Don’t Be a Bother, Dear

You know how good it feels when you think you know what’s going to happen next? You’ve made a plan. You can see how it’ll go. You might have even told someone else your expectations. Then it goes a whole different way.Yeah. Happens to everybody. And still, we lose our balance when life goes off script, as if someone had agreed to the script in the first place.I try to pause to see what happens in that moment. Do I get busy trying to get things back on track? Start looking for what went wrong? How long does it take me to get curious about what actually happened? Because every once in a while, what happens is better than anything I’d imagined while I was lying awake thinking about all the things that could go wrong.Not knowing was on my mind Friday. It came up in our meditation, and afterward someone said it was what they’d needed to sit with, though they hadn’t known that beforehand. I love it when that happens. I think a lot of the ideas for those mornings come from something I need myself. I don’t always know what it is until I hear what comes out of my mouth.My mind loves looking ahead. It likes to plan and dream and hope, and honestly, I enjoy that. Half the fun of going somewhere new is imagining what I’ll do when I get there. The trouble comes when the picture gets so clear that I start to believe I know how things will go. Then a little what if sneaks in, and suddenly I’m just as sure I know how it’ll all go wrong.Take the dentist. I can go from I should make an appointment to What if I need a root canal? so fast I can practically hear the drill. There’s no appointment on the calendar. Nobody has looked at my teeth. Yet somehow I’ve managed to spend half my morning at the dentist in my head, clutching the chair arm, and I still haven’t picked up the phone.I’ve caught myself doing a version of this while I wait to see how the Kickstarter for my cards turns out. A good number of people have shown interest, which is what I hoped for. Still, I’m wringing my hands, rethinking and retooling and wondering how to talk about something so close to my heart.At some point, What if people don’t want the cards? became What if they’re rejecting me? That’s quite a leap. I made it in one go.Someone might be drawn to the idea but have to wait for their check. They might want to give a deck to a friend and wonder if they’d appreciate the gift. They have their own little circle of what-ifs going. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to figure out what their decision says about me, and they could be standing in the kitchen deciding if they need to replace the dishwasher.It helps me get specific about what I know. I know the cards matter to me. I know some people love them already. I know it feels vulnerable to put something I care about out into the world. That last one is worth admitting. When I can say, I feel exposed, I have a little less need to guess what’s going on in somebody else’s head.It helps, too, to notice when I’m doing the same planning over and over. The first time through, I come up with something I can actually do. By the fifth time, I’m hoping that if I think hard enough, I’ll get an answer that only time can give me. There’s a difference I can feel. One leaves me with a next step. The other leaves me thinking maybe it’s not worth the effort to try.When I get caught up in that, I like to think of a time something good caught me by surprise, then back up a little. What was happening just before it happened? What did I think the rest of that day would be like? Did I have any idea what was about to become possible?It could be the day you got talking to someone by chance. You probably didn’t think much about it on the way home. Now they’re the person you’ll call when you have news. Or maybe a plan fell through and you ended up somewhere you’d never have thought to go. What gets me is how ordinary a moment before can be. In hindsight, you can see what was about to open up. At the time, you were just going about your day.It can be as ordinary as a meal. I’ve read a menu and thought I knew exactly what a dish would taste like. Then I took a bite and stopped mid-sentence because, oh my gosh, what did they put in that? A minute earlier, I was perfectly happy with the meal I’d imagined. I’m glad I got to have the one they actually brought me.Or say I order a simple gray cotton cardigan for office days. It turns out to be cashmere. My first thought is, Hey, I didn’t order this! Then I touch it. Oooh, my other mind was doing the shopping this time. OK!I write about the little moments that make me stop and think, huh, there’s more going on here than I realized. Subscribe for free to get new posts. If you’d like to chip in, a paid subscription helps me keep the writing and the podcast going.That’s what I love about serendipity. There’s the surprise itself, and then there’s the little turn in me when I realize I like what happened. It can take me a minute to get there. I might have to get over being annoyed about the wrong order first. I wonder how many lovely things I’ve almost missed because I was still demanding the thing I ordered.When something unexpected makes my life harder, I can tell you exactly when it happened and what