How Can Mindfulness Help Us At Work?

If mindfulness training leads to better focus, performance, and well-being, it comes—ironically—from letting go of the very desires for focus, performance, and well-being that motivates many in their jobs.

When mindfulness is taught in the workplace, it’s often emphasized how meditation cultivates attention, helping us cope with demands in a busy job. Or we hear about mindfulness as stress reduction—if we can learn to manage our thoughts and emotions, we will become more resilient and effective. We might be tempted by the supposed interpersonal benefits, feeling that if we could handle our working relationships skilfully, our careers will improve. All of this may indeed be available through mindfulness practice, but there’s a problem with taking this approach to the training, which places it in the realm of performance enhancement.

Actually, mindfulness is a tuning to what we already are, a freeing from the tyranny of shoulds, oughts, and wishes to be better, faster, and more efficient, which are endemic in workplace settings. It is an undoing more than a doing, a recognition that grasping for improvement and success (whether in the form of profit, status, recognition or identity) is stressful in itself, tending to make work an unhappy endeavour. If mindfulness training leads to better focus, performance, and well-being, it comes—ironically—from letting go of the very desires for focus, performance, and well-being that motivates many in their jobs.

This makes ‘mindfulness at work’ a tricky proposition. The training may begin with the intention of improving something, and yet, to be accomplished, it requires us to stop trying to improve. Instead we are invited to slow down, relax, trust, and be willing to linger the attention on the direct experience of the senses. Rather than thinking up, solving, or producing anything (for the moment), we are asked to explore the possibility that our obsession with thinking, solving, and producing is part of what limits us, rather than desirable. In a results-based culture, a foundation of explicitly trying not to seek results goes right against the grain. But as soon as this foundation is compromised, we are no longer practising mindfulness.

Herein lies a tension, but also a jewel. If we allow ourselves to submit to this radical approach, things may start to happen, although not the kind of enhancements we might have expected. As we get in touch with our experience through stillness and presence, we may become more aware of our relationship to work. We can start to see and feel clearly what drives us, and whether following these drivers result in satisfaction. We start to see the influence of the wider workplace culture, and notice whether it nurtures or depletes us, and is of benefit to others. As we train further in awareness and resilience, we might make choices that reflect a—perhaps newly discovered—inner alignment. This may mean we become more curious, creative, and centred in our existing work, or it might mean recognizing an uncomfortable mismatch between our current career and a deeper calling, spurring a decision to shift direction. We might recognize the symptoms of pressure put on us at work as part of systemic dysfunction rather than personal failing, and choose to stand up to those pressures, or campaign to change them, or find a healthier place to spend our days.

We’ll never be effective if we’re out of tune with ourselves. When we’re able to get in tune—with regular meditation as a friendly way to help—we may discover that we’re drawn to a working life in which compassion rather than competition, service rather than sales, artistry rather than aggression become our primary means. And, it’s suggested, by the testimony of many who’ve practised before us and data coming from the science of happiness, that these qualities are key to finding and expressing well-being and wholeness. Dropping into wakeful union of body and mind, we heal the stressful split between who we feel we are in our hearts and who we sometimes feel driven to be in our lives (especially in our work). Then we might find—without having to do any performance enhancement training—that other, resulting benefits of mindfulness (developed attention, emotional intelligence, resilience and so on) arise by themselves. By which time, we may be so in flow that we won’t try to develop them.

Ed Halliwell is leading Using Mindfulness at Work on 11 September at the London School of Life.

Mindfulness Can't Cure Everything. And That's a Problem Why?

Does something beneficial have to be delivered perfectly—and to bring about a perfect world—before we will accept it as worthwhile?

We’re entering an interesting phase for mindfulness in the media. Until the last few months, nearly all the coverage has been focused on the great possibilities of meditation training—decreased stress, deeper awareness, and more skilful management of mental, physical and behavioural difficulties. The main story has been that an ancient practice, previously ignored or derided by the mainstream, has been scientifically shown to be helpful, and consequently embraced by a sceptical world. In short: “Surprise! Meditation really works!”

