And how do we feed positive emotions? Positive emotions naturally arise when we embrace our moment-to-moment experience fully and completely. Even anger can be transformed into something positive when we don’t resist it because anger communicates important information about our world. The habit of relating to all our experience with mindfulness and compassion is the foundation for positive emotions (that is, emotional habits) like joy, peace, generosity, and love.
The Wisdom of Selflessness
A flexible sense of self is necessary to cultivate positive feelings. The less “self” we have to defend and protect, the more likely it is that socially positive emotions like tolerance, generosity, and acceptance will emerge. In contrast, if we identify with a fixed image of ourselves, or a particular ideology, we may feel the need to incessantly fight for our psychological survival.
Wisdom includes the direct realization of how everything changes, including ourselves. The modern Indian sage Nisagradatta Maharaj wrote:
Love says, “I am everything.”
Wisdom says, “I am nothing.”
Between these two my life flows.
When we make the shift to seeing ourselves as transitory events—as verbs rather than as nouns—we can step back and allow the flow to continue. Our efforts shift from controlling the circumstances of our lives to learning how to meet each brief moment fully and wholeheartedly.
Selfing and the Brain
There appear to be two neurologically distinct ways of relating to personal experience: (1) moment to moment, or “experiential” and (2) as a “self,” or “narrative.” Norman Farb and colleagues at the University of Toronto scanned people’s brains as they did tasks that evoked each of these two modes. Participants saw adjectives like “confident” and “melancholy” and were asked either (1) to sense what was going on in their body and mind or (2) to judge whether the trait applied to them.
As expected, the latter, “self”-oriented task activated brain areas associated with the “default network” and the wandering mind (see Chapter 2). Present-moment awareness, in contrast, helped participants disengage the medial prefrontal cortex of the default network (areas that link the past to the future and give coherence to the “self”) and instead engage the insula and lateral brain areas (regions more closely associated with body awareness). Of particular interest is that people trained in mindfulness meditation were able to achieve this uncoupling more readily than novices. This research suggests that we can train our brains to be less preoccupied with narrative thinking— how daily events affect the “self”—and instead experience the emotional freedom of moment-to-moment awareness.
CHILDHOOD ROOTS
Is it actually possible to raise our happiness level? Aren’t the emotional patterns laid down in childhood and through family genetics too strong to overcome? And how do children learn to be kind to themselves?
Can We Change?
New research by psychologist Sonja Lyubomirsky and her colleagues shows that our overall happiness level is determined by our genes, circumstances, and intentional activity. “Happy genes” account for about half of our happiness (50%). “Circumstances”—the conditions of one’s childhood and present circumstances like being married, well-paid, religious, and healthy—cover a mere 10%. The most interesting category is the 40% that refers to “intentional activity”— our activities and outlook. That’s what we do, such as exercising and spending time with friends; how we think, such as cultivating gratitude or kindness; and how engaged we are in our interests and values.
This means that, in contrast with what a lot of us believe, winning the lottery (circumstances) isn’t going to make you happy for life. You’ll probably return to your old happiness set point (determined by genes and the rest of your circumstances) unless you use the money to do what you like, like learning to play the mandolin or volunteering at your church, temple, or mosque (intentional activity). If you want to feel measurably happier, you should invest in intentional activity—how you spend your time and how you think—rather than simply acquiring a particular object or life circumstance like a BMW or a new spouse. If you do acquire a BMW or a new spouse, learn to savor those things for a long time to elevate your happiness level. Cultivating intentional activity is an antidote to the hedonic treadmill described in Chapter 1.
Learning to Relate to Ourselves
Self-compassion practice is an intentional activity, and it’s closely tied to our early childhood experience. How we treat ourselves depends, in part, on how we were treated by our parents. Therefore, the circumstances of our early lives affect our ability to fully utilize the power of self-compassion.
The scientific study of how a child adapts to his or her caregivers is known as “attachment theory” and was pioneered by John Bowlby, Mary Ainsworth, and Mary Main. For example, if the primary caregiver is emotionally responsive and can “mirror” the emotions of the child (“Yes, I know you’re feeling sad, dear”), the child learns what it means to be sad, angry, afraid, excited, joyful, tired, and so forth, and that it’s okay to feel a wide range of feelings. If, in contrast, the caregiver becomes enraged whenever the child is angry, the child will push anger underground because it threatens the bond with the parent. As an adult, such a child is likely to criticize him- or herself for being angry, rather than responding to anger with self-kindness.
If the parent patiently acknowledges when the child is expressing negative emotion, the child can grow in self-awareness without danger. Such children feel secure with others. For example, a young child with secure attachment will explore a roomful of toys, and when the parent leaves the room, the child will express distress. When the parent returns, the child will initiate physical contact and return to play after he or she has settled down. These children learn to appreciate connection with others.