it threw off. A friendship that grew out of a chance conversation is harder to trace. It might take me years to think back and realize how easily we could’ve missed each other that day. I want to give those memories a little more room when I think about what can happen next.yes, I’ll still peek at the Kickstarter results if I could. Of course I would. Some questions stay with us because the answers matter. But when the question comes up again, I can let it hang there for a while. I can take my coffee outside and feel the warmth of the mug in my hands. For a minute, I can see what’s happening right in front of me. Then I might come back inside and check again. I know myself.I spend so much time wondering how things will turn out that I can forget the waiting is part of my life, too. The big news will come when it comes. In the meantime, there’s coffee outside, a conversation I almost didn’t have, and the rest of a day I know very little about.And that’s OK. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

I was an intensely curious child.I wanted to know how things worked, why people did what they did, what made them think the way they thought. I asked questions, lots of questions. I experimented, explored, and probably stuck my nose into things that weren’t any of my business.My sister would probably say I was a precocious and obnoxious little kid at times. Though I suppose there’s a chance I’m still obnoxious and nobody’s told me.Back in the day, something I heard over and over again was, “Now, don’t be a bother, dear.”I don’t think it was meant to hurt me. It was something adults said to children, especially little girls who asked too many questions, interrupted conversations, or wanted more attention than the grown-ups had time to give.But I heard it more deeply than I realized then, and I learned it very well. It’s taken me a long time to see just how well.I’m someone who waits for permission.I hesitate at doorways, reading the room first.At networking events, I hang back rather than join a conversation in progress.Even at a dinner with friends, I find myself waiting for an opening, an invitation, some indication that what I have to say is welcome.I don’t want to interrupt. I don’t want to impose. I don’t want to be a bother. So sometimes, I simply don’t participate.I cherish having time to myself; solitude has never felt like something I needed to escape.Lately I started questioning how often I’ve chosen to be alone and how often I’ve withdrawn because it felt safer.It’s not always a conscious decision.Mostly I don’t even notice I’m doing it.Don’t bother them. Don’t ask for help. Don’t interrupt. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t take up too much space.So I listen. Even now, long since the “don’t bother” days, I listen.I wonder how many chances for real connection I’ve missed because I was trying so hard not to inconvenience anyone.How many conversations I might have relished if I’d participated. How many friendships I might have made. How many times someone would have been perfectly happy to help me, if only I’d asked.I can’t know, of course, and I’m not interested in spending a lot of time regretting what might have been. What interests me is what I’m going to do about this.The weird thing isWhen I’m coaching or facilitating, I’m completely comfortable asking questions, inviting people into conversations, and helping them find their own voice. I love creating space where people feel safe enough to speak honestly and know that what they have to say matters.Maybe my own experience of standing on the sidelines has made me more aware of people who’re waiting to be invited in.But put me in a networking event, where everyone seems to have an agenda and conversations are already underway, and i’m looking for the door.Wondering whether I’m welcome. Or maybe whether I’m worthy of being part of the conversation in the first place.Honestly, that’s the hardest to admit.I know how to make room for other people. I’ve spent years learning how to do that well. But making room for myself? Seems I’m still working on that.I wonder how often I mistook protecting myself for simply preferring to be alone.‘Cuz there’s a difference between choosing solitude and staying on the sidelines because you don’t believe you belong.Those old instructionsI’ve been thinking about how many of us carry around things we learned as children without realizing they’re still influencing our choices.Be a good girl.Don’t be selfish.Don’t make a scene.Don’t be a bother.I’m not blaming the adults who raised me. They were passing along what they’d learned, too. Surely there’s nothing wrong with teaching children to be considerate of others.Somewhere along the way though, consideration can become self-silencing.We stop asking for what we need, not because our needs are unreasonable, but because we’ve learned that needing something might inconvenience someone else.We stop speaking up, not because we have nothing to say, but because we aren’t sure anyone wants to hear it.After a while, we might not even notice we’re holding ourselves back.I spend a lot of my life encouraging people to listen to themselves, to be curious, to speak honestly, and to recognize that their voice