Microdosing Mindfulness, part 3

Mindful underemployment means enjoy the moment.

I have been mindfully underemployed for four and a half months. If my younger 20-something self had known that at one time in my midlife I would be without a steady job for such a long stretch, I would have pre-panicked. I would have anticipated the overwhelming amount of stress and sense of failure that surely would accompany being jobless. I would have wondered what on earth could have gone wrong with my life for me to be seemingly so unstable.

But you see, my younger self was also paying attention to certain people in the world. These people seemed to smile from a source deep within, and to float over life’s tumultuous waters with a profound sense of contentment. They could be sad, but never for very long. They could be angered by injustice, but still seem at peace. They could be living from paycheck to paycheck and eating from emergency food boxes with no vacation on the horizon ever and still seem utterly delighted to be alive. These various people spanned age groups and backgrounds. There didn’t seem to be any particular “secret sauce” that these soul-shining humans had in common, no one thing that might explain their general ease at navigating life. They had an intangible essence that I craved, an inner radiance that rippled outward: Peace.

For decades now I have been practicing peace by practicing presence. Microdosing mindfulness shows up in the space I create for myself each morning to meditate and journal, reflecting on gratitude and noticing the very moment I am in. It shows up in the relationships I maintain, those I initiate, strengthen, and even in those I release. It shows up in the letting go of expectation and sense of entitlement, and also in the knowing that I am valued and valuable, and that my value has nothing to do with my attachments or possessions. Microdosing mindfulness shows up by being in my body and getting curious with movement and breath, and discovering that the universe is unfathomably vast and I am not separate from it but an absolutely stunning part of it and so are you. It shows up by being in love with all of the other parts and pieces that make this life experience happen at all. There is not an hour in the day that goes by where I do not think or say outloud: I AM GRATEFUL. When gratitude is in abundance, lack doesn’t stand a chance. When peace is practiced, peace shows up.

The practice showed up for me big time during this underemployment stretch. I had bad days. But I can say honestly that I didn’t feel despair. I was intentional in my job search, trusting in myself, and I floated over the tumultuous waters of rejection with a profound sense of contentment. I could be sad, but not for very long. I could be living off dwindling savings and minimal earnings and still be utterly delighted to be alive.

If my younger 20-something self could have glanced beyond the apparent face value of temporary joblessness, and witnessed the actual moments during those four months, she would have found me glowing with an inner radiance that rippled outward. She would have found me at peace. Because the practice of presence really works.

PRACTICE IDEA - It’s really easy to notice lack, or what we don’t have. But it’s not because we’re inherently ungrateful. It’s because we’ve been conditioned by a culture of comparison and consumerism, and a notion that success is going to happen some time in the future, or that the past was better than the present. Reconditioning starts with intention, and bringing the awareness into the right here and now. Take two minutes each day to notice what’s here, near, and far. First thing in the morning is a lovely time for this practice, letting your breath, brain, and body acclimate to the context of the day and the environment. Start with what’s here, then near, then far, then near, then here again. Resist the inclination to attach story to what you notice (like if you notice your stomach growling, try not to jump immediately to “I must be hungry!” or if you notice a gray cloud in the distance just let it be a gray cloud instead of “looks like rain” …).

HERE - Close your eyes and notice one thing that is right here with you in this moment. This could be your breath, or the bones in your feet, or the sensation of the sun on your face.
NEAR - Open your eyes and notice one thing that is near you right now in this moment. Maybe it’s a potted plant on a shelf, or dust particles in the sunlight.
FAR - Shift your gaze out farther and notice one thing on the horizon. Maybe it’s a mountain or a passing cloud, a bird on a wire or the shingles on a roof.
NEAR - Bring your attention close again and notice one thing that is near you right now in this moment. Maybe it’s a lingering aroma from breakfast, or the sound of the heater.
HERE - Close your eyes and notice one thing that is right here with you in this moment. This could be palms of your hands touching, or the heart beating between your lungs.

Close the practice by thinking or saying out loud to all that you noticed, “Thank you for being here.”

Noticing what’s near and far at the Ma-le’l Dunes over the summer.

Microdosing Mindfulness, part 2

Put your phone down. Put your records on.

I bought my daughter a record player for her birthday years ago. Her first albums included The Kinks, Linda Rondstadt, Taj Mahal, Madonna, and The Go-Gos. Whenever we could we would go browse the stacks at our favorite record shop, Vinyl Resting Place in North Portland. It’s an activity that lets us be literally hands-on with the music, immersed in the album art, subjected to the intentional organization of the artist’s songs onto Side 1 and Side 2, and fully engaged with one another in this shared thrill of browse and delight.

