One of my favorite stories comes from spiritual teacher David Deida. At a party, he saw his mentor’s wife enjoying a conversation with an attractive man.

“Aren’t you jealous?” he asked his mentor.

“Yes,” his mentor responded. “But the fact that I’m jealous isn’t bothering me.”

In other words, the mentor was aware of how he was relating to his jealousy. Instead of making the emotion a problem, he was allowing it to just be there.

I love that story because I make everything a problem. When I’m sad, part of me says I should be happy. When I’m exhausted after work, part of me says I should still be working. (Thanks, capitalism.) When I’m lonely, part of me thinks I’ll be lonely forever.

That’s if I’m able to notice the emotion to begin with. Often, I’m completely blended, a concept from a form of therapy called Internal Family Systems. (More on that here.)

When I’m blended — overwhelmed, triggered, etc. — I’m caught up in my thoughts, believing they’re true. They’re like a movie. And I’ve forgotten the actual me is on the couch watching a TV screen.

Jealousy? I’m an expert in catastrophizing about how people don’t love me anymore.

One time, an ex-girlfriend and I went to a Washington Capitals hockey game. Who was sitting beside us? The team’s most popular former player, Peter Bondra.

My ex, a curious and remarkable person, struck up a conversation and had Bondra laughing in his Slovakian accent.

Does she think he’s in better shape than me? my mind sneered. Is it his perfectly tailored suit? I need to dress better. At least I’m a little taller than him.

Honestly, in past romantic relationships, I was more often than not lost in a virtual reality of thoughts, judgements, and assumptions.

That’s why mindfulness is so powerful. After meditation, it’s a little easier to unblend from my swirling thoughts. I can see them as they really are: not reality, but boring, two-dimensional ideas about the world.

“The movement from virtual reality — thoughts — to the awareness of sense-based reality is true homecoming,” says meditation teacher Tara Brach.

When I’m unblended, I’m in my senses — in my body. I’m seeing, feeling, tasting, smelling, and listening. Colors, sensations, tastes, smells, and sounds become more interesting than anything my mind can produce.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

As Brach says, this moment-by-moment awareness can be home-like. I can always return to the aliveness of the present moment, no matter what’s happening.

But emotions are seductive. They fly in and hijack your nervous system, triggering an area of the brain called the amygdala. The amygdala then tells your body to release stress hormones.

Your breath shortens and heart pounds. Your muscles tense up in areas of the body like the stomach and shoulders. You’re ready to fight a hockey player. Or at least ruminate until you can complain about it later.

Emotions even layer on top of each other. The jealousy is one thing. Then there’s the criticism, the making jealousy a problem.

That’s the big takeaway from Deida’s story. Sometimes you have to start with the self-criticism. It’s standing in the way of the jealousy, the anger, the loneliness, the sadness.

“What’s known as the inner critic, what Freud called the superego, is but one of many parts of the personality responsible for keeping you safe,” writes therapist Richard Schwartz. “Most often it’s criticizing you to motivate you to achieve, look good, be tough, and so forth, so you won’t be hurt or rejected.”

And sure enough, making it a problem won’t work either. Your inner critic needs loving just like the parts of you that are scared or hurt or jealous. It needs to be seen, understood, and soothed, like the little inner child it is.

Deida’s mentor wasn’t some otherworldly guru. No one is. He’d simply done the work to get to know his inner critic. I bet his inner critic was blaring in his mind as his wife smiled and played with her hair. He just wasn’t listening to it. He was unblended.

To be sure, self-compassion won’t make you weak or soft or a pushover. If anything, it’s made me stronger.

Unblended, Deida’s mentor could decide to intervene or discuss the situation with his wife after the party. Or he could decide not to. He was in a better position to choose his response to what was actually happening, not what was on the movie screen in his head.

When you’re not under the sway of your emotions, you’ll be able to access the confidence, the calmness, the curiosity, the wisdom, all the things us human beings are capable of.

I’m a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. My weekly emails will help you bring mindfulness to work, relationships, and politics. Subscribe here.

