“Why don’t you slow down and look at it?” Michael Mugaku Zimmerman Roshi, teacher at Salt Lake City’s Two Arrows Zen center, asked me.

“It” was an urge I’d had that morning. The five-day Zen Buddhist retreat had pushed me to my caffeine addict edge. No phone, no books, no talking, no snacks. Just meditation, sleep, three meals a day, and a big steamy, pungent vat of coffee in the middle of the kitchen.

“When you get the urge, just pause,” he said. “See what happens.” So began my two-month journey to kick a caffeine habit a decade in the making.

Roshi’s suggestion wasn’t the typical “fight the urge.” He was recommending what the retreat was all about: slowing down and getting curious. Turns out, that’s all I needed.

The next morning after my usual cup, I sat and faced the big vat from across the room. Spoons clinked on the inner walls of mugs. A fresh pot of coffee gargled on the counter. Then a sort-of tunnel vision set in. Why not have another cup? What’s the big deal? I thought. My breath shortened. More thoughts came, but in a different voice: There he goes again. He shouldn’t be craving more coffee. He’s weak!

That was the turning point. I remembered what Roshi had said and realized that the voices were just thoughts. Curiosity appeared, about the thoughts. Then empathy, towards the part of me so anxious that more coffee seemed soothing. Then equanimity — another cup would be nice, but I didn’t really need one.

That’s the thing about shame, that second voice that judged me for wanting more coffee. Shame never works. If anything, it’s counterproductive to changing habits and starting new ones. It’s target is “I.” I, in my essence, am wrong. I am not living up to an expectation or standard, so I am bad, wrong, evil, unworthy.

Why should we even try to change if we’re unworthy? “Internalized feelings of inadequacy are a massive block to moving forward in a good and healthy way,” writes English literature professor Nora Samaran.

In fact, shame triggers the sympathetic nervous system in the same way that fear does. It activates our “fight, flight, or freeze” response, the body’s chemical and physical reaction to danger. It overloads our circuits right when we’d otherwise be able to choose how to act. “The experience of shame — feeling fundamentally deficient — is so excruciating that we will do whatever we can to avoid it,” writes meditation teacher and psychologist Tara Brach.

That first morning on retreat, I’d experienced a chain reaction. First, boredom. Then restlessness and an urge for more coffee. Then shame about the urge. Then, on autopilot, I poured another cup. Then again: boredom, restlessness, shame, and another cup.

But after talking with Roshi, slowing down, and watching the pattern play out inside of me, the reactions stopped. The urge faded, and I went for a walk in the Utah morning light.

Now, I didn’t give up caffeine for good right then and there. But that morning started me down a path of weaning myself using decaf and satisfying my urges with seltzer water. As James Clear has documented, stopping a habit or starting a healthy one is often easiest when broken down into continuous small improvements. “All big things come from small beginnings,” he writes. “The seed of every habit is a single, tiny decision.”

Avoiding shame, I believe, is the most powerful “single, tiny decision” we can make. The hard part is, shame is everywhere. We inherited it from our parents, who shamed our “bad” behavior when were young. We soak it up from this culture that blames all issues, problems, and addictions on personal failings. We’re supposed to pick ourselves up by our own bootstraps, take care of ourselves, be perfect — despite systemic racism, patriarchy, and historic economic inequality.

But to really change, we have to internalize a different story about ourselves. One that says we are worthy, no matter what we’ve done in the past. “The truth is that you already are good enough,” writes Nora Samaran. “You always were. Your actions can be not good enough, and your essence remains good.”

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.

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I say it three times every morning but would never post it on social media.

It’s one of those inspirational quotes people get printed in cursive and hang in their living room.

“Never wait for a special occasion. Being alive is a special occasion.”

“Never wait for a special occasion. Being alive is a special occasion.”

“Never wait for a special occasion. Being alive is a special occasion.”

After meditating, I say it low and slow like how monks recite mantras at Zen monasteries.

What this little ritual does is it allows me to learn what’s most important each day. As I say it, I listen for which part of me reacts the loudest.

Sometimes it’s the part that hustles to get the most out of life. Never wait, seize the day!

Sometimes it’s the part that savors the mystery of it all. Slow down and enjoy it.

Sometimes it’s the part that can’t stand cheesy bullshit, and I move on with my day.

A ritual’s value isn’t necessarily to remind us of anything in particular. It can simply be something to count on, a landmark in a journey we weren’t given a map for, a mirror to see how we’re doing.

If you’re cringing inside, just realize that capitalist society is filled with rituals—we just don’t think of them that way. That first cup of coffee in the morning. Happy hour after work. Sleeping in on weekends. These help us get through the grind.

But when I found mindfulness meditation, I found what I’d always been looking for: a ritual that could reliably connect me with myself and the life happening around me.

Because, let’s face it, capitalism causes disconnection. We hustle for the next paycheck, fantasize about our next vacation—if we’re lucky to be allowed to have one—and bide our time until we retire (again, if we’re lucky) to finally start doing what we’ve always wanted to do.

Meanwhile, those at the top of the food chain try to turn us against our coworkers and neighbors using racism, sexism, etc., to keep us fighting each other rather than fighting back.

Before I say that inspirational quote each morning, I meditate, usually on a cushion called a zafu (I like Carolina Morning brand) or at the edge of my bed.

There isn’t much to it. I’m sitting and doing nothing rather than doing something. I might watch the movement of my breath, listen to sounds, and feel my body’s sensations. Or I might just sit there.

But what emerges—most days—is an inner landscape of thoughts, emotions, sensations, judgements, opinions, voices, and personalities. I simply sit back and listen. I rest as the witness who is witnessing it all, who some might call God or consciousness or being one with everything.

I finally stop following my mind’s dramatic, contradictory whims, which allows me to connect—with what’s happening right here, right now, inside and out.

“What is a ritual?” Brazilian novelist Paulo Coelho writes in The Witch of Portobello. “It means transforming something monotonous into something different, rhythmic, capable of channeling the unity.”

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