This whole coronavirus thing is filling me with what English professor Phil Christman argues is masculinity’s biggest flaw: an “abstract rage to protect.”

Christman writes:

By ‘protect’ I don’t mean the actual useful things a man (or anyone else) may do for other people… All functioning adults are ‘protective’ of others in this sense, to the best of their ability. Rather, I mean precisely the activities that stem from a fear that simple usefulness is not enough: that one must train and prepare for eventualities one has no reason to anticipate, must keep one’s dwelling and grooming spartan in case of emergencies, must undertake defensive projects that have no connection to the actual day-to-day flourishing of the people one loves.

When I read that I think of doomsday preppers storing water and cans of beans. I think of my dad — who grew up hunting in Virginia — tucking away guns around the house just in case. But I also see it in myself yelling at the TV and shitposting on social media the past few months.

There’s just so much to be angry about. Trump is a selfish, bumbling media savant who manages to stay in the spotlight while doing almost nothing. The Democratic Party is yet again failing to offer a real alternative to Trump’s racist, right-wing populism. Corporate-funded media ignores the pain and suffering of poor and working people. Rich people are getting bailed out while tens of millions lose their jobs.

I know there’s very little I can do about any of that. Sure, I can donate to organizations helping people less fortunate than me. I can refuse to use Amazon, especially when its workers go on strike. I can join a car protest to support the #CancelRent movement.

But one person can’t make the world fairer and less vicious. That would take a massive, multiracial movement demanding what Martin Luther King Jr. called a “radical redistribution of political and economic power.” Will that happen anytime soon? I hope so, but probably not.

Yet, reading that Jeff Bezos, the world’s richest person, has made $35 million every day the past three months, still pisses me off. “Are you kidding me?” the angry part of me yells in my mind. I fill with abstract rage — which has nowhere to go but my shoulders and neck.

My shoulders and neck… That’s the first step towards taking the edge off. If I can recognize that I’m clenching up, that I’ve been triggered, that I’m angry, there’s a chance I’ll find some levelheadedness and maybe even a little peace.

Recognize is the first step in a mindfulness practice called RAIN, which has been popularized by Tara Brach, one of my favorite meditation teachers.

“RAIN,” Brach writes, “directly de-conditions the habitual ways in which you resist your moment-to-moment experience. It doesn’t matter whether you resist ‘what is’ by lashing out in anger, by having a cigarette, or by getting immersed in obsessive thinking. Your attempt to control the life within and around you actually cuts you off from your own heart and from this living world. RAIN begins to undo these unconscious patterns as soon as we take the first step.”

President Trump is “what is.” A Democratic Party bought by corporations is “what is.” Capitalism is “what is.” Me being angry is “what is.”

But if I can take the first step — recognize the anger — then I’ve got a fighting chance to move on the next step, allow.

Allow means to accept “what is” as the way it is in this moment. As hard as it is to accept that a reality TV star is in power, it’s the truth. As hard as it is to accept that we don’t have the power to demand more coronavirus testing, let alone #MedicareForAll, it’s the truth. As shitty as feeling angry is, it’s how I feel right now, it’s the truth.

Allowing isn’t rolling over and giving up. It’s pressing pause on thoughts about how things should be. Yes, I shouldn’t be angry because, of course, capitalism sucks, but I am.

Pausing for a few seconds gives me more space internally to investigate, which is the “I” in RAIN.

Investigate means to find out what’s needed in this moment to calm the overwhelming emotion. Start with the body — what sensations accompany the emotion? My anger shows up as tightness in my shoulders and neck. It feels like I’m a battering ram or an NFL running back barreling towards the defensive line.

Then you ask yourself something like: what is this overwhelmed part of me believing right now? My angry part believes that if I yell loud enough, people will listen. If I convince just enough people on Facebook that capitalism sucks, then we’ll have that mass movement.

Brach notes, “While mental exploration may enhance our understanding, opening to our embodied experience is the gateway to healing and freedom. Instead of thinking about what’s going on, keep bringing your attention to your body, directly contacting the felt sense and sensations of your most vulnerable place.”

That is, keep an eye your body. The investigate step often begins to soften the tension. Avoid psychoanalyzing yourself — save that for your therapist or at least a close friend.

The last step in RAIN is nurture. I ask: what does my angry part of me need right now? I imagine it as an angry little kid. Everyone knows that rationalizing with children doesn’t work. My angry part just wants someone to listen, so I imagine sitting beside the little kid and listening. I sometimes imagine being joined by MLK, someone who turned their anger into political action.

As Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön writes, “Whether it’s anger or craving or jealousy or fear or depression — whatever it might be — the notion is not to try to get rid of it, but to make friends with it.”

