The Wake Up Call for Lawyers

In Zimbabwe, there's almost 90% unemployment. In South Africa, there are the remnants of apartheid. America has cancelled US AID to the poorest of poor, and is about to tax a huge lifeline: money that gets sent home. Conditions on this amazing continent are not easy, to say the least. And through it all, to a person, the Africans we've met, from so many countries on this patchwork continent, are kind and loving and generous. No matter that we come from the west, or from comparative wealth, or have privileges most Africans will never have. Or are Americans, and thus, right now, part of the problem. Still, they create safety and comfort and love, for us and for everyone around them.As Hafiz said,   “…Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.” 

I wonder about the power of generosity to  set the tone of the law, or change it.Right now, we're everyone to their corner and then knives out. What if we could be passionately on the sides of clients, causes, justice, but in a different way - not with a classic, take no prisoners approach, but with generosity? And with faith that the choice to do that would be seen as skillful, not weak? In a way generosity seems anathema to our work. In another way it seems like a shift we desperately need. There's no point in guessing, though. We'll only know if we try. 

Not much can change on the global scale, or even in my community (or even in my house), if I'm not thoughtful and intentional about my own personal behavior. I know that. You probably know that, too. But I'd also say, not much can change if I'm not thoughtful and intentional in a specific way: by being a little (or a lot) more generous; by committing, and making sure, that nothing I say or do will cause harm; and by taking the time, no matter how busy I am, and no matter how much the world throws at me, to train my heart and mind to be still.

Recently I said something snarky and it got back to the person.For the whole day, I dreaded what would happen. When the worst did happen, I felt even worse: a slow, painful remembering of how imperfect I am, despite all the striving. And of how perfection is not even a thing, no matter how much I strive. In a funny way, dread helped me. In fact, dread was the most helpful thing. Without dread, I wonder if I'd even have noticed, let alone cared. But with dread, and after making peace with dread, which took a minute, self-compassion emerged, and then a plan. And self-compassion plus a plan feels like a decent idea for this moment.

I hear a lot about sending love to humans, being kind and appreciative and compassionate to teachers, loved ones, friends…even enemies. I hear less about sending love to the earth. Yet of all beings (if the earth is a being, and isn't she?), doesn't the earth deserve love, too? Doesn't she deserve appreciation, and for once, instead of extracting from her, for us to give her our best, our love, our kindness, every good thing we've got? Seem like it's the least we can do.

Are we “cultivating” love, compassion, and joy, or do we already have plenty and just need to access it? If we have plenty, and just need to learn how to access it, what's in the way of doing that? For me, it's wanting to hold onto the things that are working, and wanting all the really awful moments to end: all that wanting for things to be different, instead of learning to be “in” love right in this (imperfect) present.Which makes me wonder: if that's true for me, is it true for everyone? And if so, then does that mean everyone? And if it does, then is compassion the right response, for all the everyone's who just don't know, yet, how to access their love?

There's “ordinary” news: market whiplash; leadership/not leadership; greed, hatred, and delusion. But there's sweet news, too: the child of a friend and benefactor who cleans houses for living - a child who's been planning to be a lawyer since they were five -got into Princeton undergrad with a full ride.Princeton, full ride, with a solid foundation of love and goodness underneath them:  leadership in the making.In the middle of the muck (from the incredibly hard work of scrubbing toilets) a triumph. From the deep mud, a gorgeous lotus.

When I feel committed, it gives me purpose, energy, direction. But to fulfill my commitment, especially if someone else is committed to the opposite cause, I need to understand all angles, all sides. I need to not let disdain and scorn and hate get in my way It's a lot like practicing law.  Attachment feels different.  It feels like a clingy state. There's something I want, I think I know why,and I'm sure I know best. I'm not learning, not open, and often, not understanding. There's a tightness - it's inside the word itself - and separation, and sometimes, hate.Maybe commitment is about being fierce, and attachment is vicious. Maybe commitment is about caring and attachment isn't. I don't know for sure. What is the difference for you?