matters.I believe that with all my heart. But believing something for other people and believing it for ourselves aren’t always the same thing.I’m only beginning to see how often I’ve made myself smaller. How quickly I step aside or decide I can manage on my own. How easily I assume that other people have more important things to say.I don’t think I need to become louder or more outgoing. I like who I am. I like being someone who listens, who notices, who makes room for others.I just don’t want to keep leaving myself out. That’s where curiosity can help me.The little girl who wanted to understand everything is still here. She’s spent a lifetime asking questions about the world.Maybe it’s time she started asking a few more questions about herself.Like why she still waits at the doorway.And what might happen if she simply walked in. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

I was having a cup of chai with a friend when I overheard a conversation at the next table. A young man was getting more and more worked up about voting.Would his ballot arrive? Could he trust the mail? What if it didn’t come? Should he go to the registrar’s office? What if something went wrong and he couldn’t vote?You could hear the anxiety building as each question led to another.Finally, the woman sitting with him said, “OK, this is getting crazy. It’s going to work out. JUST CALM DOWN.”You can probably guess how well that worked. He immediately started explaining why she didn’t understand. Really, he had a point.When we’re anxious or overwhelmed, being told to calm down doesn’t give us much to work with. Our nervous system doesn’t hear those words and suddenly settle. If only it were that easy.What can help is getting a little closer to what’s actually happening.What do I know right now?Not what might happen. Not what someone said could happen. Not what my brain has already decided is about to go wrong.What do I actually know?Then I like to ask another question:Is the story I’m hearing, and telling myself, true? Is it helpful?Those are not quite the same thing.Something can be possible without being true. And even when there’s a real concern underneath the story, replaying it over and over may only keep us stirred up.Then there’s the practical part.Is there anything I need to do right now?If there is, do that.If there isn’t, it may be time to stop trying to solve something that hasn’t happened yet.The body matters here too.When we’re worked up, thinking harder isn’t always the answer.Feel your feet on the floor.Unclench your jaw.Let your shoulders drop.Take one slower breath.Look around and notice where you are.None of that makes the problem disappear. It just gives you a little space around it.There’s also a big difference between saying:“Everything is going wrong!” and “I’m really anxious about what might happen.”The second one is still honest, but it gives you a little room to breathe.You’re not pretending everything is fine. You’re noticing what’s happening without becoming completely wrapped up in it.That matters.Because there are things we can act on, things we can prepare for, and things we simply can’t control. Knowing the difference doesn’t mean we stop caring.It means we stop asking ourselves to manage every possible future all at once.So the next time you notice yourself spiraling through what if, what if, what if, “calm down” probably isn’t the most useful instruction.You might try:* What do I know?* Is the story I’m telling myself true? Is it helpful?* What can I do right now?* What can wait?* What am I carrying that hasn’t actually happened?That’s mindfulness too.Not an empty mind.Not pretending everything is OK.Just noticing what’s happening, finding a little steadier ground, and deciding what comes next. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

Have you ever caught yourself planning what you’re going to say while someone else is still talking? I have. How about you?We hear something that sparks an idea, reminds us of a story, or makes us want to offer advice. Before we know it, we’re putting together our response, and the person in front of us is still talking. We’ve stopped listening.Or maybe we’ve decided we already know where they’re going with this. We’ve heard enough to get the gist, right? Except we haven’t. Not always. In fact, probably not nearly as often as we think.I notice this a lot at networking events. Someone is talking about what they do, while the person they’re talking to is looking over their shoulder, searching for someone else to connect with. After all, there are business cards to collect and hand out, right?I wonder what they might have learned if they’d actually listened.Just listen.One of the simplest mindfulness practices I use when someone is speaking is to mentally say to myself, remind myself, Just listen.That’s it. Not “What can I say to help?” Not “How can I fix this?” Not even “How can I show them I understand?”Just listen.This becomes especially important when someone has a lot to say. You know those conversations where you wonder if the other person is ever going to come up for air?Yeah. Those.I find it helpful to remind myself that perhaps this person needs to be heard more than they need my response.Maybe they’ve