A child who shows no distress when the parent leaves, and seeks no contact when he or she returns, may grow up to be isolated or dismissive of relationships. A child who is unduly concerned about the parent’s leaving, who can’t explore his or her surroundings, and who isn’t comforted when the parent returns, is likely to become an angry, passive, or fearful adult who has difficulty calming or soothing him- or herself. Such nonverbal emotional habits are transferred from childhood into adulthood.
We also internalize images of caregivers who mattered to us when we were young. If a girl’s mother was patient and interested in her, she’s likely to carry that role model inside her and relate to herself and others in the same way. Having an inconsistent or abusive parent deprives the child of knowing how to be kind to him- or herself, perhaps even of knowing that feeling good is an acceptable emotional state. I know adults who were abused as children who feel that they need to work themselves to the bone or they risk being called “lazy” or “bad.” They feel like robots and resent others who work much less and still feel okay about themselves. We carry these internalized images of our caregivers, and the thoughts and behaviors attached to them, long into adulthood. A former client of mine, Andrew, is an example.
Andrew telephoned late one winter evening in despair. He was driving home from work in his truck, just after a light rain had begun to freeze on the road. As he tried to slow down for a stoplight, his truck slid straight into the car stopped before him. No one was hurt, but he crumpled the trunk of the car ahead of him. This accident happened one week after Andrew had argued successfully with his wife to raise their auto insurance deductible to $1,000. Andrew was upset, but not quite so much about the money as about the mishap.
As a little boy, Andrew had often felt unwanted. He recalls that when he went to college, his parents refused to let him come home for the holidays, falsely claiming it was too expensive. Andrew would have taken a 12-hour bus ride home from college if he had been allowed to do so.
It was an important step for Andrew to call me. When things went wrong, Andrew usually reacted with isolation and self-judgment. He was learning that these reactions were self-harming, and he didn’t want
to repeat them any longer. In our phone conversation, Andrew reflected on what he might have said to a friend who had a similar problem. Would he have told a friend that he was stupid to drive on the ice? No, never! Andrew recognized that his car problem could have happened to anyone—that it was just that, a car problem.
Before we hung up, Andrew recalled that he had been verbally abused whenever he inconvenienced his mother—for example, when he crashed his bicycle into a curb and bent the wheel rim. Andrew felt he was having an emotional memory and was mimicking the treatment he received as a child. Andrew vowed to respond with “compassion first” when difficulties like this happened again.
In this example, Andrew was learning how to meet his emotional habits from childhood with a new intention: self-compassion. We can learn to deal with whatever arises in the present moment even if our caregivers didn’t show us how. The influence of both genetics and a difficult childhood can be softened if we relate to our moment-to-moment experience with more mindfulness and greater kindness.
You now have a broad overview of how self-compassion can be integrated into your life and why it matters. But reading about self-compassion is like scanning a recipe: it may pique your appetite, but it can’t satisfy your hunger. The next two chapters will focus on the practice of loving-kindness. This is an ancient practice for developing compassion at a very deep level of your mind. You’ll recognize all the mindfulness and self-compassion principles mentioned so far bundled into this one practice. Please plan to give yourself some time to actually do the practice—to feel how loving-kindness works inside your body and mind. You deserve it.
Part II
practicing loving-kindness
6
caring for ourselves
I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.
—HENRY DAVID THOREAU, writer-naturalist
When Henry David Thoreau wrote in the early 1860s that he had “faith in a seed,” he was challenging the popular view that many plants spring to life without seeds or roots. As a careful observer of nature, Thoreau knew otherwise. A keen witness of human behavior can also see that people with self-compassion are continually planting seeds of self-kindness, nurturing the tender saplings, and weeding out unwelcome competition.
This part of the book introduces a meditation practice that has the power to transform how you perceive and relate to your world: loving-kindness meditation. It can be practiced intensively in formal sitting meditation or informally throughout the day. In this chapter, you’ll learn to plant seeds of loving-kindness in place of self-criticism, self-doubt, and self-isolation. The next chapter will focus on your relationships with others.
Loving-kindness meditation is the core practice of this book. You may want to spend a week on this chapter alone, trying out the practice for yourself. Pause between the sections to see if what you’re reading is true to your own experience.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF LOVING-KINDNESS
Loving-kindness is an English translation of the Pali word metta. (Pali is the language in which the Buddha’s words were originally recorded in the first century BCE, 400 years after he died.) Metta also means “friendliness,” “love,” “benevolence,” and “good will.” In its fullest expression, metta is “universal, unselfish, all-embracing love.” The terms metta and loving-kindness are used interchangeably in this book.
Detailed instructions for cultivating loving-kindness were first introduced by the Buddhist monk Buddhaghosa, in the 5th century CE, in the Visuddhimagga (“The Path of Purification”). To our knowledge, the Buddha gave only brief instructions for loving-kindness (metta) meditation. The way we practice metta today is essentially Buddhaghosa’s elaboration of a discourse given by the Buddha to a group of monks who were afraid to live in the forest. The following lines come from that discourse:
May all beings be happy and secure, may their hearts be wholesome!