Signaling that we're mindful, whether we're speaking, writing, posting, or messaging, is simple.There's no lying, denying, or blame. There's no harm done. We're remembering that what we say and do, matters. We're not gossiping, just sharing what's needed.And everything we say is kind.It's simple, but maybe not easy.  If it were, I feel like more of us would be mindful,whether we're talking to friends or planning a campaign. It's not easy, but it seems to me like a better standard of care, and a better Signal to the world, than the one we have now.

What is an appropriate response when I get something I don't want, or don't get what I do want?Bully the person I “think” is responsible? Chastise, criticize, frighten, and ruin them I'm following the Chief Justice and going with no.At least from a mindfulness perspective - and I'm guessing this is obvious: it's the age-old processes of listening patiently and with compassion, remembering we're all in this together, and then making choices that don't cause any harm, no matter how disappointing the moment.   Or to make it even simpler, and as Justice Roberts said, file an appeal.

I don't know what we can do in this moment except stay in the boat, and when we get tossed into the ocean, grab the hull and crawl back inside to safety. That's how it feels to me right now.But I wonder if there's another way to safety.Maybe it's too odd of an idea, but what if we could create peace in the middle of chaos, by wishing everyone well. Not as a discernment practice (you deserve my well-wishes, you don't) but by weaving a great cloak to wrap up into  and protect ourselves with, and protect everyone else, too?Maybe it's a cloak of peace. Maybe it's one of love. Maybe it's a cloak of blessings,like the great poet John O'Donohue once wrote.I feel like I could use a blessing right now. Couldn't you?

Emotions are running high. Western mindfulness, quoting Rumi, says, ill will, anger, even hate: “Welcome and entertain them all….They may be clearing us out for some new delight.”The ancient mindfulness texts aren't as big on this. They say, the path to liberation is to abandon ill will. Give it up! Let it go as if it's burning your hand – because it is.Rumi sounds like a good, careful, idea. Letting go sounds even better, but a whole lot more radical. Dr. King said, when you're right, you can't be too radical. What if the texts are right?  What would happen if we took Dr. King's advice?

If breath is the focus, the anchor, refuge from an uncertain world, then maybe love is the antidote.I'm not saying I know much about love other than that it feels absent in so many places, and crucial in even more. I do know that love isn't about two (or three or four) humans and our stary-eyed moments. It's about finding some way to keep our hearts open, available, and un-barnacled. It's about going down into the deep, to the belly of this remarkable vessel we call home, and ever so gently and lovingly scraping and prying off the detritus until the old, varnished, and luminous hull shines through. 

I'm wondering about patience these days:accepting that things are what they are.I've studied and tried to practice that kind of patiencewith friends and family and colleagues and studentsand the everyday vicissitudes of life, and even with myself.And all of that's one thing.  But then there's the news.And Anthony Romero's suggestion (he runs the ACLU)that if all else fails, “we may have to shut down the country.”If patience is about accepting how things are,is it also about waiting to see if all else fails?And about shutting down the country if it does? The Dalai Lama says patience puts us in a stronger position to judge an appropriately nonviolent response. That sounds so wise, to me. But so does Mr. Romero. 

This isn't a moment when I can pay attention all the time: sometimes I just need to turn away, or walk away. But whether I'm engaged or disengaged,  wisdom and love have their place.The question I'm working with is, how do I meet each moment with three wise intentions:to let go of wanting things to be different, because right now, they just are how they are;to be kind and loving, no matter what; and to have compassion for the wild cast of characters living on, and running, the planet right now.I wish I had any answers but at least that's the inquiry right now. So, happy Valentine's Day. ♥️The classical invitation is to send some love to the beings you love.That's an easy one to accept.And here's another invitation, maybe not as easy: send some love – not flowers or chocolate but secretly, just in your own heart, or practice – to someone you could never imagine loving, ever.And see how it goes. 