been carrying something around for days, weeks, or even years. Maybe they’re figuring out what they think as they’re saying it. Who am I helping if I interrupt them before they’re finished?In my work, people occasionally tell me I’m a good listener. What’s interesting is that I may not have said much at all. I haven’t necessarily reflected anything back to them or offered some brilliant insight.I’ve simply held space for them to express themselves without interrupting.And that can be enough. A lot of the time, it’s exactly what they need. Just to have their say and know someone heard them. No fixing, no advice.When listening becomes another thing we’re trying to do rightReflective listening is a practice where we listen to someone and then reflect back what we think we’ve heard. Not necessarily their exact words, but what we understood them to mean. And sometimes we get it soooo wrong!But that’s useful, too. It gives the other person a chance to correct us, to explain something differently, or to say, “No, that’s not quite what I meant.” Now we’re having a conversation.It’s a valuable skill, and I use it in my work, particularly in conflict management and mediation.But I’ve noticed that we can get so caught up in practicing reflective listening that we forget to actually listen.Someone shares something difficult, and we’re already preparing our response.We interrupt with a reflection before they even pause. “So what I’m hearing you say is...” Hang on. What if they weren’t finished? What if they were just getting to the part that really matters?Sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is let someone finish, even when it takes longer than we’d like.Of course, that doesn’t mean every conversation has unlimited time or that we have to sit there indefinitely.There are moments when it’s helpful to say, “Can I stop you for a second? I want to make sure I’m understanding what you’re telling me.”Then we reflect what we think we heard and give the other person an opportunity to correct us.That’s a conversation. We’re working together to understand something, rather than competing to get our words in.When listening really mattersThink about sitting in a doctor’s office.The doctor starts explaining something, perhaps using medical terms we’re unfamiliar with. Then we hear a word that frightens us.Cancer… Surgery… More tests… Suddenly our minds are racing. What does that mean? How serious is it? What’s going to happen next?Meanwhile, the doctor is still talking.We might nod, say we understand, and leave the appointment only to realize we missed half of what was said.I’ve seen this happen when working with caregivers and patients. When we’re worried about what we’re hearing, our minds can race ahead, and we lose track of what’s actually being said.This is where mindful listening becomes more than a nice interpersonal skill. It becomes something practical and important.We can stop the conversation. “Wait a minute. I want to make sure I understand what you just said.”Or, “Here’s what I think I heard. Is that correct?”We can ask the doctor to explain something again, in simpler terms. We can take notes. We can ask questions.We don’t have to pretend we’ve understood everything just because someone in a position of authority has finished speaking.The same thing happens at work.Imagine being called into HR and told that things are changing. Your mind immediately starts running through the possibilities.Am I losing my job? What did I do? What happens now?You may be so busy preparing for the worst that you don’t actually hear what’s being said. This is when that little reminder becomes useful again.Stop. Take a breath. Just listen.Then ask what you need to ask.Being heard changes the conversationOne of the things that draws me to mediation and conflict management is how often people enter difficult conversations convinced that the other person isn’t listening.A lot of the time, they’re right. But here’s the thing. They probably aren’t listening either.When we’re in conflict, it’s easy to double down on what we believe. We dig in our heels, determined to hold our ground.Both people are busy preparing their arguments. They’re collecting evidence, rehearsing responses, and waiting for an opening. Neither feels heard.What would happen if one person decided to listen all the way through before responding?Not to agree. Not to surrender their position. Just to understand what the other person is actually saying.We don’t have to agree with someone to hear them. We don’t even have to like what they’re saying.But if we’re going to have a meaningful conversation, there has to be room for both people. That means both people need the opportunity to speak, and both need to be willing to listen.Otherwise, we’re just taking turns making speeches.When was the last time you felt truly heard? I want you to think about that for a moment.When was the last time someone listened to you without judgment, without trying to fix anything, without looking for an opening to tell you their own story?Someone who wasn’t waiting to speak. Someone who simply let you finish. What did that feel like?We talk a lot about holding space for people. To me, this is what it looks like in everyday life.Being present enough to let someone have their say. Noticing when our own thoughts are pulling us away. Knowing when a question will help and when it can wait.It’s not always easy. I still catch myself getting ready to respond before someone is finished. But now I have a little reminder that brings me back.Just listen.The next time you’re in a conversation, see if you notice the moment your mind starts preparing what to say.You don’t have to do anything special.Just come back to listening.You might be surprised by what you hear. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