Whatever living beings there are: feeble or strong, tall, stout or medium, short, small or large, without exception; seen or unseen, those dwelling far or near, those who are born or those who are yet to be born—may all beings be happy!
Let none deceive another, nor despise any person whatsoever in any place.
Let one not wish any harm to another out of anger or ill-will.
Just as a mother would protect her only child at the risk of her own life, even so, let one cultivate a boundless heart towards all beings.
Let one’s thoughts of boundless love pervade the whole world; above, below and across, without any obstruction, without any hatred, without any enmity.
Whether one stands, walks, sits or lies down, as long as one is awake, one should develop mindfulness. This, they say, is the noblest living here.
The Buddha essentially prescribed loving-kindness as an antidote to fear, and he encouraged his monks to remember this discourse as a means to cultivate that quality.
It’s good to keep in mind that the Buddha was a human being, not a god. When the Buddha was asked if he was a god, he simply replied that he was awake. (Buddha means “awake.”) The Buddha was born as a prince in 563 BCE, but he left his comfortable home when he was 29 years old to discover how to overcome suffering, especially the misery associated with sickness, old age, and death. Six years later, as he was sitting under a tree in meditation, the Buddha became “enlightened”—he saw how we create suffering in our own minds and how to eliminate it. He went on to teach others for the remaining 45 years of his life.
The Buddha told his students to test everything he said on the basis of their own direct experience—“come and see.” If you read the earliest Buddhist texts, you’ll notice the Buddha was more of a psychologist than a religious leader. He offered a detailed map of the mind; his approach was based on objective, internal observation; and the motivation behind his words was to alleviate emotional suffering. This accounts for modern psychology’s careful study of the Buddha’s insights from 2,500 years ago.
In the 1960s and 1970s, as the baby boomers came of age, some intrepid Western seekers traveled to India and parts of Southeast Asia in search of new wisdom. Two such pilgrims, Sharon Salzberg and Joseph Goldstein, discovered mindfulness meditation in India. They returned home to the United States and, along with their friend Jack Kornfield, who had been a monk in Thailand, established a meditation center in rural Massachusetts. Their vision flourished. Sharon was also the first person to introduce metta meditation to a large Western audience, through her book Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. This classic work is an important resource for anyone interested in learning more about the subject. It takes a Western Buddhist perspective, is deeply inspirational, and contains valuable suggestions for practice.
It was Buddhaghosa who first emphasized the importance of self-kindness in metta practice. Buddhaghosa was careful to note that the purpose of self-kindness is to connect with our common wish to be happy, not to aggrandize the “self,” which only causes more misery. When we recognize within ourselves the instinct for self-care, we’re more inclined to see it in others and to work for their welfare as well.
The message of this brief history is that you should feel free to tailor the practice to fit your own needs. The Buddha didn’t lay down a fixed structure or language for cultivating loving-kindness—and he wouldn’t have wanted you to follow it slavishly anyway. You’ll learn the basic principles of loving-kindness meditation in this chapter so that you can achieve maximum benefit from the practice.
MIXING MINDFULNESS AND METTA
Metta practice builds on the foundation of mindfulness. You’ll recall that mindfulness is awareness of what’s happening in the present moment. When we’re upset, we’re usually mindless—preoccupied with our personal stories (“I’m angry at Jenny because she said this to me and then she did that!”)—rather than simply aware that we’re in discomfort or that it hurts to feel that way. Mindfulness is the ability to feel our pain—if there’s pain to feel—and st
ay out of the drama. That’s step one in metta practice. When we’re aware of and open to discomfort, kindness and compassion flow more easily.
It’s not easy to stay open—nonresisting, nonavoiding, nonentangled—in the presence of pain. As you read in Chapters 3 and 4, mindfulness strategies can help. We can deconstruct a difficult emotion into moment-to-moment bodily experience (this twitch, that pounding heart) or we can label the emotion (anger, fear). We can also work with the direction of our awareness—inside or outside the body—to regulate the intensity of emotion. During extremely difficult periods in our lives, however, mindfulness techniques may miss the mark. When we fall to pieces, we need to be put back together again. Metta is designed to do that, especially when the practice is used in everyday life.
Loving-kindness meditation uses the power of connection, whereas mindfulness meditation primarily uses attention. Both metta and mindfulness transform the way we relate to what’s happening in our lives—they’re “relational” practices—but metta focuses specifically on the person who’s suffering. When we suffer intensely, we may need to feel held or embraced by another person. That “other person” can be a real, physical human being or, no less effectively, a compassionate part of ourselves. If we activate warmth and love within ourselves, we can often talk ourselves through difficult times. Metta meditation teaches us how to be a better friend to ourselves.
The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion Page 14
