I’ve been going through a recent bout with hardcore worrying over my health. I’ve had a few problems pop up recently, some stomach pain and an ugly mole¹, and so, logically, I’ve been worrying that I have some sort of cancer and that I’m going to die within a week. Which is clearly illogical, even total nonsense, and I know it. There’s an awful lot of things that can cause stomach pain, and an ugly mole can just be an ugly mole, rather than melanoma. Yeah, I tend to imagine I have the worst possible thing whenever I have health problems…

Knowing these things hasn’t helped in silencing my mind, though. My brain just keeps going through the same thought patterns over and over, and I’ve not had much luck in shutting the lump of grey matter up. The list just keeps looping – what if I’ve got a terrible illness, what if I’m going to die soon, what will my family do when I do, etc. When it reaches the end of the list, it just starts over.

It’s become rather tiresome, actually.

And of course, the real kicker is, even if what’s up with my mortal coil is serious – well, what’s worrying going to help? No one ever got better by worrying. In fact, if I don’t have some form of cancer or other terrible disease, sitting around worrying constantly will certainly push me towards having one. It’s goofy, really. And like I said, I know it’s goofy. I just don’t know how to stop it. When I’ve caught myself running the “Let’s Worry About What Might Be Wrong With You!” reruns in my head, I’ve tried to stop it by focusing on other things, but it hasn’t worked very well. It just leads to a tension in my head, a tug-of-war between the part of my mind that says “forget about it” and the part of my mind that screams “no, we must worry about it, now!”

I’ve also tried my standby, being mindful of the worry: looking at it in a detached matter, seeing how it manifests itself in my body (tense chest, slightly creased forehead, prominent frown), and seeing where it goes. It either gets better, gets worse, or stays the same². It gets better more often than it gets worse, but being mindful all the time is harder than it sounds, so I’ve still spent a lot of time in the past few weeks in worry mode.

I’ve been this way, a worry-wart, for as long as I can remember, but it’s reached new heights now that I’ve had to visit a doctor multiple times. Up until now, I’ve never had any health problems at all. No hospitalizations, no broken bones, nothing. Alas, health problems happen, and after seeing my internal responses to this crop of them, I’ve gotta’ say: I don’t want to keep doing this worrying nonsense. It’s no fun for me, and more importantly, it’s no fun for the people around me, because when I’m in Worry Mode (TM), I’m grumpy.

I’m not really sure what I’m going to do about the problem at this point. My family tells me “Just relax, stop worrying, you’re going to worry your life away” – okay, but how? Brute mental force directed at the worrying thoughts doesn’t work, at least not very well, nor does thinking about the issues logically. Where’s the little switch in my head labeled Worry, and how do I turn it off?

Maybe I’ve got a bit of OCD going on; maybe it should be brought up at the next doctor’s appointment. What say you lot?

1. Removed today, actually, and so now I just have to wait to see what the lab’s verdict is; the dermatologist seemed pretty confident it wasn’t anything to worry about.
2. This is something that Gil Fronsdal has pointed out in many of his talks, which I listen to via Zencast. It’s comical the way it sounds, but it’s true. Pain and emotions will always do one of these three things when you observe them mindfully.

I posted a little under a year ago about being in a Buddhist meditation group. The group has since had some problems in getting together, mostly due to scheduling conflicts between us. It’s amazing how difficult it can be to get 3-4 people together in one place for an hour… but I digress. What of my own daily meditation, which I had been doing at the time? Good question. I’m not sure what happened. My zafu and zabuton are still set up in my room, but I’ve sat down there once in months (a few days ago). Why? I just can’t bring myself to do it every day. I still want to, and I have the time, but when it comes around to doing it, something in my head just says “meh”, and I go do something else. And then the next day rolls around, I think “I should meditate”, and yet I don’t.

The same thing happened with my attempt at a health reboot. I had started keeping tabs on what I was eating, and I was exercising daily. And then I slipped, and then slipped again, and then I just fell back into the habits I’d had before: not exercising, eating generally like crap, and feeling bad about it the whole time. I’ve recently tried to get back into exercising, but it’s been a rather halting start. I’ve had more off days than on days, and unless that flips around, I’ll probably quit altogether. It was easy for me to start, as I found a form of exercise that I genuinely enjoy: kickboxing. I got into it, even going so far as to buy a punching bag (and to go to the considerable bother of hanging the thing, which was more difficult than I had anticipated.) But starting and staying the course are proving, of course, to be two different things. I’ve had the bag for around three weeks now, and it’s been used on 4 or 5 times. That’s not going to cut it.

So what’s the deal?

That’s the million dollar question, right? Well, here’s the problem: apparently, I’m human. Really. I did some googling on changing habits, and found that what I’m struggling with is pretty common. “Good habits are hard to develop but easy to live with, bad habits are easy to develop but hard to live with” is a quote from Brian Tracey, a motivational speaker, and is perhaps the shortest and clearest summation of what I’m struggling with. The cliché “humans are creatures of habit” is a cliché for a reason, after all. We get stuck in our ways and often, it takes more than just brute willpower to change them.