Back in the 1980s, I tried really hard to learn how to meditate. I’d sit diligently, following my breath, focusing on the flame of a candle, trying to quiet my busy mind. I even tried Transcendental Meditation for a while.I really wanted it to work. The trouble was, I expected something pretty remarkable to happen. Some big shift in how I felt, how I thought, or how I experienced the world.When that didn’t happen, my enthusiasm petered away. I figured maybe meditation just wasn’t for me. Sound familiar?Maybe you found a teacher who inspired you. You read the books, went to workshops, even attended a retreat and came home feeling wonderful and determined to make mindfulness part of your everyday life.The shock of reentering the real world after a 1 week retreat is all over the place. It’s HARD.Daily life is busy. You missed a morning meditation, then a few more. Eventually that lovely practice you’d started slowly faded away.When we don’t keep up a practice, it’s easy to feel like we’ve failed. Especially when we haven’t experienced the big payoff we were hoping for. We don’t see it right then, but we’re likely looking for the wrong kind of payoff?What I didn’t notice at the timeEven after I’d quit practicing regularly I was still studying. I’m fascinated with learning how our minds work, why we do the things we do, (or not) and how we can make life a little easier for ourselves and the people around us.Little by little, I absorbed what worked for me in my everyday life.I noticed when I was reacting out of habit. Seeing when my thoughts were distracting me from what was actually happening. I was more aware of how I listened to people and could sit with them without thinking about how to fix everything before they asked.There was no grand awakening, but small changes in how I experienced my life.Over the last ten years, I’ve continued collecting those little discoveries, learning from some wonderful teachers, and how to make what I’ve learned useful in my own life.Eventually, I started sharing those practices in workshops and with clients, helping people find what works for them rather than asking them to fit themselves into a particular method.Surprise! That was what I’d been missing all those years ago. I thought mindfulness was something I had to do. Something I needed to make time for, be consistent with, and eventually get good at.It took a while to realize that mindfulness is about how we meet the life we’re already living. A little goes a long wayThere’s plenty of research showing that mindfulness and meditation practices can make a real difference. Programs like Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction have helped people manage stress and anxiety, and researchers have studied how regular meditation affects the brain.I find the research fascinating, particularly the work of neuroscientist Richard Davidson, who has studied the brains of highly experienced meditators, including one of my favorite teachers, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche.The findings are remarkable, absolutely, and they’re also a little daunting.Mingyur Rinpoche has devoted an enormous part of his life to meditation. I’m not going to become him, and neither are most of us. We have jobs, families, responsibilities, and lives that need our attention. Most of us aren’t going to spend months on a meditation retreat.In many of his teachings he emphasizes “Short times, many times.” I love that. Here’s someone who’s spent thousands upon thousands of hours practicing meditation, reminding us that we can begin with just a few moments of awareness.His meditation community has a lovely article about bringing meditation into everyday life, including the value of both formal practice and those brief moments of awareness throughout the day.We can learn from his experience without expecting to duplicate it. We don’t have to eat the whole enchilada to enjoy a good meal, right?Drop by dropHere’s how you can work with this. A moment of awareness can interrupt an old habit. It can give us a chance to pause before saying something we’ll regret, recognize that we’re worrying about something we can’t actually control.We can realize we’ve been so busy thinking about tomorrow that we’re missing what’s happening today.Without those moments, we tend to run on autopilot, repeating familiar patterns without remembering that we have agency, choice.Of course, I love meditation now, and I know the value of a regular practice. But I also know mindfulness doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing proposition.Plenty of people live with a great deal of awareness without making mindfulness the focus