Hey there,

whenever I get stuck in a rut, feel overwhelmed, or don't know what to do -- in other terms, when life gets difficult -- I've found that overwhelmingly often, the answer is simply to meditate. Which is to say, cutting the outside noise and listening to my inner turmoils. Which is to say, seeing things as they actually are. Which is to say, returning to the present moment.

Meditation solves almost everything.

It's a frustrating realization. Not just because meditation -- the simple act of sitting down and watching your breath -- sounds, in fact, too simple and abstract to deal with life's typical problems -- paying bills, settling relationship conundrums, studying for exams, staying fit and healthy. No, this realization is also frustrating because meditating has become really hard in the modern world. Whenever I do have the time and space to meditate (say, a quiet window of 30+ minutes), I get sidetracked by thousands of other things I could do. Reading texts for philosophy seminars. Studying Portuguese. Writing new articles. Researching new articles. Reading a novel. Watching a movie.

The list goes on.

The question then is, why choose meditation among all these other seemingly important things? How exactly is meditation a problem detergent?

Now, I could list the scientific benefits of meditation, but frankly, they never got me to sit down and practice. So instead, here's one argument (yes, just one) that explains why meditation solves almost everything for me.

The argument is quite subjective -- and, to be honest, I feel privileged making it -- but you might be able to relate. It's this: 95% of my problems are not actually troubles but worries. There's a crucial difference. Troubles gnaw at existential issues like basic survival, getting food on the table, paying rent. Worries, on the other hand, are based on an imaginary future that's utterly detached from reality. Heck, often enough, worries aren't based on any future at all. They're more like spooky ghosts: non-existent yet terrifying.

Meditation slices through worries because it's literally a grounding exercise. In case you've never tried it, typical forms of meditation prescribe concentrating on one specific task or object, like counting your breath or focusing on a certain object. When you realize your mind has wandered (which it inevitably will), you simply label the distraction as "thought" and gently return your attention to the object of focus. It seems boring and useless. And it feels frustrating. But then, eventually, you realize that these, too, are just thoughts and emotions.

The payoff is invaluable. For one, we start seeing things as they actually are (without adding layers of worry). For another, we prime ourselves to return to the present moment instead of getting lost in the present or the future.

Again, it sounds too simple. But the implications are enormous.

***

What were the happiest times in your life? When did you feel truly alive? Chances are, these were moments in which you were fully present. (After all, if you weren't present and ruminating about the past or future, you couldn't have identified the present feeling as "happiness.")

I often think back to one moment during an ice-cold, snowy winter three years ago. A few friends and I had gone sledding on a local hill. Well, we hadn't even had sleds, so we had built make-shift slide devices by stuffing pillows into large garbage bags. After hours of getting down the hill in the weirdest ways possible, we took a break on the top, watching dozens of people crumbling down the hill, like frosting dribbling down a pie. One friend took out their thermos and poured us some hot chocolate. And then, we just sat there.

There was nothing special about it. And yet, everything was special about it. I felt happy -- not in the banal way of ecstasy. Rather, it was a deep feeling of being in the right place at the right time. It sounds cringey, I know. But the best way I can describe this and similar moments is that I simply existed without cluttered worries in my mind -- however momentarily.

Meditation doesn't just soothe worries, then. It's also a catalyst and foundation for contentment.

***

But perhaps most importantly, meditation is teaching me to sidestep hyperactive patterns of worry and instead, deal with a problem when it actually arises. (Provided I can't do something about the potential problem right now other than meditating.)

For example, I've been feeling kind of slouchy lately and got really, really worried that this would be the beginning of a serious winter flu. Meanwhile, I haven't even felt any detectable symptoms yet! You see, I've been using up all these mental resources to worry about a scenario that, right now, is as unlikely as a unicorn stepping into my room.

Sure, I can try to get good doses of sleep and take my vitamins. But apart from that, the most efficient coping method is simply dealing with the flu when it arises.

Here's another example. Uncomfortably often, I worry about how well my next blog post will perform. Of course, this is a somewhat valid trouble as these posts are part of my income and, thus, connected to existential needs. But right now, everything is fine. All I can control is to focus on writing the post and publishing it. If people suddenly stop reading my work, I'll be disappointed, of course. But I'll find something else to do.

I'll deal with it when the problem arises.

***

The most embarrassing part about all this is that it's been a week since I last meditated. I struggle to keep the habit. I don't take my mind to the proverbial gym regularly enough. I tend to beat myself up about this.

But then again: these are just thoughts from the past. Why should they influence how I decide about meditating in this very moment?

The present moment is always now. And now. And now.

I suppose it's a suitable moment for meditation.

Until next time,

Stephan

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