Download my free ebook on how meditation transformed my life.

Photo by Nano Anderson

One of my favorite recent movies is the documentary “Free Solo” (2018), in which Alex Honnold climbs the 3,000-foot El Capitan rock wall without a rope.

But my favorite scene isn’t when he summits. Or when he shows off the van he lives in so he can focus on climbing. Or any of the times he nearly falls.

It’s when he’s thinking about giving up on the whole idea and asks a veteran climber for advice.

“You never have to go for it,” the vet says.

I’m pretty afraid of heights. But I’ve got a little Alex Honnold in me. A little perfectionism. A little showing off for the camera.

If I wasn’t keeping an eye on it, this post would be filled with words like “grandiloquence” and “sumptuousness.” I’d be performing for you more than trying to connect with you.

“Rockstar” is what I call this part of me because I used to play guitar and sing in bands. Back then I really, really wanted to make it. I cared more about packing venues and selling t-shirts than enjoying jamming with my friends.

Now, the rockstar appears when I sit down the write. He whispers, “Stop it with these little blog posts—write a book!” Microsoft Word has replaced the stage. “Use bigger words! Don’t you want to seem clever?”

Thinking about that scene from “Free Solo” calms down my inner rockstar.

You never have to go for it, I think to myself. You never have to write that book. You’re already worthy of love. You belong. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

But the rockstar doesn’t let go so easily. He brings up childhood memories of adults praising me for being cute and smart and good at sports. He reminds me that I’m a white man in a society that tells white men to grab the mic, speak your mind, go for it, shoot your shot.

What I love about that scene is that the older climber was reminding Honnold that his choice to do the climb was his and his only. If he was doing it just to impress people, then he probably shouldn’t do it.

Really what the older climber was doing was showing that he’d stay friends with Honnold regardless of whether Honnold did the climb. He was giving him unconditional love. Which is exactly what parts of us like rockstar can’t give, and why they cause us so much suffering.

The inner voices that drive us think we have to be a certain way to get what we ultimately want—“to experience freedom, aliveness, love, and peace,” as professional coach Tripp Lanier puts it.

They can’t help it. They were how we protected ourselves when we were young and couldn’t handle the world’s beauty, its joy, its hurt. We learned to show off or strive all the time or hide our emotions or numb out or keep everyone else happy.

But we’re older now. We’re more mature. We’re able to choose based on what we really want, not what we used to think we wanted. If we can reassure our inner voices that they don’t have to be on guard all the time. If we can give ourselves unconditional love.

“People are just as wonderful as sunsets if you let them be,” wrote the pioneering psychologist Carl Rogers. “When I look at a sunset, I don’t find myself saying, ‘Soften the orange a bit on the right-hand corner.’ I don’t try to control a sunset. I watch with awe as it unfolds.”

That’s what we should bring to the parts of ourselves that we don’t necessarily like, that cause us suffering.

Honnold, of course, decided to do the climb. This is my projection. But it seemed like once he realized he had a choice, he chose to climb from a much deeper, stronger place inside of him.

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, reach out. Get my writing straight to your email inbox here.

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

The air freezing. Wind gusting. Tumbleweeds rolling down my street. That’s what winter during a pandemic looks like in my mind.

I’ve read all the lists to prepare for a likely second wave of COVID-19. My workout routine is solid. Therapy is going well. I’m thinking about getting a flu shot. (Should I? Aren’t I just going to be alone inside all the time?)

But none of it feels like enough. Part of me is terrified about being even more isolated. Another part of me is in denial, like that meme with the dog saying, “This is fine,” as the house burns around him.

So I’m planning ahead — emotionally.

I know you’re busy with juggling work, family, and paying the bills, all while trying to survive a plague. But a little preparation will pay off come January when it’s 28 degrees and dark at 5:00 p.m.

Here’s how I’m preparing to emotionally weather the storm:

1. First, I’m keeping a list of emotions that come up when I think about winter.

There’s a teaching in Buddhism called “the two wings.” Just as a bird needs two wings to fly, we need insight and compassion to not only survive but thrive. We can’t rely solely on our thoughts or emotions.