Leo at Zen Habits (love the blog name) has a good post on things to avoid when changing habits, which of course is full of things I’ve been doing when attempting these changes. And I do mean full – I think I’m guilty of every single thing on his list. Probably the biggest thing I’m guilty of is not maintaining accountability. I posted here in the past about exercising, about meditation, and then said nothing more of it. In “real life” (whatever the frak that means anymore, right?), I was also pretty quiet about my intentions to change myself. Certainly, my wife knew, my mom knew, but I hadn’t really talked to them in depth about my goals. It was more like, out of the blue, I said “oh, by the way, I’m going to exercise / meditate / whatever every day, poke me if you notice I’m not doing so, mmkay?” I’m sure they responded in the positive, and then soon after forgot about me ever having said anything

But, that’s not really their problem. It’s not their responsibility, or anyone else’s for that matter, to make me accountable. I have to do that. I’m not really sure how I’m going to do that for my exercising and meditation, though. I could certainly post about it here, but every day? Doubtful on that. Twitter? Maybe, but there’s an awful lot of noise on Twitter, so I’m not really sure anyone would notice if I didn’t post a tweet of “exercised for the day” or whatever. Leo made a training blog to help keep him accountable, but I’m not really sure if I want to go that route; I’ve already got two blogs, and if I make a blog for every habit I wish to make or change… well, I don’t have that much time to blog! Perhaps I’ll just talk to the family again, in more depth, and ask them to make me give a report each day. Or I could put up a calendar somewhere (the fridge would be wonderfully clichéd but practical), and mark the days I did whatever it is I’m wanting to be doing. I’ll think on it some more.

But, like I said, I’m guilty of more than just not keeping myself accountable for my goals. After reading Leo’s post, I realize that I’ve been failing pretty much everytime because when I’ve tried to change my habits, it’s been a rather spur of the moment “hey, I’m gonna’ do this!” sort of thing, with little no planning. I never wrote down any plan, especially nothing specific; I didn’t think about obstacles, I was just going to do it, by the gods! And we see how well that goes. No meditation in more or less months, and my newfound kickboxing routine quickly disappearing into that pile of vague memories which start with “Hey, I remember when I tried doing that…”

So, the gameplan: keep Leo’s list of “things to avoid” in mind, while I figure out how I’m going to go about making a 30 minute meditation session and a 30-45 minute exercise session part of my daily routine. But as per his advice, one of those is going on the shelf for a bit; you’re not supposed to tackle two habits at once More on this after I’ve thought about it some more and done a bit more research. And if you’ve not seen anything on this blog within a few weeks about this, call me on it. All of ya’.

One thing that his talks cleared up for me is the fact that you don’t need a perfect environment for mindfulness meditation. It doesn’t have to be quiet; it doesn’t have to be the “right” temperature; you don’t have to find the absolute perfect posture, where you’re not uncomfortable at all (even though posture is considered important).

Instead, when something occurs that might “interrupt” your meditation, simply make that the focus of your meditation. Is the dog next door barking madly at some cat? No problem. Be aware of the barking, focus on it. Is it simply too hot in your room, or the meditation hall, or where ever it is you’re sitting? Just be aware of the heat. What does it really feel like; as in, what does heat actually feel like, without all of the thoughts that your mind creates about your situation?

In a similar vein as dog barks, heat, and other such things: itches! Itches are something I’ve taken a rather peculiar interest in since I started listening to Zencast and sitting daily. Previously, if I had an itch during a meditation, I’d just scratch it. Now I just sit with it and observe what my mind does. I think all of us have, at some point in our lives, been in the situation of having a bad itch that we either can’t reach, or can’t scratch right then. Usually what happens is that you find yourself thinking you’re just going to die if you don’t scratch that itch. It’s terrible; you can’t function in your life with such an awful itch.

Similar thoughts bubble up during meditation, but if you just sit with them, or “hang out with them”, in Gil’s words, you’ll find that it’s not so unbearable at all. The itch itself isn’t the unbearable thing; what can be unbearable are the thoughts that we generate about the itch. Sitting with the itch, focusing your awareness on the itch, the thoughts tend to dissipate, and you’re left with the simple, unadorned experience of the itch. When you’ve reached that pointt, experiencing it without any added thoughts, it’s interesting to discover that it’s not so bad after all. Perhaps that sounds silly, meditating on an itch, but I recommend you try it (if you want); you don’t need a meditation cushion or anything. Just have a seat, sit with your breath, and wait for an itch to appear (and they will, trust me). Then just hang out with it and watch what your mind does.

