Mindfulness Misunderstood?

I don’t like to fight biology.  Generally speaking, we have far less control over our thoughts and emotions than we think we do, and certainly less than we would like.  A cornerstone of the work I do with clients is figuring out how to we navigate these difficult thoughts and feelings in ways that can help build a richer, more meaningful life.  Mindfulness, a term that has been rather en vogue for a number of years now, and one I am sure you’ve heard before, is a skill that underlines essentially all of that work.  In fact, one could make the argument that mindfulness underlies all models of therapy, and is really just an important life skill worth practicing. 

Despite how commonplace the term has become, I often find clients walking into my office frustrated with the whole concept.  “It’s not for me, my mind is too busy”.  “I tried it, but I just can’t relax”.  “I’m really bad at it”.  “I just don’t have the time for it”. 

Jon Kabat-Zinn defines mindfulness as simply “paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally”.  You can find dozens, maybe hundreds, of definitions but they all encompass the same basic idea: deliberately paying attention to the present moment (the nonjudgmental part isn’t always there, but it is crucial and we’ll come back to it later).  Mindfulness really is as simple as Kabat-Zinn’s definition, yet its simplicity is rife with misinterpretation.  Take note of what isn’t included in that definition.  Nothing about relaxation, a clear mind, or any prescription for the “right” amount of time to be mindful. 

Estimates on how many thoughts we have in a day vary widely.  They range anywhere from 12,000 to 70,000 on any given day.  Regardless of which end of the spectrum is closer to the truth, we think a lot.  Research shows that the majority of our thoughts are negative in some way, roughly two thirds to three quarters of them in fact.  If we go with the low end of both spectrums, that leaves us with something in the neighborhood of 8,000 thoughts a day that are negative (up to 52,500 if we go with the high end). Obviously the emotions associated with such thoughts are likely unpleasant, and certainly not ones we associate with relaxation. 

This brings me back to my opening commentary on fighting biology.  If we conservatively have 12,000 thoughts a day, what are the odds we can quiet all of those thoughts for any prolonged period of time? Slim. If we attempt to stave off the emotions all of these negative thoughts generate, how likely is it we can change the content of at least 2,000 thoughts a day to put us at an even 50/50 split between pleasant and unpleasant thoughts? 

There’s a quick exercise I like to do with clients where I ask them to pretend I have a briefcase with a million dollars in it.  The money is all theirs if we walk down to the corner and they can force themselves to fall in love with the first person that shows up.  Even in this hypothetical exercise, everyone has fairly quickly conceded that they don’t think they can do it.  That’s just how emotions work; you can’t force yourself into pleasant ones or force yourself out of not-so-pleasant ones.    

I don’t like to use mindfulness as a tool to make the mind stop doing what minds do, or to force myself to feel relaxed when my mind wants to pull me into some very non-relaxed directions.  That’s fighting biology (there are some great resources out there that make a compelling evolutionary argument for our propensity for negativity, but that is a different article in and of itself).  I prefer to use mindfulness as a skill for peaceful coexistence with unpleasant thoughts and emotions.  If we focus on being present with our negativity, not trying to change it, we often find the opportunity for more choice in our behavior.  This new-found choice allows us to live a meaningful life regardless of our thoughts or emotions.   

Donald Hebb was a Canadian neuropsychologist that coined the phrase “neurons that fire together, wire together”.  This concept underpins the common saying “ it’s like riding a bike”, referring to peoples’ ability to hop on a bike fairly effortlessly after not having ridden one for awhile.  Groups of neurons have been “wired” together to coordinate various actions into successfully riding a bike without much thought.