When I think of faith, it's often faith in someone or something. But these days I'm thinking of faith in terms of believing that if I keep practicing, and we all keep practicing, then we'll know the appropriate response, meaning, the right thing to say or do.The right thing in our day-to-day lives, for sure. But also the right thing in a bigger sense. In other words, faith that all of this sitting in silence and filling the space with kindness, will give us the wisdom to know the appropriate response, if the courts go sideways or we're in danger of losing the Republic entirely – a Republic, said Benjamin Franklin, if we can keep it. 

I have these moments when I feel like I should be doing more.Or at least doing something.But right now I'm not sure what to do, or how, or when. So instead, right now, for now, I'm taking care of myself. I'm practicing, I'm spending time in nature, I'm spending time with friends and family and the puppy.Doing less. Resting up. Taking refuge. But there will come a time when what to do, and how, and when, will become clear.  And when that time comes – when there's a crack and the light starts to get in - I plan to be rested and resourced and ready.I hope you do, too.

There are two ways I can see to relate to the world right now,if this is a moment that feels distressful. One is to be bothered by the world and also by the distress,and to work from that perspective…possibly with success, but also with dismay, disapproval, disdain. The other is to not be bothered by anything, not even distress,and to be kind to ourselves and everyone else,remembering that it's possible to welcome everythingand still fight with every ounce of our being for love, and justice, and peace. 

I care, and then I turn away.I get busy, or I lose interest,or the crisis stops affecting me directly or never did, and I let my attention slip away.I'm being honest, but I'm not glad about it,because what I really want is to keep my heart open,and keep my attention focused on whoever I can support.Not by losing myself or getting overwhelmedor letting my own wellbeing slip,but by creating enough space in my heart and mind to remember that caring for others and caring for myselfare not different, not separate.

I feel like I spend a lot of time – too much time – thinking I understand.Maybe we all do, even when we know everyone's understandings are different.At the same time I think most of us knowthere's a lot we can't see. It feels helpful to keep that in mind,and to keep an open, “don't know” mind,and be learning and surprised by each moment.Because even when the surprises aren't good,at least we know that any moment now, there'll be a new moment,or a new perspective, or a new way of seeing, or a new message, or even a new messenger.

We could say that, depending on our political beliefs,beliefs about climate emergency,relationships to inequity,inner and outer resources,and what comes our way,our 2025 theme –the quality of heart and mindwe'll be working with and cultivating -is a forgone conclusion.But what if we don't say that?What if we chose our theme,intentionally and regardless?Decide that this year our theme will bepatience, for example,or connection, or enough-ness?What if each of us takes some time,and some breaths,and looks inside at whatever it is that we value,and want to work with, and work on,and then chooses that as our theme for the new year,no matter what comes our way?

Because there is always faith.It might be faith in our abilities.It might be faith in the wisdom that's available to usevery once in a while. It might be faith in cause and effect:the way that, when we express frustration,no one is happy, and when we express love, people care.Or it might be faith that the earth will take care of herself,No matter what we humans cook up, or, if that's too big,that this day will dawn, or if even that's too big, that, when we breathe in, in the next moment,no matter what else happens, we'll breathe out.

Sometimes I naturally notice the calm and peacefulness of the closing of the year.More often there's so much going on, either in my own life or around me, that I feelrestless, worried, a kind of agitation of body and mind that clouds my thinking and makes it difficult to settle.For me the thing that helps most is creating space: space to breath, in the middle of a busy day, time for a walk, indoors and out (especially out, no matter how freezing).There's something about being in nature, no matter how postage-stamp-sized the place, that eases my worried mind (thanks, Eric Clapton).I hope you can be outside this next week, even a little. I hope you can breathe some crisp, clean, air,  and take in the wondrousness of nature, even as she sleeps.If you're feeling restless or worried, I hope it eases your worried mind.