I’ve done similar meditation on pain and discomfort. Where I’ve not sat regularly for very long, one of my legs invariably fall asleep – but before it goes to sleep, it hurts, aches, and has some massive tingling going on. I used to just change my position to try and get rid of the pain. I also used to try to avoid the pain, to focus on something else, even though the pain was often overpowering. This never worked. I’ve found, however, that if, instead of avoiding it, I focus on the pain, and just try to be present for it, the pain isn’t overpowering. It’s certainly not enjoyable – it still hurts, I’m not claiming otherwise! – but it isn’t as disrupting as it would be otherwise.

~

Our group met two evenings ago, on Tuesday, at the conference room of a hotel, where one of our members is the general manager. It was the first time we met at this location. In the past, we’ve met in the conference rooms at a local library. The switch from a library conference room to the hotel conference room would be a good one, if we had to stick with it, which we don’t (more on that shortly).

The meeting went quite well. One thing I was quite happy about was that four of us made it – in the past, we’ve generally had either two of us sitting, or perhaps three, if our schedules fell into place correctly, all of the planets were aligned, etc. We sat for 15 minutes, took a short break and discussed a few things, then sat for another 15 minutes.

Before the other two fellows arrived, Jeff (the general manager) and I spoke about the group, where we’d like to see it move, and so on. We were in agreement that we’d like the group to meet more often for sits. In the past, we’ve been limited by the library’s rules, specifically the one which states that you can only use one of their conference rooms once a month. Being a small group and having no funds available for group stuff, we’ve thus been meeting for sits only once a month. For discussions and general get-togethers, we’ve met a bit more often, using a local café.

The hotel conference room was nice, and fine for a meditation session. The only problem with it (if one can even really classify it as a problem) is that it’s not exactly close to any of us. It’s on one of the highways heading out of town, and for the three of us who live in town, it’s about a 20 minute drive. For the other guy, who lives out of town, on the other side of it, it’s more like half an hour. Certainly, we’re not talking huge commutes, but something closer would be nice. Jeff realized this, and was nice enough to offer up his home, in town, for our meetings. Using his house, we’ll be able to meet weekly.

Before I could bring up the topic of our group actively studying Buddhism, Jeff brought it up. He thought that perhaps incorporating a brief reading into our sits would be good, maybe a sutra that we could all meditate on. I thought it sounded like a good idea. We also discussed the issue of feeling like we’re on an ocean with no guide. None of us are very advanced in our practice, which has led to us just kind of floundering about in the water, wondering where to go. Again, Jeff had a solution. Apparently he’ll be frequently going to a larger city near us in the coming months, in which there’s a long-running Buddhist study / meditation group. He’s going to see if one of their more advanced members could come down to our town occasionally, perhaps once every month or two, to have a “class” of sorts. I thought this sounded great.

I suppose I keep thinking about something Drew, my professor, told me. He told me that he read in a newspaper that four people started a small meditation / study group (I can’t recall where it was, sadly). Initially, they met where ever they could – library rooms, parks, whatever.

Fast forward two years: they now have a meditation hall, around 50 regular members, and are a non-profit organization. They have services throughout the week, regular classes, etc.

Small steps, Josh. Small steps.

~

During our break between sitting sessions, we discussed a few things:

• I commented that when I first start a sitting session, I often feel like I’m leaning – a lot. Usually, I feel like I’m leaning to the left, almost to the point of falling over. If I try to correct this posture problem, I find that I’m not leaning at all. No one else had experienced that. After 5 minutes or so, the sensation goes away. How about you folks? Are any of my readers meditators? If you are, do you often feel like you’re the Leaning Tower of Pisa?
• Chris experienced something different, but similar. He said he often feels like he’s rocking back and forth slightly. When he goes to correct it, he finds he’s not actually moving.
• We talked a bit about whether or not we keep our eyes open during meditation. Some of us do, some of us don’t (I don’t). Jeff, who keeps his eyes partially open and focuses on something about 6 feet away from him, remarked that if he isn’t diligent in being aware of what’s going on, he’ll find himself seeing all sorts of things that aren’t there. For example, he said that while looking at the carpet Tuesday night, he started seeing faces, animals, etc. in the carpet pattern. Drew, who was facing the television in the conference room, said he felt like he was watching TV, then realized that it wasn’t even on. I suppose those two experiences show what your mind will do when you try to calm it down. It’s a bit like when you’re trying to get a small child to go to sleep: they’ll do anything they can think of to stay awake. Slap themselves, babble, kick, etc.I personally keep my eyes closed because of similar issues. I don’t necessarily “see” things like that, but I do find that if my eyes are open, my eyes have a tendency to wander, seeking out objects. Before I realize it, my mind’s off in left field (or not even in the stadium anymore), thinking about something that was vaguely related to something I looked at.
• We talked briefly after the second sitting session about how odd our perception of time can be. Both sessions were 15 minutes long. The first session felt like it lasted more like 20-30 minutes; the second session felt like it lasted 5 or 10 minutes, tops. This was something that we all generally noticed. No idea why.