There’s only so long such a story can be news, and it’s interesting that recently we’ve started to see the appearance of a number of pieces offering a more critical view. This is—in my opinion—an excellent thing, partly because it suggests the known benefits of mindfulness are now sufficiently understood as to no longer be remarkable. But it’s also a good thing as it creates an opportunity for reflection on some of the challenges thrown up by the very rapid shift adoption of mindfulness practices in contemporary western culture.

Take for example, the piece by Suzanne Moore in the Guardian last week. Headlined: "Mindfulness is all about self-help. It does nothing to change an unjust world," its central argument is that meditation as taught in mindfulness courses offers nothing more than ways to cope in an oppressive environment, and worse, that it does so by removing the capacity to think critically and respond to the ‘structural difficulties’ which are responsible for much of the stress we experience. Upset, angry, ill? A mindfulness course might help you feel better, it suggests, but at the cost of pacification, leaving you unaware of, disconnected from, or just plain not bothered enough to do anything about the institutional injustices and systemically generated suffering that might be a factor in your, and others’, misery.

This is mindfulness as opium of the people, and so it’s no wonder that institutions such as banks, the military, and governments are keen to get on board—a bit of meditation as Band Aid, and we can all carry on as before, nobody noticing the deeper, cultural causes of suffering, because all the responsibility to change is placed on the ”sick” individual (what family therapists might call the "identified patient”).

There are some important points here. We are not islands, and stress is not just internally generated. We are inextricably interconnected with our environments, and locating the responsibility for health and happiness solely in the individual is unfair, inaccurate, and unhelpful. A mindfulness that is just “a way to function better in an over-connected world” rather than also offering a means to change that world would indeed be a neutered version of the approach.

The thing is, I don’t recognise this neutered version of mindfulness, except in some media reports, and perhaps in some of the writings or trainings offered by those with little exposure to and experience with meditation. It’s not what I see modelled by most mindfulness teachers, most contemplative researchers, or indeed most practitioners as they develop and deepen a more aware and compassionate connection to themselves, others and the world. Dismissing mindfulness on this basis is a bit like saying Beethoven was talentless because you hear a neighbour who has never taken piano lessons loudly hashing Moonlight Sonata next door.

Far from propping up unfair structures, what I more often see in mindfulness courses are people waking up to areas in life where they have been tolerating or supporting dysfunctional structures, and deciding to make changes, or work for them. I have seen bankers start meditating and discover an inspiration to retrain as helping professionals. I’ve seen people leave or change the dynamics of unhealthy relationships. I regularly see people move from a place of feeling paralysed by anxiety and low mood to feeling empowered and confident enough to take on the challenge of not just living in an imperfect world but taking an active role in seeking to reconstruct it.

It’s true that mindfulness practice begins at home, but by cultivating the capacity to pay attention and observe with compassion what keeps us stuck and what liberates, people often report feeling more freed and empowered to effect change, not just internally but in the world around them. With greater awareness and sensitivity, we are more able to take action based on seeing the systems of automatic thought, emotion, and behaviour that keep people stressed. This is likely to be wise action that will (I believe) inevitably ripple out to, loosen, and potentially transform, albeit perhaps gradually, the unhelpfully constraining systems and structures that bind us (and which are of course made up of people).

What is likely to bring about more effective change? An activist with a mind enslaved by crowded, unquestioned thinking, or one able to meet a situation with practised awareness, presence, openness, and compassion? To paraphrase Jon Kabat-Zinn, mindfulness isn’t about thinking less, it’s about not getting lost or caught up in the stream of automatic thought. Far from perpetuating the status quo, I’d suggest that this capacity to bring awareness to our thinking (and the rest of our experience) is revolutionary.

Actually, I’d go as far as to say that creating time and space to develop a meditation practice is one of the single, most radical acts you can take, because it opens the way to understanding and working effectively with the mind, and if you can understand and work effectively with the mind, which is what experiences everything in life, then you have tapped into a fundamental source of skilful living.

