fast.

    Opal doesn’t say much on the way home. “Blackbird” by the Beatles is playing on the radio—Take these broken wings and learn to fly. I can see her in the rear-view mirror gazing out the window with a million-mile stare.

    At home, Opal drapes her body over my lap as we sit on the couch. Our huge lab is snoring at my feet. Opal is sniffling and periodically wipes her nose on her sleeve. I caress her hair.

    She says, “What if nobody wants to adopt Leo?” Plump little tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

    I tell Opal that maybe we shouldn’t return to the Humane Society if it’s just going to break her heart. But that only upsets her more and I quickly realize those words are counter to everything we’ve been teaching her.

    We—the Grimes family—have spent the better part of a year as a foster family. And we frequently talk about how we never need to shy away from big emotions, especially when they come as a repercussion of helping others. But it’s such a habit to either tense-up or cower in the face of unhappiness, and to want to shield others from the pain of being human.

    “Honey, the Humane Society will find a good home for Leo. And for the little puppy and all his brothers and sisters.”

    “But what if the man who adopts them is mean?”

    I know there are no shortcuts to getting to the other side of sadness aside from going through it.

    “Oh honey,” I say. I am constantly at odds with how much truth to share with her about this crazy, uncertain, often-terrifying-but-also-beautiful-and-miraculous world. I swing back and forth between feeling like I say too much, and not knowing what else to say.

    So I return to simply paying attention—to my own thoughts, my own discomfort, my own shallow breath, my own want to talk about happier things—because I know there are no shortcuts to getting to the other side of sadness aside from going through it.

    I ask, “Can you take a deep breath with me?”

    “Uh-huh.” She is looking up at me now as we inhale and exhale. Choppy, partial breaths at first, then calm and deep.

    “Hey, it’s okay to feel sadness, sweetie. Fact is, there is a lot of sadness in the world. We just keep doing what we can. And you did good today, giving love like you did.”

    It in that moment, she stands up, gathers herself, and flashes me a tiny but genuine smile as she moves on with her day.

    Realizing: It’s Okay to Feel My Own Sadness, Too

    Two days later, we take a trip to visit our beloved foster baby of nearly a year who returned to live with her parents three weeks earlier. This baby, we’ll call her Little Blue Eyes.

    I’m so pleased to find her looking happy and healthy, very connected to her mother. She has an adorable room with quilts on the walls, loads of toys and books. Their pit bull strangely resembles the one from the humane society, though he is exponentially more calm and civilized.

    I didn’t realize it, but many of my feelings of loss had been shuffled in with the hubbub of the holidays and travel. The grief is immediately present when I rest my gaze on her face and hear her say OpalOpalOpal.

    All good news. And yet, in spite of the fact that we will likely see her again, it feels as if this visit is a good-bye. Little Blue Eyes went home days before Christmas and I didn’t realize it, but many of my feelings of loss had been shuffled in with the hubbub of the holidays and travel. The grief is immediately present when I rest my gaze on her face and hear her say OpalOpalOpal.

    The sorrow feels like fatigue at first, then grumpy over-sensitivity during dinner. Then, later, after Opal is asleep, a torrent of tears comes like a valve has burst behind my eyes. I can’t stop it, though my first inclination is to do just that. My mindful self is telling me that crying is a natural and healthy reaction, and that I can relax with my sadness. But my body—bones and muscles—wants to make the discomfort go away. I am aware of all of this.

    I make my way into our bedroom where Jesse is watching TV. He sees my face and says, “Little Blue Eyes?”

    I think of how intense these emotions feel to me, a “big strong grown-up,” and I can only imagine how the same vast emotions must feel to my daughter, on the planet only six years and with much less experience in seeing her feelings through to the other side. It’s up to us to show her that emotions are fluid, always in flux.

    I nod and lie down next to him. I put my head on his chest the way Opal did with me a few days earlier. His heart is in my ear like a distant drum against my shifting breath. I think of how intense these emotions feel to me, a “big strong grown-up,” and I can only imagine how the same vast emotions must feel to my daughter, on the planet only six years and with much less experience in seeing her feelings through to the other side. It’s up to us to show her that emotions are fluid, always in flux.

    “It’s okay to feel sad,” Jesse says to me. “I feel sad, too.”

    These are the same words I spoke to Opal when we were on the couch, the same compassionate tone. I sit up and stretch my arms high and to the sides, the sound of inner-movement like a soft rumble deep in the canals of my ears. Some life re-enters my bones.

    Those words, “It’s okay to feel sad,” open a window in the tiny, claustrophobic room of emotion I am crouched in. And it isn’t so stifling anymore. This is what happens when I am mindful of not trying to manipulate, hide, or wrestle with my sadness. I can let it roam more freely until, naturally and eventually, it simply dissolves on the back of an unsuspecting outbreath.



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  • A Guided Walking Meditation to Notice the Beauty Around Us—Even in the City

    A Guided Walking Meditation to Notice the Beauty Around Us—Even in the City

    This guided walking meditation from Kazumi Igus offers an opportunity to slow down and notice the wonder of the natural world in our urban environments.