Sometimes I have an endless supply of energy. But there are also times when  my mind is sluggish, not bright. Life feels exhausting or boring or blah. Does this happen for you? The good thing is, when I turn my attention to the blah feeling itself, my mind wakes up. I can see how sluggish I feel, but I can also see that it's temporary, and even get interested in it, as yet another fascinating state of mind.  When all of this happens, I also try to appreciate (with varying degrees of success)what the situation offers: a simple, powerful reminder to pay attention in each moment, even the slothful ones.  That appreciation, when it's available, along with the attention when it's available, seems to brighten the whole mind.

I have this image of myself as being mindful, sitting above the fray.  In my dreams.The truth is, I'm not above the fray at all,because the fray is my own mind.For example, it's never my intention to be blindsided by hate or greed.But I do get blindsided -in the sense that when they show up, I can't see.My clarity is gone. They are the fray.So I do what I can, like I'm guessing we all do.For me that means trying to notice hate and greed before I've acted on them;once they arrive, staying interested in a non-partisan way;and ultimately, trying to let them go.Because I feel like, what else can I do?I need to let them go if I want to be able to hear what others are saying.And I need to hear what others are sayingto understand how to love them.So what else can I do but let go, and listen?What else can any of us do?

I want to say this is the season for gratitude,and that's not wrong, but I'm also not 100%.I'm grateful, and I'm also confused and fearful and nauseous. Or I'm pedaling fast and furious, or hiding behind my screen.Greed, hatred, exhaustion, restlessness, doubt:they all co-exist in this heart and mind right now,alongside gratitude. So the question I'm asking myself is,how do I create enough space for everything?How can I be gentle with the way things are?What creates spaciousness and ease?Breath helps because it creates spaciousness: continuing to pay attention to the breath and the sense of the body, breathing, moment by moment. Love helps because it creates ease: continuing to be loving even with those who wear hats with slogans I can't understand,and with myself when I feel like I should understand and be able to connect.  So, gratitude, spaciousness, and love. That's what I wish for your Thanksgiving table next week,and for all of the ordinary days as well.

I'm finding that right now, practice can be challenging.It's hard to get up an hour early in the dark.But that's often the case. The bigger challenge right now is not the early dark mornings.It's the lack of clarity that arises when anger, impatience, and fear take over my sit, or my day. That's why right now, I'm understanding a little bit betterthe wisdom of all the great teachers, who counsel us to befriend these difficult states of mind.I'm noticing that befriending anger helps me to occasionally, see the pain underneath;that making friends with impatience helps me tosometimes, remember to take a breath;and that letting fear be a beloved companion points to one day,possibly, with plenty of practice, letting it go.

Whether you're celebrating right now or mourning,I feel like the best idea might be to just take a breath. Maybe you're thinking about what's next,gathering friends, gathering forces. Amazing. And, wouldn't it be good if we could all just take a collective breath?  There will be time. There is time. Right now, can we take care of ourselves and the people we love? Can we go to our cushions, our communities, our hearts –  not to the mat, not yet - and connect and not turn away? Can we maybe, just maybe, forget about winning and losing, just for a moment? And remember to just be together  on this small blue planet we all call home,and breathe?

This year it feels like there are real live goblins in the streets. So maybe it's an odd time to put out the welcome mat.But to me it feels like there's no other choice. If we notice our internal goblins - fear, anxiety, and concern or notice the goblins in others, and turn away, we're missing the chance to care. If we welcome whatever we see and hear, however scary it is,then maybe there's a chance that no matter what happens next, we'll survive, because we care.  Go to the places that scare you, say all of our teachers. Well, here we are.  What can we do but make ourselves and each other welcome?

Sometimes I don't know what's happened today, or I know, but I'd rather not.The moment is so fraught and the consequences so big that turning away sometimes feels like an option. But turning away from the external - turning off the news, turning off my phone -is one thing. Deciding to stop checking in inside - stop pausing, stop taking a breath and observing how the moment feels, which is how to investigate a state of heart, state of mind is another. I feel like I can take a break from the external and still know what's important in the large sense, and what to do next. When I turn away from the internal it's almost impossible for me to know how I'm doing. Which makes it hard to know what's important in the moment. And without knowing that, how can I know how to proceed?