Of course, when an approach as unfamiliar as mindfulness meets the mainstream, it’s inevitable that there will be shallower renditions, misinterpretations and accommodations that may offer a lesser liberation. Sometimes taking a mindfulness course may simply enable someone to cope with the stress of their existing life, rather than leading them into social activism. If so, isn’t that still a good thing, a small contribution to reduced suffering in the world, even if—as I think unlikely—that measure of reduced suffering has no beneficial side effects on the people and places around that practitioner? Does something beneficial have to be delivered perfectly—and to bring about a perfect world—before we will accept it as worthwhile? If so, we might be stuck for a long time. Haven’t we been stuck long enough?

6 Reasons Why Mindfulness Begins with the Breath

It’s good to be curious about why we practise mindfulness of breathing, but just because we experience some discomfort during the practice doesn’t mean it’s not helpful. In fact, perhaps it’s helpful partly because the breath shows us our discomfort, and the patterns of relationship that perpetuate it. Rather than immediately looking for a more exciting mindfulness practice, we might like to consider possible benefits of staying with the breath. Here are a few to ponder:“My breath is boring—just the same thing over and over again. Surely there must be something more interesting to watch?” This kind of comment comes up quite often when people start mindfulness training. While there are a lot of usefulinformal mindfulness practices being offered out there—like savoring a snack or the walk home—there's a good case to be made for cultivating a formal mindfulness practice, which involves learning a basic mindfulness meditation such as following the breath and practicing it on a regular, preferably daily, schedule.

1. The breath doesn’t try to get anywhere. In and out. In and out. The breath isn’t focused on improving style, becoming more efficient, or rushing to reach the end of some daily respiration quota in order to take a break. As long as we let it, the breath mostly just does what it does. Of course, there is something very vital happening when we breathe—without it we die—but trying to speed it up, force it, grasp it, push it away or control it tends to get in the way. As in breathing, so in life—we can learn a lot from the natural rhythm, pace, and un-fussiness of the way breath continues its work, without making a big deal out of it.

2. The breath teaches us steadfastness. Much of the time the mind is wandering, either drawn to focus, ruminate, or push away unpleasant experiences, or chasing after stuff we like. But if we don’t practise being still, we are prone to get blown about by every wind, buffeted by the ups and downs of life. By training to pay attention precisely and gently to the breath, coming back again and again, we cultivate a resilience that allows us to be present when difficulty and temptation arises. Distractions still come, but we don’t get so lost in them. This is a master key to well-being, and the boring old breath offers a simple, regular, and available tool to practise with and learn from.

3. The breath happens in the body. For those of us accustomed to experiencing everything from our heads, the breath invites us to a lower centre of gravity. We let go of thinking for a time, and come down to the belly. We feel the texture of the breath, its rising and falling, and the physical sensations of movement that accompany it. This helps synchronise body and mind, bringing us more into a mode of present-moment sensing. When we feel the breath, we feel the essence of being alive. This often feels good, even if we’re having a hard time. As Jon Kabat-Zinn says: “If you’re breathing, there’s more right with you than wrong.”

4. The breath isn’t really that boring. Are you paying attention to the breath, or just your idea of how it is, should or shouldn’t be? Is this breath really the same as the last one, or subtly different, in duration, texture, and intensity? When you open to the actual sensations of breathing, is it really so tedious? Isn’t it rather remarkable and wonderful that we are kept alive in each moment through this mysterious process of inhalation and exhalation, of oxygenation and blood pumping, of the air reaching all the cells of the body. Isn’t it amazing that there’s air to breathe, a body to take it in, and a mind to watch it? Each moment we’re interested in the process of breathing, we are training ourselves in curiosity. Maybe other so-called boring aspects of life contain jewels that we miss and dismiss too hastily?