of everything they do. Maybe you’re one of them.That’s really how I came to practice mindfulness in tiny doses.One little drop of awareness can create a ripple. Another drop creates another.Over time, those ripples can influence how we respond to life, how we relate to other people, and how we see ourselves. * A tiny moment of kindness creates opportunities for others to pass kindness to others. * Sitting with a friend and listening with full attention encourages them to do the same for someone else. * Authentic gratitude works the same way.It’s why I created Microdosed Mindfulness®, to make it easier to bring a little more awareness into our everyday lives, without feeling we have to commit huge amounts of time, or find another hour in an already busy day.Not to replace meditation or the deeper practices that have so much to offer, but to give people a way to begin. Or begin again.So if you’ve tried mindfulness before and it didn’t stick, perhaps you haven’t failed at anything. Maybe you’ve already picked up more than you realize.No catching up to do. No mindfulness police checking your attendance. Just one small moment of awareness. Then another, whenever you remember. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

You can be stuck deciding whether to go back to school. Stuck in a job you’ve outgrown. Stuck wondering whether it’s time to leave a relationship, move across the country, start something new, or finally do the thing you’ve been talking yourself out of for years.You can definitely be stuck in being stuck. It’s a vicious loop.* Why can’t I just make a decision?* What is wrong with me?* I should have figured this out by now.* And my fav: Just DO it!Spinning about it doesn’t help much, does it? That’s likely why you haven’t moved yet. We’re afraid of making the wrong choice, and hey, there may be real risks involved. Part of you may want change, and another part wants the safety of the known.Have you been staring at the problem so long that all you can see is the problem? Our minds get good at what we practice. You’ve prolly heard the phrase “neurons that fire together wire together.” It’s a simplified way of describing neuroplasticity: repeated patterns of thinking and behaving can strengthen the pathways associated with them. So we do them more. And more.Cool when we’re learning to drive, play the piano, meditate, or build a habit. Not so much when we keep circling the same worries:* I can’t leave this job because…* I can’t go back to school because…* I can’t change this because…* I have to stay because…* I’ll lose…Pretty soon, instead of poking around to see what’s there, we’re rehearsing why we’re trapped in it. Again. I’m not saying the obstacles aren’t real, but consider that they may not be the whole story.I’m pretty familiar with this stuck stuff.I spent a few years in technology and digital marketing. I was good at it. I had experience, a reputation, and built an identity around my work. But it wasn’t really where I wanted to be anymore.It took way too long to figure that part out. Then, how could I bring out the parts of me that weren’t getting to play? Would that be OK? I knew how to fit into that work persona. Other people knew me as that person too. Walking away wasn’t simply changing careers. It meant questioning an identity I’d spent years building. That was heavy, and it brought up hard questions.If I’m not doing the thing I know I’m good at, what makes me valuable? What makes me me?The stuck feeling wasn’t something I needed to force my way out of. What I needed was to understand what was keeping me there. Once I could see that, I had more choices.Before “What should I do?” maybe try “What’s going on here?”When we want change, we tend to jump straight to “fixing” and solutions. And ur friends and family will happily join in with advice, helpful or not.Quit the job. Stay in the job. Go back to school. Don’t go back to school. Move to Tahiti. Definitely do not move to Tahiti.There’s useful territory to explore before deciding.Try finishing this sentence:I’m stuck because…Don’t think of it as an assignment. Just notice what comes up.Your first answer might be practical: “I can’t afford to change careers.”Then something else like: “I’m afraid I’ll have to start over.”And underneath that: “I’m not sure I’ll be good at anything else.”Now we’re looking at something different. The money still matters. But it may not be the only thing involved.What do you actually want to change?We might have a clear image of what we don’t want.* I don’t want this job anymore.* I don’t want to keep having this argument.* I don’t want to live here.* I don’t want to feel like this.Okay… So what are you hoping will be different?More creativity? Stability? Freedom? Connection? Work that feels meaningful? A relationship where you feel heard? A chance to find out who you are now instead of continuing to live as the person you were ten years ago?Sometimes we can be ignoring a need we haven’t named yet. Once we name it, the picture can change.Maybe you don’t need a new career. Maybe you need more creativity and a sense of agency in the one you already have.Maybe you don’t need to move. You need more community and connection where you are.Maybe something in the relationship needs some deeper conversations.Or maybe, yes, it really is time to go.The point isn’t to talk yourself into staying or leaving. It’s to see your situation clearly enough that you have a choice.Give yourself more than two optionsStuckness has a way of making life look binary.Stay or leave.Do it or don’t.Succeed or fail.Most of life has more options but we aren’t really seeing them.