When I think about impermanence I think of it as an immutable quality of life.When I think about democracy, though,I want to believe in its permanence. That belief, or illusion,is what gets me knocking on doors,making calls, and mailing my ballot.  Maybe both are true: empires come and go, and there is wisdom in believing in the illusion of their permanence, at least until proven otherwise.

I've been noticing this week,  as I practice apology and forgiveness, that these practices invite me to dig deep.  What I'm digging for is generosity. To apologize with a full heart,  I need to be generous enough to be willing to say I'm sorry.To forgive – and often I need to forgive myself –  I need to be generous enough to see  that when I cause harm, as awful as it feels, there is room to grow and (hopefully) time to make amends.  The amazing thing is that when generosity is the foundation, apology and forgiveness bring so much ease and joy. Maybe check that out, and see if it's true for you, too.

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. L'shana tova! It's a celebratory day, but it's also a time for contemplation: a time to consider any harm we've caused, apologize, and ask for forgiveness.  From a mindfulness perspective, this invitation is always present. In each moment, we know how to look, and see, whether we're causing harm, remember the consequences of doing that, and back away or, if it's too late, apologize.  It's easier for me to write those words than to do the work. And when I don't, my conscience bothers me. I don't feel great about my day. Regret creeps in. And I don't sleep well.  So today I'm going to apologize to some folks, and ask for forgiveness. Please join me?

The funny thing about mindfulness is that even though it takes effort and solid intention, it's also deeply relaxing.  I used to think that focusing on my breath was some combination of dreary, boring, and hard. Now I'd say, it's none of those things. It's pretty interesting -  sometimes the breath is interesting, but equally often,  what's interesting is how wild my mind is.   And it's also easy, when I remember to relax. Which is really what mindfulness is all about: breathing in and waking myself up, then breathing out and relaxing.  Sweet practice for any time,  but especially for this not-so-easy moment.

I want to say I'm ok with the news, the polls, the weather, my friends, my family.  I want to say that, but plenty of times I'm just not. I'm anxious or impatient or fearful or just flat out exhausted.  Mindfulness invites me to step back, observe what I'm feeling, and not flinch.And not only not flinch, but welcome whatever I see. Welcome, and then love.And then also do better: be a little kinder and wiser the next time.It's a tall order, and it gets taller. Because mindfulness also invites me to notice (or realize?)that whatever I see in myself is pretty much true for everyone.Which I take as an invitation to not flinch from anyone else either, to welcome whatever everyone else is bringing as well, and to love everyone else, too.And then, to do better for the world:to keep working as hard as I can for change.

How much effort is enough? In the law, often the answer is, it's never enough.That's a burnout-answer.But it doesn't mean we don't have to work our tails off to do a good job. Mindfulness invites us to work hard, too, but there is an “enough.”Sometimes “enough” is a few minutes of practice. Sometimes, it's a ten-day silent retreat. Always, it's practicing a least a little, every day. In the immortal words of Justice Stewart, we know it when we see it.Louis Armstrong famously said,“If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, the critics know it. If I don't practice for three days, the public knows it.”  I'm thinking Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Stewartboth knew what they were talking about.

When I think back on being 20 and choosing to be a lawyer, there was a lot of, “why not? That seems like a cool path.” There was less of, “how will this serve?” or “will this contribute to a more harmonious world?”I see now that whether my work created harmony or discord was always the important question.Pema Chodron invites us to ask, “am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?” That's the question I would ask my 20-year-old self today. It's the question I ask my 65-year-old self as often as I can remember: “Today, will I be practicing peace?”What about you? Are you practicing peace? Or do you wake up each day, ready for war?