5. You don’t breathe. The breath breathes. You are not in charge of your breathing, or at least, not so much. Yes, you could hold your breath (for a while) and you could choose to breathe deliberately fast and shallow for a time, but fairly soon any attempt to force the breath will produce counter-measures from within. At the same time, with practice, it’s possible to learn to align with the breath, gently moving with it, while allowing space for it to come into its own natural depth, pace, and flow.Things seem to go best when we co-operate with the breath, rather than resisting or clinging to it. This is good training for the rest of life, over which we also have only partial control.

6. The breath invites us to rest and recuperate. When early humans were faced with a predator attack, the breath would quicken and the muscles would tense in preparation for fight or flight. If the attack was survived, there would follow a period of rest and recuperation, as the breath slowed down and the body returned to balance. The same reactions occur in us today, except many threats we face are chronic and ongoing (stressful jobs, noisy neighbours, long-term illness etc) and our bodies may not get much chance to come back to balance. The stillness and space of mindfulness of breathing allows us to move into recovery mode, as we take some time out from the frenetic pace of activity or worry that many of us live with. Regular attention to the breath could save us from overheating and breakdown.

Can Mindfulness Transform Politics?

More on the new All-Party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness in the UK.

It was an arresting occasion partly due to the setting—we are perhaps getting used to meditation happening in health centres, private businesses, even schools—but here it was being practised and taken seriously in the symbol of the British establishment, by politicians from all three main parties, offered up as a way to approach some of the most pressing social issues of our time. I think it’s fair to say that the days of mindfulness being seen as something new agey or alternative are coming to an end.The Labour MP Chris Ruane described it as a seminal moment, and it was certainly a startling one for many. In a packed Committee Room at the House of Commons last Wednesday, with 28 MPs and Lords in attendance, a UK all-party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness was launched.

The content of the event was also remarkable. Speaker after speaker gave testimony about the benefits of mindfulness practice, covering wide ground—there was a university professor, a psychiatrist, a criminal justice expert, a schoolteacher (and several pupils), a company chief executive, and a comedian. And then of course, there were the politicians themselves, who not only asked searching questions about the evidence for mindfulness and how it might translate into the hard realities of public policy (“money is tight so everything has to be proven”) but also, significantly, spoke movingly about their own personal practice.

This degree of engagement (it is rare for such a turnout at these events, even rarer for so many Parliamentarians to stay till the end) shows the fruit of Chris Ruane’s cajoling of his colleagues to attend the mindfulness courses he set up in Westminster. The courses have been completed by 80 MPs and Lords, with more signed up for the next round.

Lord Andrew Stone spoke of how mindfulness had helped him face the stress of difficult negotiations during a recent trip to Egypt, while the Conservative MP Tracey Crouch shared how mindfulness has helped her emerge from a place of anxiety that led her to take antidepressants, and about which she’s only just felt able to go public. There was a sense of human connection, openness, even a (brave) vulnerability in the room which I’m told is not common at political gatherings, especially those which stretch across party divides.

Alongside these testimonies we heard about the broad challenges facing UK society: reduced spending on mental health care despite a rising tide of poor well-being (50 million of those antidepressant prescriptions each year—not far off one per person), restricted social mobility, the apparent conflict between attainment and well-being in schools, a pervading sense of pressure and lack of agency in workplaces, and the economic (not to mention human) cost of poor impulse control among offenders.

The politicians’ capacity to come from a place of practice is, I think, crucial. One of the risks of marking mindfulness as a political strategy is that it could be turned into yet another poorly-applied quick fix—throwing a watered-down, mindfulness training-lite at deeply embedded systemic problems is unlikely to have much impact. At best, it may offer some respite from the stress of living in those systems, at worst it could become a way of maintaining them, placing all responsibility for distress on the individual (“Can’t you just be more mindful?”) without recognising the familial, social, and environmental pressures that contribute to our mind states. Following the event, Baroness Ruth Lister, a long-time social campaigner, wrote about such concerns on the House of Lords blog.