    City life can often feel frantic, loud, and cut off from natural beauty. It’s not often we slow down and take in all there is to experience. But even in urban areas, if you pay attention, you can hear the call of a bird, notice your favorite color in shop windows, and look up at the vast sky above. 

    In this guided meditation, we slow our roll and take in the beauty of our surroundings, no matter where we find ourselves.

    A Guided Walking Meditation to Notice the Beauty Around Us—Even in the City

    Read and practice the guided meditation script below, pausing after each paragraph. Or listen to the audio practice.

    1. Let’s start with taking three deep breaths. 
    2. As we begin, I want to bring your attention to how you are moving if you’re walking through the city or trying to get from one place to another. How fast are you moving? How are you walking? What’s your pace? Do you have a destination and a timeframe? Or do you have some space? Wherever you are, slow it down just a little bit. If you can afford to walk really slow and won’t hold up traffic, you’re welcome to. And if you’re not walking and you’re in a wheelchair, you’re welcome to slow down. If you really need to be somewhere, try to relax into this space, whatever it is. Slow and steady, but maybe not too slow depending on where you are. 
    3. Bring your attention to how you are walking—your balance. Are you taking a step? Start to notice the small changes, the muscles involved. And whatever you’re thinking, all of it is OK. You’re just noticing where you are in this space right now. 
    4. Then, acknowledging that our minds sometimes race and we have a lot of things going on in our lives, just take a deep breath and bring your attention back to each step. Start to settle into a rhythm. Notice every muscle that’s involved with creating this locomotion to propel you forward and shift your weight. Maybe if you’re in a wheelchair, you’re using your arms. How are the hands involved? Are you holding something? Maybe a backpack, bag, or someone’s hand. Focus on really being present with your physical space, your physical body. Take a deep breath. As we move through our urban environment, we start to notice other things outside of ourselves. 
    5. The first thing I want you to bring your attention to is the smell around you. Depending on where you are, that can be pleasant or unpleasant. Breathing in, can you identify a particular smell? Maybe you’re getting a lot of smells all at once. Maybe you notice the change in smells as you move past different areas. And as you experience these smells, notice what you’re thinking. Are you creating a story? Are you finding yourself wanting to be near a pleasant smell or maybe pushing away, trying to avoid an unpleasant smell? If that’s the case, that’s all right. All of it is normal. Just experience the smell and label it as pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. See if you can identify pizza, poop, grass, or whatever it is. 
    6. Then take a deep breath and shift your attention to sights. What can you see? Start by focusing on a color that brings you joy. If it’s a bright color you might notice it in wrappers from candy or chips, maybe in ads, signs, storefront windows that have lots of flyers. If it’s something more earthy, like green or brown, you might start to notice it in nature—the trees and plants. Just pick your color and start noticing it on your journey. Even if the color is on a man-made object like clothing, hats, backpacks, signs, and things like that, that’s a part of the urban environment. If it’s flowers, trees, plants, we’re just noticing the natural portions of the urban environment. Both are necessary. 
    7. Taking another deep breath, we shift to looking at nature. Starting with animals. And for this, let’s maybe not focus on people and their pets. Let’s look for the animals that exist in this environment without being owned by a person. You might notice lizards depending on where you are in the world, cats that don’t have owners, squirrels, insects. 
    8. I’d like to bring your attention to the birds. Birds are what we call an indicator species. They tell you if your environment is healthy. So look up. Look around. Listen. You might even need to stop for a moment. If you can hear birds, start to listen for the variations in their calls, maybe even a different species. If you have mockingbirds, sometimes it’s the same bird making a bunch of different calls. Really stop to listen to it as though they’re telling you something. If the sound of traffic muffles some of the calls, it’s OK. The urban environment is complex. It has both manmade and natural things. If you can see the birds, notice their behaviors, the coloration, and any other details that might pop out at you. And notice your thoughts while seeing or hearing the birds. You might be able to see or hear seagulls if you’re near a coast, rock doves, a.k.a. pigeons, finches, sparrows, chickadees. Notice if you can identify any of these species by site or by call. Take a deep breath, noticing where the birds are. Probably in plants, trees, bushes, or on grass. 
    9. Those of us who live in urban environments often have plant blindness and don’t notice the plants. Take a moment to notice leaves and if you can see any patterns in how those plants are growing. Are there any flowers? Maybe you can recognize a specific species. Can you name it? Take a deep breath. Experience being around plants and animals in nature. 
    10. And as you continue moving keep noticing your color, new plants, new animals. Notice what you’re thinking and if you’re telling yourself a story or if you’re asking a lot of questions. And if you are, take a deep breath and then focus back on the details of the experience—the shape of the leaves, the color of the feathers. As humans, we cannot survive without the natural parts of the environment. So it’s very important for us to be mindful of how our movement through the world affects the nature around us and how the nature around us can affect our experience. Take another deep breath. If there’s a big tree or a squirrel that’s standing there looking at you, or a plant that’s intriguing, take a moment to stop. 
    11. Be grateful for its part of this urban environment. Expressing some gratitude that you are even able to experience it today. Taking a deep breath. Finding your walking rhythm. Slow but steady, or whatever works for you. Continuing to notice your color, plants, the animals. And continuing to take deep breaths. 



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