Wednesday 24 September 2014

There's Peace From the Purveyors of Corporate Mindfulness

With all good intentions, Ed Halliwell writes, a bit of mindfulness in institutions whose activities and attitudes contribute to the world's pain may not amount to much. But it is a good start—toward a mindful culture. 
Along with last week’s Wisdom 2.0 conference in Dublin came some more critical commentary on the adoption of mindfulness in mainstream settings—especially by corporate giants like GoogleA consistent theme has emerged in many such critiques: an apparent discrepancy between the settings in which much mindfulness training takes place, and the professed attitudes and intentions of the practices themselves.Along with last week’s Wisdom 2.0 conference in Dublin came some more critical commentary on the adoption of mindfulness in mainstream settings—especially by corporate giants like Google.
So, the conference at Google Headquarters in Dublin seemed suspect to some, because Google’s sponsoring of mindfulness looks at odds with its place as an immensely wealthy corporate tech giant. Doesn’t it perpetuate a spewing of information which leads to frazzling brains rather than training them in steady, discerning attention? Mindfulness in the military similarly appears strange because there’s an assumed culture of aggression at the core of life in the forces—where is the gentleness of mindfulness here? Even in healthcare, the apparent placing of responsibility on the sick individual to ‘become more mindful’ may seem to encourage a sense of over-responsibility for their condition, when there are biological, familial, environmental, and systemic stressors which may contribute towards symptoms, and which may need a wider kind of treatment.
As I’ve suggested before, there may be a kernel of insight to some of these observations, if mindfulness is practised purely as a form of self-help, or stress reduction. If our motivations remain small, then so will be the outcomes, limited to a form of personal, pragmatic accommodation to a world in which greed, aggression, and delusion continue to run riot. With all good intentions, a bit of mindfulness in institutions whose main activities and attitudes contribute to the world’s pain may not amount to much, although, I would argue, it is a good start.
Meditation can ease the stress of daily life. But awareness takes mindfulness practice beyond self-help and self-enhancement.
As mindfulness becomes a less radical concept and more widespread, I think we’re reaching a point of great opportunity, and some risk. With the rapid adoption of mindfulness, there is the amazing possibility that as we practise becoming more aware of our patterns as individuals, we may also become more aware of the patterns around us that reinforce not just our stress, but that of the wider world. Awareness is the first step to change, because with awareness we can become inspired and empowered to make lifestyle shifts, and these can ripple out into social systems.
But even with meditation practice, it is difficult to really see the cultures in which we’re embedded. As has been said, “We don’t know who discovered water, but it probably wasn’t a fish.” Even, we might add, a mindful fish. So while it’s true that with nothing being said about ethics and morals, mindfulness training can start to connect us to a deeper sense of heartfelt values, and a realisation that materialism doesn’t lead to lasting happiness, it might also be helpful if we’re explicit about the environmental conditions and systems that are conducive to collective well-being. This is, after all, is how we might define a mindful culture—a world in which everyone’s happiness is paramount.
Mindfulness practitioners need to take the conversation beyond the individual benefits of mindfulness. 
Without compromising a basic commitment to allowing space for compassionate awareness to arise, through the practice of curiosity and gentleness, perhaps mindfulness practitioners could be less shy of pointing out the implications of fully embracing this way of being on the structures of society—the creation and sustaining of businesses, governments, local communities, and other institutions whose genuine purpose (and actual activity) focuses on the good of all. And might it not also be helpful to highlight systems and institutions where that may not currently be the case, (and how bringing mindfulness to that culture, not just to individuals within that culture, might be beneficial). This isn’t finger-wagging or an imposition of values, simply a recognition that there is good scientific evidence that certain practices, attitudes and behaviours (such as compassion, connection, generosity, and mindful awareness) lead to greater contentment, and that there are known methods for cultivating and opening up to these wise ways of being.
What would a mindful culture look like? 
Having a conversation about what a culture of mindfulness might mean (leaving, of course, plenty of room for discussion, disagreement and revision), might be a sensible and honest way to respond to the repeatedly arising objections to mindfulness in public and private institutions, as well as outlining a path which can facilitate not just the spread of mindfulness widely, but deeply. Maybe you could help this conversation get started –my intention is to return to this theme in future blogs, and I’d value your reflections. What constitutes a mindful culture? And how does it get created? Please post comments below.