As with the bike, humans are wired to be judgmental; it’s how we have a favorite color or make a decision around what to wear every day.  So, our default stance will seldom be a nonjudgmental one (imagine trying to “unlearn” how to ride a bike).  We may have a critical thought of a partner when they do something that drives us nuts, or a critical thought of ourselves when we make a mistake. This is where being present is crucial. If we are mindful of this experience we now have a choice: do I follow these critical thoughts and accompanying feelings, or do I take a figurative step back into a more nonjudgmental stance?  Being swept up in the critical thoughts leaves harsh judgments of ourselves or our partner on autopilot.  Taking a nonjudgmental step back may not change the thoughts or much about how you feel, but it gives you the chance to speak to your partner the way you really want to instead of saying that thing that is going to ruin your relationship for the next 24 hours .

I haven’t perfected mindfulness, but an example from my life might make some of these ambiguous ideas a little less so. Overall, I love what I do for a living, but there is one aspect of my job I definitely do not love: writing notes.  I’ve been in this field for roughly 15 years holding various roles, all of which have had documentation requirements.  It is important to me to maintain a level of responsibility and professionalism in my career, so I take these obligations seriously.  The seriousness I bring to these obligations does little to reduce the dread I feel when it’s time to write notes, or to keep my mind from dwelling on this dread and self-criticism (“why are you so slow?”, “every other therapist can do this better”). My dread only increases when I procrastinate all week and have 20-30 piled up that will take a couple of hours on a Saturday morning, time I’d rather be spending with my kids.

One day I decided to approach this sense of dread more mindfully as I sat to write notes, with a sense of curiosity.  Being present with that dread I noticed lots of things, but two in particular.  My urge to pick up my phone, and my urge to look out of my office window (I’m fortunate to have a nice mountain view).  It was interesting to notice how reflexive it was to pick up my phone, I actually noticed my hand moving towards it on a few occasions before I caught myself.  The distraction my phone would bring was a welcome (and entirely counterproductive) replacement for the dread I felt.  Only it wasn’t truly replacing the dread, but deferring it until Saturday morning.  My mountain view offered the perfect opportunity for mindlessly daydreaming of all the mountain activities that would be more fun than writing a tedious note, again delaying my dread until Saturday morning.  This deferral comes at a cost for me though.  It takes time away from my family and there’s now a nice layer of guilt on top of it with plenty of self-criticism (“you never learn your lesson”, “you should know better”, “you’re an idiot for procrastinating”, etc.). 

I was presented with a choice: stay present with this dread and do something to make my life better (by freeing up my weekend for family time), or escape it with distraction, making my life worse.  Again, I’m not perfect here, some days and weeks are better than others.  Even when I am on top of my game, my mind finds no shortage of things to worry about while I’m playing with my kids, but these days it’s less likely that neglecting a professional obligation is one of them.  Each time I make an effort to be mindful when I go to write a note, I’m “wiring” neurons to focus on the things I find important, resulting in less autopilot distraction.

There’s no right or wrong when it comes to mindfulness, more so loose guidelines.  Therefore you can’t really be good or bad at it. You either practice or you don’t.  Every time your mind wanders and you bring it back to the present, you are practicing mindfulness.  If your mind wandered while reading this, and you brought it back to finish the post, congratulations! You have successfully practiced mindfulness today (bonus points if you also noticed an urge to criticize yourself but were able to just observe and not criticize).  Often times feeling relaxed is a natural byproduct of formal mindfulness practice, but sometimes it’s not.  In my informal practice, I often find my feelings of dread dissipate on their own as I work mindfully, but sometimes they’re with me the whole time. 

There are thousands of formal exercises that would likely speed your progress towards honing mindfulness skills, but by informally noticing a wandering mind and redirecting it, you are effectively practicing mindfulness.  If you were too busy noticing all the things your mind wanted to you worry about and how uncomfortable they made you feel to relax the last time you gave mindfulness a shot, maybe you were doing it just “right” after all.  The more you practice, the more comfortable you get with that discomfort. 

There are no secrets for eliminating negative thoughts and self-criticism, but mindful practice can help keep you untangled from negativity and focused on what’s important.  Disentanglement allows a new perspective on the choices we make every day, and improves the odds we make ones that add purpose and meaning to our lives.