I am optimistic. That so many UK politicians have begun the work of mindfulness training is the best foundation for this work. Once you have some experience of both the possibilities and difficulties of working with your own mind, there is more likelihood that you’ll understand the scale of the task in inviting a more mindful world, as well as how such a vast project can gradually be undertaken and begun, aspect by aspect, moment by moment.

If it touches the hearts of enough people, the personal transformation of consciousness—greater awareness and compassion—that so many people report coming with mindfulness training cannot but go hand-in-hand with a wider transformation in systems that are, after all, maintained by collections of people. The problems begin when we are seduced by the prevailing culture and try to separate, ignore, or rush either aspect of this work, either the individual or the collective. Then, as one MP suggested during Wednesday’s session, mindfulness could be warped into another manifestation of the problems we are hoping it could help address. Jon Kabat-Zinn has wisely talked about this being a 1000 year project. At least that long, I would say, even though significant changes, such as the acceptance of mindfulness in mainstream settings, are now happening very quickly.

Lobbying, policy formation and action are vital parts of this work, and fundraising has started to enable a Parliamentary Inquiry, leading to a report next year on how the UK can become a more mindful nation. But mindfulness means little if applied just as a buzzword—to make any real difference it must come from a place of embodiment in those who aspire to share it. So, in my opinion, the most important aspect of the entry of mindfulness into the political landscape and vocabulary is that Parliamentarians themselves have been willing to engage their minds and bodies in the practice, before engaging their mouths in recommending it for others.

Ed Halliwell is working with the Mindfulness Initiative, which is supporting the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness to develop the work described in this blog. If you able to help fund this work, or are able to give time and skills to help co-ordinate it, please get in touch via the contact page on his website (www.edhalliwell.com). 

7 Questions About Mindfulness That Still Need An Answer

Ed Halliwell on the next frontiers in mindfulness. 

It’s been a year since I updated this blog—a combination of teaching, book-writing, and a baby have squeezed the time I’ve had available for other things. Now with a little more space, I wondered how to begin again, especially with so much note-worthy happening in the world of mindfulness in the last 12 months.

To set some intention, I wrote down a list of seven mindfulness-related questions that seem live and unresolved. Many of them are concerned with the continuing rapid expansion of interest in mindfulness, and the possible opportunities and challenges this presents. I plan to touch on each of them more fully in the coming weeks and months.

The list isn’t meant as definitive or exhaustive, and there may not (yet) be clear answers to any of the questions. I would very much welcome your additions, disagreements, or any other comments. I will do my best to reflect on and address them in future posts.

1. Mindfulness is being adopted by the mainstream very quickly. Does this help or hinder the movement?

The huge interest in mindfulness carries great potential, but urgency of pursuit caneasily leads to grasping for results, speediness, and surface-skimming. And these, of course, are the very stress-producing habits that mindfulness training is designed to address. I’ve noticed that some courses seem to be getting shorter, with less time, practice, and investment required. Is this doing participants, and mindfulness, a disservice, or can these skills really be mastered in a few weeks, days, hours or even minutes? I heard of one magazine editor recently declaring mindfulness to be ‘over’—they were already looking for the next big thing in well-being. If short attention spans and impulsivity are part of the problem, will over-simplification and impatience really be the answer?

2. How can deep, contemplative wisdom be preserved in non-religious mindfulness training?

Mindfulness is often talked of as the simple practice of ‘being in the moment.' Traditionally, meditative training is much more than this—it is embedded in ethics (how to live with wisdom and compassion), along with a pointing to the insubstantiality of our self-concepts, to which we painfully cling. These aspects are implicit (and sometimes explicit) in good mindfulness teaching, but the subtlety of their presentation means they can easily get left out, if not consciously curated. With so much science now happening in the fields of compassion, gratitude and appreciation, could these and other key evidence-based themes be integrated (or re-integrated) more explicitly into the mindfulness courses and cultures now being developed?