Wednesday 10 September 2014

What My Three-Year-Old Taught Me About Self-Criticism

If it takes months of coaxing to help my three-year-old son unhook from the effects of one negative comment, writes Ed Halliwell, is it surprising that we can't change our habitual ways of being hard on ourselves with a bit of positive self-talk?
For the last year or so, I’ve been taking my eldest son—just turned three—to soccer classes. It’s a light and playful introduction to kicking a ball, and as someone who still enjoys 5-a-side games once or twice a week, it’s a pleasure to discover if this might be a sport for him too.
He enjoys the sessions, so I’ve felt comfortable that I’m not just forcing him to follow in my footsteps, recognizing the possibility that he may decide in time that it’s not something he wants to continue. But I hadn't expected what happened three month ago: just when the weekly lesson began, he suddenly stopped and said: “I’m not very good at soccer, Daddy.”
Where had that come from? I’ve always given him positive feedback as he played, so this sudden self-criticism, accompanied by an unwillingness to put the ball at his feet, left me stumped. Then I remembered back to a few weeks before, when during a development review at his nursery, one of the teachers said—without any sense of negative judgement—that my son was not as strong at ball-kicking as some of his contemporaries. Had he somehow picked up this message? From one of the other children? From the teacher? From me, even if not in words?
It wasn’t a one-off. Over the next several weeks, while he continued to look forward to his ‘Little Kickers’ classes, when it came to getting the balls out, he would tend to move from willingness to sheepishness and occasionally refusal, repeating by way of explanation: “I’m not very good at soccer.”
I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I didn’t want to ignore his feelings, and just keep on encouraging him as if nothing had been said, but at the same time, giving up playing with the ball might leave him with a negative view of his skills confirmed.
Uncomfortable with feeling either like a pushy parent or colluding with the story, I tried gently to respond with something like: “You’re excellent at soccer, I’ve watched you and played with you and you’re doing really well. But it’s okay if you don’t want to kick the ball right now, we can just throw it to each other if you like.”
Sometimes he’d be happy with throwing, sometimes he asked to watch me kick the ball, and occasionally he’d gingerly go back to kicking it himself. I kept reminding him how well he was doing. At the same time, I was noticing and watching my own mental stories—Am I making things worse? Maybe he really doesn't like soccer and I’m projecting my desires onto him?
For a couple of months, the pattern continued, sometimes more often during one session than another. He never seemed upset about attending the classes as a whole, so I continued to engage with him as best I could, taking every opportunity to remind him how capable he is and how proud I am of him, no matter what happened when (or whether) he kicked any balls.
Gradually, his expressions of inadequacy diminished, and a contentment with the ball at his feet visibly grew. Then, a couple of weeks ago, as he ran towards the goal, he turned to me with a broad smile and said triumphantly: “I’m really good at soccer, Daddy!” and kicked a ball without fear into the net. As I saw his joy, I felt a warmth spread out from my chest.
Of course, I don’t really know what happened here – what caused this drop and then return of confidence in my little boy. But it reminds me of what most of us are working with in our mindfulness practice—the voices in our heads that tell us we’re not good enough, and that sap our vitality, increase our anxiety, and lead us to avoid new territories.
Perhaps these voices are not really ours, but based on the opinions of others, and installed in our minds when we were too young to evaluate what’s true? They are likely reinforced by the adaptive (but unhappiness-fuelling) bias in our psyches that makes us super-sensitive to, and disproportionately believing of, critical opinions from others.
If it takes three months of coaxing to help a three-year-old unhook from the effect of what may have been one negative comment or thought, is it surprising that we can’t change our habitual ways of being hard on ourselves with a bit of positive self-talk? Nevertheless, by repeatedly bringing awareness to the voices in our head, approaching them in meditation with gentleness and acceptance (rather than just an aggressive desire to get rid), we are patiently training ourselves to be freed from their grasp.
In time, with a lot of repetition, we may come to view self-critical thoughts, and the uncomfortable body sensations that tend to come with them, as just the remnants of old and unhelpful messages that we don’t need to buy into anymore. They are thoughts, not facts, as the Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT) mantra has it. Offering ourselves the kindness and acceptance that comes with meditation practice, we are already undoing (maybe even replacing) the wirings that got tangledwhen we weren’t always treated well earlier in life.