* You can take one class instead of enrolling in a degree program. * Talk to someone already doing the work you’re considering. * Visit the place you’re thinking about moving to. * Ask whether something can change at work before deciding you have to quit.* Spend an afternoon making art without demanding to decide whether you’re officially an artist now.None of these may be YOUR answer, but they are new directions to explore.It might be just one tiny step that gives you information that another month of thinking never could.You may not be stuck at all. You just don’t know that YET.You don’t have to solve everything today.Start with one question. Notice what comes up. See whether there are possibilities you couldn’t see when all your attention was focused on being stuck.As you understand where you actually are, your choices may become clearer.And clarity doesn’t always mean change.You may decide to leave the job, take the class, move, have the difficult conversation, or begin something completely new.You may also discover that you don’t want the change you thought you wanted.That’s OK, it’s learning something important about yourself.Maybe you take a leap, or just one small step.Maybe you stay exactly where you are, but now you understand why you’re choosing to stay.I wrote something to help you go a little deeperAs a coach, I’ve had a lot of conversations with people who know something isn’t working but aren’t yet clear about what needs to change.That’s why I created I’m Stuck. Now What?It’s a short ebook and workbook designed to help you slow things down, look at what may actually be keeping you stuck, and ask better questions before making a big decision.It won’t tell you whether to quit your job, leave your relationship, move across the country, or reinvent your life.It will help you look at the situation from a few different angles, notice what’s underneath the obvious answer, and identify a reasonable next step. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

Don’t you hate it when people say that? “It is what it is.” 😏It sounds dismissive. Flat. Like a shrug. Like we’re supposed to accept whatever is happening, swallow our feelings, and move on.Maybe what bothers me about that phrase is that it’s so often true.Something happened. Something changed. Something exists that I don’t like. I can argue with it, rage about it, judge it, blame somebody for it, replay it seventeen different ways in my head, and it will still be there.Remember that acceptance is not agreement.We struggle to accept reality all the time. We debate changes in our lives, our relationships, our bodies, our government, our world.We worry about how other people behave, the decisions they make, the things they believe, and how they load the dishwasher.Now, I don’t always get annoyed. I think about how I’d do it differently. Better, obviously. ‘Cuz, you know, reality would be much more efficient if everyone checked with me first.Imagine the weight of that.Still, we carry some version of it all the time: the idea that things should be different simply because we believe they should be.There’s a whole industry that knows exactly how good we are at this.Media didn’t invent outrage. Social media didn’t invent judgment, resentment, fear, or the irresistible urge to tell somebody on the internet that they are wrong.They got it from our own behavior. The platforms just learned how much attention we’ll give it.* Outrage gets clicks.* Disgust gets shares.* Fear keeps us always checking.We complain about the rage machine as though it exists somewhere outside of us, but we are part of the machinery every time we feed it our attention.And I do it too. That right there is the uncomfortable truth.A friend once told me a story she said comes from the Cherokee tradition. A grandfather tells a child that two wolves fight inside us. One is fed by anger, resentment, fear, jealousy, hate. The other by compassion, kindness, hope, love.The child asks which wolf wins. The grandfather says, “The one you feed.”I think about that one a lot. What am I feeding right now?I’m not saying anger is bad; it can tell us something important. It can show us where a boundary has been crossed or where something needs our attention. It can move us to act.But there’s a difference between listening to anger and feeding it all day.There’s a difference between recognizing something is wrong and letting that one thing take over the whole landscape. And there’s a difference between caring deeply and believing I have to remain angry in order to prove that I care.Sometimes I catch myself in that.Reading one more article. One more comment. Rehearsing one more argument with somebody who isn’t even in the room.Sometimes I see it in time. “Oh! I’m feeding this.”When I see it , it helps me put a little space around the emotions.I’ll get out