The idea with practices like RAIN and mindfulness meditation is to care for yourself when other resources aren’t available. They aren’t meant to replace therapy, close friends, or mentors. They just help take the edge off when no one who really gets you is around.

And taking the edge off of my anger keeps me focused on helping those around me and doing my part to build that mass movement we need, rather than posting on Facebook every time the world lets me down.

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The coronavirus crisis has me feeling all kinds of feelings. Fear, about getting sick. Worry, about my asthmatic dad. Anger, towards the Trump administration. Even a little schadenfreude, about people who adored our capitalist, individualist, lift yourself up by your own bootstraps, “free market” society now having to eat crow.

But a friend posted this quote on Facebook the other day, and it reminded me that emotions — as shitty as they can feel — are a good thing. It’s attributed to White Eagle of the Hopi Nation of indigenous people in northern Arizona, and it goes like this:

“This moment humanity is going through can be seen as a portal and as a hole. The decision to fall into the hole or go through the portal is up to you. If you consume the news 24 hours a day, with little energy, nervous all of the time, with pessimism, you will fall into the hole. But if you take this opportunity to look at yourself, rethink life and death, and take care of yourself and others, you will cross into the portal.”

(What a quote, right? If you want to donate to the Hopi Reservation, which is an extreme food desert, you can do it here.)

The English portal derives from the Latin porta, meaning “gate.” The Old English geat means a “door, opening, passage.” A portal is transformative — it takes you from once place to another.

As hard as it is right now to imagine a different future, this pandemic can be a portal — if you turn towards your emotions. Again, as shitty as they can feel.

“Normal” has changed, maybe forever. Who knows what’s going to happen with your job? Who knows what’s going to happen with your family? Who know what’s going to happen in your marriage? Who knows what’s going to happen with the economy? Who knows what’s going to happen in the November election?

The Buddhist meditation teacher Pema Chödrön writes something similar in her book “The Wisdom of No Escape”:

“The purpose of your whole life is not to make a lot of money, it’s not to find the perfect marriage … It’s not to do any of these things. You have a certain life, and whatever life you’re in is a vehicle for waking up. If you’re alone and you feel lonely and you wish you had a mate, that’s the vehicle for waking up. If you have a huge family around you and wish you had a little more free time, that’s the vehicle for waking up. Whatever you have, that’s it. There’s no better situation than the one you have. It’s made for you.”

You’re probably thinking, okay, sure, but how do I step into the portal, how do I wake up?

First, pause. Take a break from all the breaking news, the social media, the Netflix, the routines. What are you feeling? What’s the loudest voice in your head? Anger, fear, worry? Restlessness?

Next, stay with the emotional discomfort — as long as it isn’t too overwhelming. Don’t distract yourself as you normally would. If you notice yourself trying to think your way out of the emotion, let go of the thoughts and come back to the emotion. When we’re feeling intense emotions, rational thinking is often beside the point.

If you notice any judgement — about the emotion, about yourself for feeling the emotion — release it. Whatever you’re feeling right now is acceptable. I promise you that you’re not the only one.

Then, feel your body. Where’s the tension? Is there a clench in your stomach? Are your shoulders tight? Is your head pushed forward? What does the middle of your chest feel like? Tingling, a burning sensation, tenderness?

When you find a clench, soften around it. Let it grow and expand. Ask yourself, how big can this get?

Finally — and this is probably the most important step — hold your experience with compassion. Rather than making the emotion wrong, rather than beating yourself up inside, rather than wishing you felt differently or that this whole crisis would go away, just be with yourself like you would a close friend or a little kid.

Hold space for yourself and listen — be curious. Ask yourself, what does the part of me that’s afraid, angry, whatever need right now? 

Experiment to see what soothes the emotion. Read a novel that moves you or a book by a spiritual teacher. Go for a slow walk in nature. Put your hand on your chest and take five slow, deep breaths. 

You’ll know when you land on what works. The clench will soften and sometimes even melt away. The space around you will feel more spacious.

“Whether it’s anger or craving or jealousy or fear or depression — whatever it might be — the notion is not to try to get rid of it, but to make friends with it,” Chödrön writes.

“The more you open your heart, the more you make friends with your body, speech, mind, and the world that’s inside of your circle — your domestic situation, the people you live with, the house you find yourself eating breakfast in every day — the more you appreciate the fact that when you turn on the tap, water comes out. If you have ever lived without water, you really appreciate that. There are all kinds of miracles.”

Want to start meditating or meditate more often?

