Meditate With Intentions, Not Goals

It's only when we meditate for its own sake—rather than trying to get something from it—that we find the results we're after, says Ed Halliwell. 

I often see the same thing now in beginning practitioners. Many people come to mindfulness with a desire to be relieved of stress and difficulty, but only when they drop into meditation for its own sake, rather than trying to get something from it, do they find the results they were after. This makes the question of effort a little tricky. There is something to do—in order to make a discovery about the power of letting go, we have to show up, be prepared to learn, listen, and engage with the attitudes and practices suggested. But it’s easy to turn this effort into ‘struggling to meditate,' or conversely, to interpret the guidance on letting go as ‘not really caring’—just hang out, let your mind wander, whatever you fancy.I came to meditation after years of trying to improve my life. I’d been stuck in depression for a long time, and meditation was the latest in a long line of wheezes meant to relieve the gloom. However, something curious happened when I followed the instructions given—I discovered it was impossible to meditate and struggle at the same time. Struggle still happened, for sure, but this was when I was ‘trying to meditate,' adding my own expectations or goals to the practice, or ‘not bothering to meditate,' just letting my habits of mind take over. When I actually meditated (staying present, opening to experience, coming back when the mind wandered), the sense of trying, hoping, wanting things to be different, or of giving in to despondency, hopelessness and fear—all this began to fall away. Instead came glimpses of the peace I had been desperately searching for.

Goals vs. Intentions

I’ve found it helpful to distinguish here between intentions and goals. When we make mindfulness a goal, we have—by definition—moved out of the moment. We have created a discrepancy between what we’re experiencing now and what we would like to happen. This inevitably leads to tension—we might begin judging our current experience (or ourselves) as ‘not good enough,’ ‘unacceptable,’ or ‘to be got rid of.' This judgement can put us off—as the caption for one of my favourite cartoons puts it: “I know I’ve only been practising for two minutes, but meditation is not bringing me the peace of mind I was promised.” When we make goals and measure our moments against them, we are virtually guaranteed disappointment.

Making mindfulness an intention is different. Intentions are found (and re-found) in the present, so just by making one, you have already accomplished what you set out to do (well done, you!). An intention cannot fail, because it happens right now. With an intention, there is no required result—we are simply connecting to our chosen course. “I’m just going to practise, and see what happens.” Therefore we invite curiosity, a sense of experimentation: “Well, this is interesting, I wonder what’s going to happen now?” Intention has strength, as its rooted in reality, but also suppleness—holding to an intention doesn’t mean our actions can’t change, based on what we discover.

Intentions come from inside, whereas goals are external. In connecting to an intention, we don’t have to look elsewhere for satisfaction—what we desire is already here as a seed within us. We may need some guidance and training to cultivate that seed, but relief comes when we realize we don’t need to try and be something we’re not.

It’s likely that some benefits of mindfulness come just from following a course we trust will be helpful. In other words, by choosing to practise, we already feel we’re on a path to well-being. When we make mindfulness a goal, however, we turn it into a commodity, the benefits conditional on our having to ‘get it’. The implication being that we don’t currently have what we need—there is something missing, and wemight miss out. This is a recipe for tension.

It is true that the traditional goal of practice is to relieve suffering. It is helpful to know this, otherwise we might not be inspired to begin, and or know we’re off course when we start thinking the goal is something else (lots of money, for example, or to be better than everyone else at paying attention). But we get in the way when we struggle to attain this goal directly, rather than through creating the conditions for it to happen through grace. It’s a bit like trying to fall asleep—it helps if you ready your bed and turn the lights down, but if you keep trying to drop off, it just won’t happen. At some point, you have to trust and let go. If you try to relieve your stress, you will have the experience of trying to relieve your stress.

Giving ourselves over to practising awareness and compassion, opening to, working with, and learning from what happens as best we can—these are helpful intentions in mindfulness practice. We can let these intentions carry us when it seems like nothing much is happening, or we aren’t getting what we’d like from our practice. Well-being comes from letting go of struggle—that’s the way to reach the goal.

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 Google. A 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.

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.

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?