Close the other browser tabs, put your phone in a drawer, and take a few deep breaths. Ask yourself, silently, internally, “How am I holding back? What am I waiting for?”

Not in the sense of, I should be doing more. With wide open curiosity. In the sense of, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” as the poet Mary Oliver asks.

Part of me is waiting. For things to be just right. For all my work to be done. For the weather to be perfect. For enough money in my savings account. For the lover I’ve always wanted. For the community I’ve so badly needed. For coronavirus to be over so we can get back to “normal.”

Occasionally, I am awoken, and the part of me that’s waiting let’s go. In the dark morning my dad would come to take me fishing. Hank Williams Jr. cassette tapes and the windows down on the way to the river. The smell of the boat engine’s gasoline. Its phosphorescent sheen in the water. Largemouth bass jumping as the sun rises. Life was living through me, as it always is — but I wasn’t stopping it.

Nowadays it’s a friend pointing out a hawk above us. Or a bite of a good meal. Or when I volunteer at the food bank.

And sometimes, even rarer, I wake myself up. I somehow remember to be mindful, to not be so hard on myself when I realize I’ve forgotten to pay attention. To not see my preoccupation as more evidence that I’m sleeping through life. To not hold myself liable — because, what is a “self” anyway?

Stephen Jenkinson, a social worker who has worked for many years in palliative care, says, “You’re not supposed to feel bad about having forgotten. You’re supposed to feel more. That’s the invitation.”

What I hear in that is this: When you realize you’re waiting for something that will never come, don’t pull back even more. Get curious. Step towards the mystery. Stop resisting life because you’re afraid of what comes at the end of it — because that’s coming, whether you resist or not.

In other words, assure that part of you that’s holding back that it’s okay to back off, surrender, let go. Whisper the words of Elizabeth Gilbert in its ear: “You are afraid of surrender because you don’t want to lose control. But you never had control; all you had was anxiety.”

I’m a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. If you’d like to work with me on your meditation practice or being more mindful in your life, reach out.

Download my free ebook on starting and sticking with a meditation practice here.

Photo by Drug Addiction Clinic Vita

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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