Recently my boyfriend and I rearranged the living room at his place, bringing his record player into the center of the room where it could get better use. Then we brought over some records from my place. And we borrowed some more from his sister. And now whenever we can, we scour the Wenatchee thrift stores for Tom Jones, Billy Joel, The Pretenders, Waylon and Willie, and other treasures like the other polka-playing Yankovic. We take turns selecting which album to play, propping up the cover near the record player to display the current selection. We look at the year the album was released, the track titles, song details, and who wrote the music originally. We learn while we listen, and we connect more deeply with the artist and music than if they had popped up in a mood playlist on Spotify. And we connect with each other more deeply by making music an intentional, mindful, shared experience.

PRACTICE IDEA - Bring intention to your music. If you have a record player, beautiful! Use it. Borrow and swap albums with friends and family. Seek out and find your local thrift stores and dig through their boxes. Pick up and examine the album covers, pull the vinyl from their dust jackets and peek at the physical grooves where the impressions of tunes become tangible. Take home an album you’ve never heard before and listen to both sides as it was originally recorded. Be with the sensations of selection, of placing the record on the machine and lifting the needle to set it down to play. Notice how the movement of your body affects the vibrations of the machine, and see if you can notice the vibrations of the music in your body. If you don’t have a record player, invite intention into your streaming service. You can turn off Autoplay in Spotify so that when you’re done listening to an album it won’t automatically start playing songs based off their algorithm. This allows you to pause, and intentionally choose to select a new album to play top down, as originally designed by the artist. Pick out an album and listen to it without skipping a song. Find out when the album was released. Listen to the music and visualize the notes landing on you like raindrops, let the artistry saturate your senses, and allow your body to move in response to rhythm.

Microdosing Mindfulness, part 1

Small doses throughout the day of focused and present energy calms the nervous system, reduces stress, enhances cognition, increases empathy and compassion, and builds a habit of contentment.

For me it starts with coffee. I have a ritual. I grind the beans each day for my french press. I fill the kettle with water from the tap, and then I click the kettle into its electric cradle. I spoon the grounds into the pot: one spoonful, two spoonfuls, three spoonfuls. I listen for the water as it comes to a boil, the subtle rise in pitch of contained steam. Then I lift the kettle from its cradle just before it comes to a full boil, and I tip its elegant neck over the mouth of the french press, swirling the steaming water over the grounds. When it’s almost half full I grab one of two chopsticks that I keep for just this purpose, and I swirl the grounds until they begin to bloom and froth. Then I withdraw the tip of the chopstick, tip the neck of the kettle over the grounds once again, and continue to swirl the hot water over the grounds, rinsing the tip of the chopstick as I go, then returning it alongside the other into the repurposed jar that now serves the sole — and important — role of holding my coffee-stirring chopsticks. Then I place the lid on the french press, careful not to plunge too soon. And I step away for three to four minutes, practicing patience while the coffee grounds and hot water make magic together. I grab my favorite mug from the cupboard. It’s my favorite for how it feels in my hands, and how its narrow mouth keeps my coffee hot but not too hot. Then I place my palm over the top of the circular plunger of the french press, and I start the slow plunge, sending the saturated grounds to the bottom of the pot, with its gloriously dark, bitter coffee floating above and ready to serve. A full paragraph of saturated sensory moments and utter contentment at just being present and part of it all … and I haven’t even had a sip yet.

This is how a mindfulness practice shows up without really even trying. It began as an awareness that it was the process of making coffee that brought me contentment, just as much as the beverage itself. The beverage without the ritual just isn’t the same.

PRACTICE IDEA - Notice something you already do daily that brings you a level of contentment, and then allow it to become a mindful ritual. Maybe it’s washing your face before bed or in the morning. We’ll use it as an example. The next time you wash your face, notice the feeling of the tap handles against your fingertips as you turn them to adjust the temperature of the water. Let the water flow over your fingertips into the sink and notice as the temperature changes. Arrange your soaps and towels nearby and notice them in relationship to each other and to you. Feel your feet on the ground and notice the air temperature. Notice yourself in the mirror and remember you have a backbody: you are more than the reflection in the mirror. Wash your face with care, noticing sensations of water to skin, skin to skin, soap to skin, and skin to towel. Water, skin, soap, towel — they all have a history and have arrived in this moment together. The feeling of having a clean face is delightful, and when you create a ritual of the process, you amplify the delight, and make it a habit.