When I first encountered mindfulness in graduate school, the concept seemed alien to me. As someone who identified as an athlete, my identity was rooted in movement, quick thinking, and split-second decisions. I was conditioned to act and keep my body moving, to maintain momentum. Sitting still? Focusing on my breath? That sounded like a waste of time. I was skeptical. Why would I need to just sit there and observe my breath? I struggled to even sit still for 30 seconds. How could that help me? How would that help me?
In my mind, the more active I was, the more present I became. Walking my dog while listening to music? That counts as mindfulness, right? Or turning on a meditation app while working — surely that’s enough? Multitasking is something conditioned into us because if we are not learning a new language while flattening a curve within two weeks, what are we doing?!
But mindfulness, the real kind, does not work that way. And I soon realized that in order to completely experience its benefits, I needed to fully commit—body and mind—to sitting with myself. This meant sitting with everything, including my discomfort, the urges to escape, and the swirling thoughts I spent so much time avoiding.
The struggle of sitting with myself
At first, it was terrifying. The longer I sat, the more my mind wanted to race. What if I can’t handle these thoughts? What if they overwhelm me? What if I’m not “doing it right?” Yet slowly, over years, a shift emerged. Instead of reacting to every arising thought, I began to see them as less powerful. Where did this come from? Who is thinking this? What if these thoughts are facts? What if they are just stories? I recall imagining my thoughts as a rock being skipped across the water, each thought sending ripples outward, uncertain of their reach or destination.
In his book Why Buddhism is True, Robert Wright suggests, “thoughts think themselves.” This realization—that thoughts are not concrete truths but passing phenomena—allowed me to loosen their grip. Rather than running from fear, I started facing it head-on, seeing thoughts for what they were: just thoughts. Brain secretions. Nothing more than bubbles coming to the surface, only to burst momentarily. The more I struggled to avoid thinking, the larger the elephants in the room became. I am not exempt from cause and effect, nor from experiencing thoughts outside of my consent and control. All I can do is learn to recognize their fleeting nature, their ephemeralness, and all them to leave rather than cling or attempt to control.
A Breath of calm
The more I focused on the breath, the more I noticed a subtle shift in my body. The more I exhaled, the less contracted I became. I could feel the tension in my body melt away, over and over. For years and years I have continued to practice, with no destination or goal in mind.
Shunryu Suzuki Rōshi, Zen master and author of Not Always So, described the process beautifully: “calmness of mind is beyond the end of your exhalation, so if you exhale smoothly, without trying to exhale, you are entering into the complete perfect calmness of your mind.” This gentle reminder that calmness is something to cultivate and required practice became a profound part of my practice. In those moments, I could feel my inner chaos settle, if only briefly. The idea of “being without doing” was transformative. In stillness, even for a fleeting moment, there was ease. A balm for the emotional and cognitive burn I often carry.
Radical Acceptance and letting go
Perhaps the most challenging part of mindfulness continues to be the practice of radical acceptance. It is not just about accepting my thoughts, rather accepting the entire moment as it is—without judgment and without trying to force or attach to an outcome. Letting go of the “shoulds” society, family, or I place on myself.
What happens when I accept? Does that make me weak? What about the voice of imposter syndrome that always seems to whisper, telling me I’m not enough?
The truth is, accepting the present moment, as it is, requires courage. It requires the willingness to relinquish control, to stop striving to make things a certain way. When I stopped fighting reality, I discovered something powerful: freedom. As my Zen teacher, Randy Wolbert Rōshi says, “release the cows.”
The power of awareness: slowing down
Mindfulness is not a magic panacea, yet as Lisa Feldman Barrett writes in How Emotions Are Made, “You feel what your brain believes.” What if we paused, even just for a moment, to check in with ourselves and reset? What if we took a deep breath and realized that this moment—the one we’re in right now—is enough? I often find myself scurrying from place to place, in a hurried frenzy because I am often running late. My teacher, Randy, often reminds me to slow down and ‘walk like a water buffalo.’ These creatures are steady and powerful, taking their time as they churn up the earth. In their slow, deliberate movement, they remind us there is nowhere else to be. In the slowness, we become more aware of our thoughts and emotions, and in that awareness, we can start to break free from the narrative keeping us stuck in agony.
The questions to ask yourself
Mindfulness does not have to be an all-or-nothing approach. It is not about being perfect, rather just showing up, consistently. My teacher says to practice for 5 minutes a day rather than binging once in a while.
So, I ask myself: What is the largest step I’m willing to take today? And equally important, What is the smallest barrier I can overcome?
We do not need to start with hours of meditation or expect ourselves to sit in silence for ages without moving a muscle Instead, we can begin with the smallest action—taking a breath, noticing the present moment, and accepting it as it is.
What is your first step going to be?
*This blog post was originally written and posted in 2022. It has been updated and revised.