My ebook, How to Get Out of Your Head, will help you start or stick with a regular meditation practice. Get it for free here.

Listen to my podcast

On Meditation for the 99%, I take meditation out of faraway monasteries, expensive retreat centers, and Corporate America, and bring it to work, relationships, and, especially, politics. Listen everywhere podcasts are available.

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
Because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I’ve heard the 13th century poet and Sufi mystic Rumi’s poem “The Guest House” more times than I can count. It’s a staple in U.S. spiritual communities, from psychotherapist and meditation teacher Tara Brach to NPR’s On Being.

But during the COVID-19 crisis, the poem’s metaphor is more metaphoric than ever—which gives it a fresh resonance. For the foreseeable future, we can’t have anyone over without risking our health. No guests will be visiting our houses.

Obviously, Rumi’s guest house is inside of us, and what he meant by a “new arrival”—an “unexpected visitor”—was an emotional state, a mood.

Like me, you’re probably feeling all kind of moods right now.

Part of me wants to drive to some fictional place where coronavirus doesn’t exist.

Part of me is scared that I or a friend or my family will get sick.

Part of me is angry at big corporations and Wall Street for using the government to bail out themselves rather than poor and working people.

Part of me is whiny like a 16-year-old about being cooped up for the rest of this crisis.

I’m using the word “part” intentionally. (The concept of parts, or sub-personalities, comes from the work of psychotherapist Richard Schwartz. I learned it from my therapist.)

As Rumi says, there’s immense value in trying to welcome all of our parts—to treat each guest honorably. Keyword: trying.

No one wants to feel negative emotions—they’re painful. Emotions like fear and anger not only burn a hole in your chest or paralyze your shoulders but they also mean (in the eyes of your inner critic) that you’re weak or not a nice person.

Rather than feel the pain, we judge ourselves for experiencing the emotion. We try to talk ourselves out of it, rationalizing why we shouldn’t feel the way we do. We ignore how we feel and focus on making others happy. We numb with alcohol and other escapes.

Sometimes, the emotion is so strong that we can’t help but act out. We get swept away by fear and catastrophize, imagining the worst possible outcome (the whole world is going to end!). We get caught up in anger and try to pick a fight. It goes without saying that this often leads to even more pain and suffering.

Whether we ignore or get lost in negative emotions, we’re trying to avoid the pain, which is reasonable. Who wants to feel all the feelings right now? There’s too much. A little distraction is OK.

But, as Rumi writes, there’s power in welcoming our emotions, moods, and mind states—our parts. Because what the parts are doing is trying to protect us.

That restless part of me that wants to run away is trying to protect me from feeling the slow burn of boredom.

That part that’s afraid is trying to protect me from facing the unprecedented uncertainty of the crisis.

That part that’s angry is trying to protect me from the undeniable truth that our society is cruel and unfair.

Our parts are like little kids. They want to do the right thing, but they’re extreme in their thinking. Either run away for good or stay here and die. Either start a revolution or get crushed by the gears of capitalism.

Would you kick a toddler out of the house if they were anxious, angry, or afraid? Of course not. You’d treat them like a child. You’d try to understand why they’re acting the way they are. You’d soothe them until they calmed down.

One of my loudest parts right now—and pretty much all the time—I like to call “striver.” It shows up as anxiety about getting things done, overplanning, preparing for the future. Right now, it wants me to buy up every bag of frozen vegetables and roll of toilet paper, which is unnecessary and foolish.

But it’s just trying to protect me. It thinks that if I don’t get enough done then others will perceive me as a failure, which will be painful.

Once I started seeing my inner striver as a young child just trying to help, I’ve been less caught up in trying to prove that I’m on top of everything all of the time. I can still get things done like the most Type A person alive. But I can also relax — like, fully relax, for the first time in my life.

The more compassion you muster for yourself amidst negative emotions the less likely you’ll ignore or get lost in them, and the more likely you’ll be able to respond rather than react in the days ahead. The more you notice and welcome your parts, the less likely they’ll take over.

As meditation teacher Jack Kornfield writes, “[We can take] unwanted sufferings, the sorrows of life, the struggles within us and the world outside, and [use] them as a ground for nourishment of our patience and compassion, the place to develop greater freedom.”

As Rumi’s poem says, “Be grateful for whatever comes. Because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”

Want to start meditating or meditate more often?

My ebook, How to Get Out of Your Head, will help you start or stick with a regular meditation practice. Get it for free here.

Listen to my podcast

On Meditation for the 99%, I take meditation out of faraway monasteries, expensive retreat centers, and Corporate America, and bring it to work, relationships, and, especially, politics. Listen everywhere podcasts are available.