Behaving mindfully is not always easy. Don't cause harm, don't take anything that's not mine to take, don't be biased, don't cloud the mind, always be kind: it's clear what the invitation is. But for me it's not easy to remember to accept that invitation and live each moment like that.What is easy for me to remember, when I've caused harm or taken more than my share or harbored (or spoken with) ill will, is that it's possible to take responsibility, make things right as best as I can, and learn from my missteps. Not comfortable and not easy, but possible. And sometimes, from ‘possible' I can get to forgiveness (forgiving myself). And to gratitude, for sometimes, getting a second chance.

I have no idea how many times I say something, or write an email, or post, with irritation on my mind. Or hit the numbers for Verizon, with exasperation. I do know that when I do, the result is often not great.When I remember to be mindful - to consider my timing, be honest, and be kind no matter what (and no matter who) –the result is decent. The other person seems more interested and relaxed. And I feel ok, even when I don't get what I want.  Timing, honesty, and kindness: I'm loving this recipe because it feels like a win. And seems to influence everyone's experience for the better. Maybe you're already using it. Awesome. If not, check it out. If it works, pass it on.

The problem with good intentions is that they're subjective. Plus, I may have good intentions but what ‘good' are they if my impact is still harmful?Wise intentions are different. Wise intentions are objective and aspirational. When I remember to set and follow them, I'm less likely to hurt anyone and more likely to be helpful and even, maybe, contribute in some small way to the goodDedicated to the U.S. women's soccer (football) team, for the win …and for a much bigger win in November.

The Path to Waking UpEach of the eight steps of the mindfulness path - the path to waking up - feels important. But the first, which emphasizes that everything we say and do matters, feels like the most important to remember. When I do, I'm kinder on call-center calls, more compassionate to people who upset me, curious about political views that seem diametrically opposed to mine and the neighbors who hold them.Everything we say and do matters…for one obvious reason, to me anyway: we belong to each another. All eight billion of us share this small planet we call home. So, we have a binary choice. We can save our kindness for those we feel “deserve” it, or care about everyone and the earth. One choice got us into the pickle we're in. The other might just get us out.…For the Olympians!

Right now feels like a moment when I need to assert my beliefs and work very, very hard to create change. The stakes feel too high to do anything else.At the same time, when I act like an expert not too many people seem to want to hear what I have to say. When I let go of believing I'm right and they're wrong, they seem at least a little bit interested. But is it even possible to let go, to cultivate beginner's mind, right now, in this polarized moment? If it is, I wonder what would happen if we all did that: let go, remembered that after all, none of us knows how things will turn out, and met one another with completely open minds.…For Joe

The birds in the trees, the light at dawn, the gorgeousness of morning: these things are all mixed up right now with dysfunctional politics, a precarious climate, and so much going on at home.Mindfulness helps. Present moment attention without judgment, the first step, is crucial. And so is the next step. The next step is, don't wish things were other than they are. Work hard to change things, absolutely. But be present moment to moment with the joys and the sorrows, too. It's a big invitation. And, it's the main reason we practice: to be able to be present, no matter what. And with that presence of mind, take wise and decisive action. ...For those who are confused, in the U.S. and everywhere…

Each day of being relatively balanced feels to me like a day of possibility. What I notice is that when I'm balanced, when I'm really feeling human - not in survival mode, not activated, not checked out, there's the possibility that mindfulness will point me towards kindness and compassion, for myself and for everyone. I also notice it's circular. When I'm practicing mindfulness regularly, I'm less in survival mode, less activated, and less checked out. And I'm more likely to feel at least as balanced as it's possible to feel right now. And a little bit kinder.It's a good argument for mindfulness. It's an even better argument for a little bit of formal mindfulness practice - say ten minutes? - every day. 