of my head for a minute with a walk, see the trees, listen to the birds or whatever is actually here instead of the griping in my head.The thing I’m angry about is likely still true when I come back. I just don’t have to give it everything. That’s where equanimity comes in.Equanimity isn’t indifference. It isn’t pretending everything is fine. It isn’t giving up, becoming passive, or deciding that injustice doesn’t matter.It’s being able to see what is here without losing yourself inside it.Could be that I can change something, speak up, help, vote, make a call, set a boundary, have a hard conversation.Could be I need another perspective, or it just needs time to play itself out.Lots of times I realize the thing I’ve been feeding doesn’t actually deserve this much of my life.Things change. People disappoint us. Systems fail. Plans fall apart. We don’t always get our way.Flexibility doesn’t mean collapsing under that. It means being able to recognize what’s true, respond to what we can, and keep living.* To still notice beauty.* To still laugh.* To still help somebody.* To still love people.* To still be kind, even when we don’t particularly like someone.* To remember that humanity can be ugly without deciding ugliness is all there is.So yes. It is what it is. (I still don’t particularly like the phrase.) Maybe the question isn’t whether I like what is happening.Maybe the question is: What am I feeding now? Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

When I was a little girl, I wanted a horse. What little girl doesn’t want something that will love her unconditionally in a challenging world?I wished. I pleaded. I begged, but none of that worked. One day a neighbor needed help caring for a horse, and I was willing to show up. That was the first of many lessons about this thing called hope.Hope is a lot more than wanting something badly enough to make it pop out of the ether. It isn’t blind optimism or a promise that everything will work out and our dreams will automatically materialize.Hope is a kind of trust. Trust that people will keep their word. That goodness will still show itself.That when something is wrong, someone will be brave enough to speak up and say so, and that someone else will be able to listen.That sense of trust maybe feels impossible to come by right now. Sometimes we’re feeling plain hopeless. That feeling carries so much weight, doesn’t it?It might also hold fear, grief, and the sense that nothing we do will make a difference. Pretending that weight isn’t there doesn’t help anything does it?Hope is a light we hold for one another until someone can see their own again.When hopelessness becomes the only thing we can see, it can feel like that’s all there is. Our attention tightens around it, grasping. We stop noticing the tiny signs that something else is still possible.This can be when we need to borrow hope from someone else.If we pause long enough to notice, there are people all around us carrying hope. People helping their neighbors, speaking up, keeping their promises, and caring about what happens beyond their own front door. Their hope reminds us that we belong to something larger than ourselves, and that we don’t have to find our way through this life alone.We can let that hope soak in and then we can share it with someone else who needs it too.Genuine hope creates a ripple effect. It moves from one person to another, becoming larger and stronger as it goes.Hope doesn’t demand we believe everything will be fine. It asks us to believe that no matter how small, what we do still matters.Even when things are ugly, people live that truth every day. That is where I find hope these days.Just one person carrying hope can create that ripple effect, and the ripple can impact far beyond what we ever thought possible. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

Sometimes we use the word gratitude to soothe what aches. We tell ourselves we should be grateful because things could be worse, or because we already have enough.But sometimes that “gratitude” is covering up something else entirely.In this short episode, I’m wondering what happens when we stop performing gratitude and get curious about what we actually feel. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe

Imagine a meditation hall filled with perfectly serene people. Straight backs. Peaceful faces. Not a wandering thought in sight.At least that’s what it looks like.The reality? Most of us are paddling away beneath the surface like swans on a lake, wondering if we’re doing this right while quietly assuming everyone else has somehow figured it out.This week’s guided meditation explores the difference between performing mindfulness and practicing mindfulness. Not with judgment, but with curiosity. Together we’ll look at self-doubt, comparison, the subtle ways we try to appear calm or mindful, and how easily we can move away from what is actually here.The good news is that the moment we notice we’ve wandered, started comparing ourselves, or slipped into performance, we’re already practicing.We can simply return.Coming back. Coming back.I recognized myself in this one. You might too. Get full access to Microdosed Mindfulness® at www.microdosedmindfulness.com/subscribe