3. What happens when we move from the ‘I’ to the ‘We’ of mindfulness?

Until now, the modern mindfulness movement – both the science and the training - has focused on benefits to the individual. But what about the potential for changes to systems, institutions, and societies, which after all, have an impact on personal well-being (and vice versa)? If mindfulness is taught within a mindless culture, what gives? Can mindfulness start to infuse that culture with kindness, or will that culture bend mindfulness to its own ends, perhaps chipping away at its radicalism and presenting it as a palliative—a way of coping with systemic dysfunction rather than a means to change it? What might happen if the emphasis was more explicitly put on mindfulness as a social, or even political practice?

4. What are the key questions in mindfulness research?

It’s generally well-established that mindfulness courses are helpful for promoting well-being. The question to which researchers are increasingly turning towards is ‘how’? It’s been generally assumed that meditation practice is the key active ingredient in a course, but the science has been somewhat equivocal about this. Could it be that other factors are just as, if not more, important? A good mindfulness course generally provides a resonant, supportive group, and training in attitudes such as gentleness, compassion, steadfastness, appreciation, acceptance, and nurturing. How important are these to the health-producing changes that occur? What other aspects of traditional meditative training (such as ethics, exploration of self-nature, the making of commitments, the building of communities) might also be demonstrably beneficial? Are there more recent scientific discoveries (say, in the science of unconscious biases) where mindfulness training might have an impact? Early work is being carried out in these areas, and it will likely be fascinating to see the results.

5. What makes a good mindfulness teacher?

If you were looking to learn the piano, what would you look for in a teacher? Someone who loves music and can transmit their joy and passion? Someone who’s been playing themselves a long time and has a degree of proficiency? Someone who understands the pitfalls and difficulties and has the patience and skill to work with students? With no regulation of and huge demand for mindfulness courses, plus lots of enthusiasm among would-be teachers, how can we know if what’s being offered is helpful? Meditators in some traditions would be expected to train for decades before they began teaching others, and it’s often said that mindfulness is ‘caught’ as much as ‘taught,’ so will courses led by relatively inexperienced practitioners work as well? How can we help those looking for an authentic training to know what that might be, and to train those who want to deliver it?

6. What happens when a mindfulness course ends?

Many mindfulness courses are eight weeks long or less. Yet evidence and experience suggests that while remarkable changes can occur during such a short, intensive training, the possibility for deepening practice doesn’t end there—indeed, for most people, it’s only just beginning. And yet, while some teachers offer graduate courses and follow-up sessions, many people coming to the end of a mindfulness course report a sense of ‘falling off a cliff’—after a period of intensive support and learning, this ground suddenly falls away, as, frequently, does their practice, even though they are strongly motivated. In the rush to meet demand for ‘beginners’ courses, how can the yearning for connection be met, among those who’ve already started on this rewarding, challenging path?

7. Are there deeper reasons to practise than stress-reduction?

Reports in the media about the benefits of mindfulness can seem like a constant stream of good news – mental health, physical health, relationships, behavioural habits, competency, and creativity can all be improved, while stress relating to all sorts of circumstances can be reduced. This is excellent of course, but what about the aspects of being alive that are less easy to face up to? Does mindfulness have a role, for example, in working with the knowledge that we, and everyone we love, is going to die?

With all the focus on quick gains to health and happiness, there may be something deeper to these practices that our positive-results focused science and culture is missing. If so, could it be spoken of, perhaps not in the language of data, but with the language of the heart? ‘Turning towards difficulty’ is at the very core of a mindfulness course, but with our habits of avoidance, it’s also perhaps the aspect that gets talked of the least, at least in mainstream media reports. How can courage (and airspace) be found for the uncertainties, the anxieties, the suffering, the losses that can come into awareness when we pay attention, as well as the material benefits that we get so excited about? Indeed, could it be that the receiving of these benefits actually depend on our willingness to turn towards unpalatable truths? By neglecting them, might we receive a lesser version of the wellbeing we crave, and miss out on a deeper sense of meaning and value—one that can’t easily be summarized in a newspaper headline, or a scientific study abstract?