There's nothing I want more, really, than for things to be secure and predictable and easeful, for me and for everyone. But that's the funny thing about being human. Nothing is secure, not even our lives. Almost nothing is predictable, not in any durable sense. And ease comes and goes.On another, more foundational level, though, ease is always available. When things don't go our way, when things slip through our fingers, when we tap into the fundamental insecurity of being human, we have two choices: push back or relax. I'm not saying we have two easy choices, but for me, the second choice leads to ease. The first only leads to suffering....For the CNN moderators. May they hold their ground....With love from Judi

Change: in my experience, it's sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes welcome, sometimes super hard, but nearly always, out of my control.And yet, when everything is going swimmingly, I forget that. I'm like a dog with a bone: grrrrr - don't take this away! When everything is sideways, I forget, too. I can't wait for things to shift, or I'm pushing for them to shift, and sometimes pushing hard. When I forget that change is nearly always out of my control, there's this subtle (or not-so-subtle) stress.But there's another option: remembering. When I remember that the bone is going to disappear one way or another (not even the best bone lasts forever), that the sideways moment will right itself somehow, that everything changes and there's usually nothing I can do about that, then, paradoxically, there's a pause. Sometimes there's even an “ah ha.” And in that pause, that ah ha - in that rare but delicious moment of remembering - I don't feel so protective of the bone, or so trapped by the tilt. I can relax.Today's Wake Up Call is dedicated to my Dad, Lou, who died a year ago today. Yes, all things change, but missing you hasn't changed yet, Dad. Maybe it's one thing that never will. I hope you're safe and at ease, wherever you are.

For a long time I was convinced that suffering was for other people. I thought, I have enough to eat, a nice home, a great partner and child. Where is the suffering? But I was missing the fundamentals. I was failing to see that this being human in & of itself is challenging. We have to shop, cook, clean, brush our teeth, pay our bills. We get a cold, we stub a toe, we get nasty emails and we still have to do our job. And that's just the everyday.What if we paid attention to this kind of suffering: the small difficulties of being human - moment by moment? Not in a woe-is-me kind of way, but with interest? With curiosity? I wonder what we could discover. I wonder what we could heal.

The way I see it, we have two choices. We can rail against reality and exhaust ourselves. Or we can find a way to leaving the room, the house, the office, the world, the moment, a little bit better every time, no matter how we're feeling or what's happening around us. We can learn to let go of wanting things to be other than they are.Door number one: suffering. Door number two: the end of suffering. 

I feel like at this moment in a relatively long life so far, I should be able to say yes to certain things, no to others, and be able to count on things remaining relatively stable. Do you have that feeling?And yet I can't because they're not: nothing is either this certain thing or that. Nothing is truly solid, reliable, permanent. And the more energy I put into thinking it should be, the more struggle I'm in. When I can remember that my work, my home, my family, my life, are not definable or corral-able or really anything I can count on, it's incredibly scary, yes. But it's also a little bit funny, a little bit odd, and in the end, such a relief.

It should be easy to find someone to insult us, on social media, for example, or from among our snarkiest friends. I feel like I want to find someone every day, or let them find me, because they help me to see where I'm holding back, where I'm stuck.  If you're looking for that, too, what happens when someone shows up and we just get defensive? Or we don't listen in order to learn? And what if it's not just one person? What if everyone is this friend, this teacher, and every insult is just an opportunity to learn how to be more kind?  

When something or someone upsets me, I'm quick to blame. I'm slower to remember to simply sit still, with upset, anger, fear, or sorrow.When I'm upset, sometimes I think I'm the only one who feels like I do, or who's having the problems I'm having. But that's never the case: everyone gets upset, frustrated, bummed out, and scared, at some point or other.When I can remember that, and learn from it – meaning, learn from the difficult moments – things feel lighter. I take things less personally. I remember we're all in this together, and that everything changes. I can begin to notice when sadness gives way to gratitude, and anger to compassion. If there's a difference between easy and easeful, then I'd say, learning, remembering, and noticing are not easy. But when I do them, I land in a more easeful place. The effort feels worthwhile.  (To the grads and to those speaking out on all sides: may all beings be safe, filled with compassion, and live with ease.)