Starting with the first wing — insight — I want to think clearly about the emotions.

The strongest feeling is loneliness. I’m already isolated because I’m single, because of COVID-19, because of our capitalist society. What will it be like alone on a Friday night in December? part of me worries.

The thought is terrifying. So, that’s another emotion: fear. I’m afraid of the unknown. So much so that part of me is that dog in the meme.

There’s also a sense of, I need to get this right. I need to prepare so that I never feel afraid or lonely. Part of me expects to be perfect. I’ll call that anxiety.

There’s also anger. I’m pissed at Trump, Mitch McConnell, Nancy Pelosi, and other political leaders for not taking better care of me and my friends. The government’s pandemic response has been socialism for the rich and capitalism for everyone else. That’s unsurprising — but it’s bullshit.

If I’m being honest, there’s also a tiny bit of curiosity. As an introvert, part of me enjoys the thought of extended time to myself. No pressure from social commitments. No unexpected visitors. What can I do with all that alone time?

There’s my list: loneliness, fear, anxiety, anger, and curiosity.

2. Next, I’m trying to accept that I feel these emotions.

This is the second wing: compassion. Psychologist and meditation teacher Tara Brach writes:

“We’re not trying to transcend or vanquish the difficult energies we consider wrong — the fear, shame, jealousy, anger — since this only creates a shadow that fuels our sense of deficiency. Rather, we’re learning to turn around and embrace life in all its realness — broken, messy, vivid, alive. This is the way out of trance: mindfully recognizing and bringing compassion to the parts of our being we have habitually ignored, pushed away, condemned.”

By “trance,” Brach means our tendency to avoid feeling the feelings. We numb ourselves with alcohol, food, masturbation, and other habits. We overwork, overeat, oversleep. We act out by getting aggressive or suppress our emotions by staying quiet.

Who wants to feel lonely, afraid, anxious, or angry? Who wants to feel all of them at the same time?!

So, I feel each one at a time. I feel how loneliness shows up in my body — a tenderness in my chest. What fear does to my vision. What anger tastes like.

I try my best to follow the advice of the 13th century poet and Sufi mystic Rumi:

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!

3. Then, I’m asking myself what each part of me needs to feel okay.

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

What does the part of me that’s lonely need to feel? I ask myself. The answer that comes up: connection. I don’t necessarily need someone beside me all the time. But I regularly need to feel connected to something larger than myself. The lonely part of me needs nature, adventure, new food, art, mystery.

What does the afraid part need to feel? The answer: That it’s okay to be afraid. It just needs be told that everyone’s afraid right now, even if they aren’t showing it.

What about the anxious part?The part of me that wants to get this 100 percent perfect needs to be given some new projects. Particularly, projects where I’m a beginner and so perfection can’t be expected.

And the anger? This part of me needs to be engaged. How can I channel that anger into fighting for political and economic justice?

4. Finally, I’m using all of this to plan ahead.

To nurture my lonely part, I booked a couple weekend getaways to do some hiking. I’m also buying a fire pit for my backyard so I can have friends over when it’s cold.

To calm my fear, I wrote this blog post to see who else is worrying about the winter. If you got this far, you’re probably afraid too.

To soothe my anxiety, I’m buying a steel guitar so I can learn a new instrument. I’m finding new recipes to try. I’m setting some goals for researching my family history.

And to channel my anger, I’m getting involved in the local Democratic Socialists of America and planning to volunteer at food banks in my neighborhood.

It’s almost like there’s a little family inside of me that I have care for. Sure enough, there’s a form of psychotherapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS) that says just that. I’m a huge fan.

I’m trying to remember that the point of all this, as Brach wrote, is to “embrace life in all its realness — broken, messy, vivid, alive.” I’m not going to get it right.

We’re not going to get it right. And that’s okay.

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, reach out. Get my writing straight to your email inbox here.

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