I did not see that coming…
We often try to plan ahead, forgetting that plans are just best-case scenarios. Daniel Kahneman, PhD, author of Thinking, Fast and Slow, explains the planning fallacy by saying: “You make a plan, which is usually a best-case scenario. Then you assume the outcome will follow your plan, even when you should know better.” I was reminded of this truth during a silent Zen mindfulness retreat outside San Francisco.
I coped ahead for the retreat as best as I could, drawing from past experiences and my limited ability to predict the future. Before I left, I mentally rehearsed how I might handle emotionally charged situations using my skills. For months, I made contingency plans: time, transportation, lodging, dog-sitting, food, dark clothing, my toothbrush, and maybe even a chance to reconnect with old friends. It all seemed to be working out—until, 48 hours into the five-day retreat, Godzilla made an unexpected appearance. Of course, it did. A crisis arose in my absence, and I felt powerless to solve it.
I did not have a ‘Godzilla’, despite teaching my clients and students about the importance of contingency management planning. I use this as an extreme example because we often believe we have accounted for every possible scenario, only to find something we never even considered spawning from the depths. How could I not see this coming?! My mind spun with judgments, catastrophic thoughts careened through my brain, fears about the future slammed in my chest, and my heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears. I was holding my breath as adrenaline began its unwelcomed walkabout just before lights out. Perfect timing…
How do I fix this?!
Spinning, blaming, ruminating, and shaming—this was the gamut of an emotional rollercoaster I rode. The urge to “make everything better” from over 2000 miles away was overwhelming, making it hard to breathe as I paced in my tiny room. Should I leave early? What’s going to happen? How do I fix this—whatever that even means?
How often have you asked someone, “What should I do?” only to receive unhelpful, condescending, or impossible advice? A professor in graduate school who would answer our desperate questions with, “How the hell should I know?” with an accompanying shrug. At the time, it was infuriating; yet now, I find it reassuring. I do not have to know everything, and I am unable to control everything. I am not that powerful. Would I even want that kind of command? …Probably not.
What could I do?
I realize I may be making this sound easy, yet it was anything but. The reality is that accepting the situation and my limitations took immense effort. To paraphrase Dainin Katagiri-Rōshi, Sōtō Zen priest and teacher, I had to learn and experience freedom comes from within and is created by limitations. I did not want to experience my pain (are you kidding me, why the hell would I want to do that?!), yet I knew that without acceptance, I would face even greater suffering. And then, my Wise Mind kicked in.
Wise Mind is a skill Marsha M Linehan created and is from dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), where it refers to a balanced state of awareness, blending rational thinking with emotional insight. To paraphrase Marsha, when you mix black and white together, dialectically, you get plaid. The two complement each other rather cancel each other out. In this moment, it was a reminder to breathe, to sit with the discomfort, and to stay present.
I decided to stay at sesshin, sit zazen, be patient, walk, breathe, and accept the situation as it was. Radical acceptance—accepting what had actually happened, even though I did not approve, enjoy, or want it—was my path out of hell. When I teach this skill, I describe it as accepting something down in your guts, to the marrow of your bones, where body and mind are interconnected. This is no checklist to complete in five minutes; it is a practice we return to again and again and again, no matter how grueling.
Progress may often seem like walking up a sandhill—though we are making headway, there may be some sliding backward along the way. As Dag Hammarskjöld wrote in his journal Markings, “never measure the height of a mountain until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was.” I had to remind myself of the constant journey while also being aware of the temptation to slip and make the situation worse or stay miserable.
I recognized what I could control and focused on that. I could sit zazen. I could be mindful of the emotional waves. I could notice the space between breaths. I could let the tension surface without clinging to or pushing it away. I could reach out for help without breaking the silence. I could even ask my teacher for guidance; however, I first had to accept my situation in the moment, practice self-compassion, and try to sleep.
Accepting Reality
The next day, I focused on emotional regulation and distress tolerance. I could apply what I teach. I could use this as an opportunity to fully engage with the sensations, thoughts, action urges, and emotions flooding through me—catastrophic thinking, impulsive cravings, fear, grief, and a sense of failure. As Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, wrote, “I sit down, live with it for a while, then without turning away from it, pick it up.” I could accept my emotions and myself, nonjudgmentally, and participate fully with what was in front of me: life.
Discomfort. Pain. Dread. Anguish. Failure. Imposter.
The only way through was by accepting reality—not the internal narrative that “Godzilla destroyed everything because I’m an idiot who has no idea what they are doing.” Acceptance is not a passive action; it is a courageous act of facing what is happening, turning the mind, over and over again. I listened to my Wise Mind, utilized my skills, and sat with the internal storm on the cushion. I walked kinhin with the rest of the retreatants, each of us likely battling our own Godzillas.
I fact-checked, repaired, and brainstormed. I changed travel plans and communicated as effectively as I could to cope ahead. I shared my distress with my teacher, Randy Wolbert-Rōshi, who validated my experience yet could not change the situation. I did all I could. Now, it was time to practice my practice. I could, as he says, “release the cows”. I could let go of having to have control and it not be a catastrophe.
Brad Warner, Sōtō Zen priest and author, wrote, “Pay attention and be willing to accept things you don’t really want to accept.” How do you accept the unknown? You just do.
Moving forward
We figure out what to do by learning from past experiences. Sometimes knowing what you do not want is more important than knowing what you do want. We can leave behind what does not work while building a more stable foundation for the future. However, we first need a blueprint, a location, tools, and building materials. A permit to build may also be required, yet I am not a member of the HOA.
I did not expect Godzilla’s cameo, and I would prefer no future appearances. Even though I know how to better prepare for Godzilla, there is always the chance Space Godzilla could show up instead.
I managed the situation, found meaning in the storm, and kept moving toward my goals. Acceptance did not eliminate the discomfort, yet it made it bearable—and in doing so, it made me stronger.
Let’s hope Mothra doesn’t blow into town…
* This blog post was originally written following a Zen sesshin in October 2022. It was edited and updated.
