Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about time—about its elusive nature, its short supply, and its too-rapid passage.
So far no one has invented an app to add more hours to the day. But we can change our relationship to time. How? Through meditation. By adding a formal mindfulness practice to your agenda, you can slow your pace or heighten your awareness of even the briefest moments to get the most bang for your temporal buck.
I came to this discovery recently during a meditation practice. On weekdays, I usually I try to meditate as soon as I arrive at the office. I don’t like to feel rushed, and I get in early enough to give myself plenty of time.
But on this particular day, I needed to answer emails and couldn’t fit in the practice before my first appointment. So, I decided to squeeze it in during a break. I set the timer for twenty minutes and began to focus on my breath, as I do nearly every day.
What I noticed was this: I found myself hurrying, trying to get through the exercise as quickly as possible. I wasn’t cutting short the time—twenty minutes is twenty minutes, no matter how you may try to speed it up—but I remained acutely aware of the clock until the bell I’d set to mark the end of my practice (there is an app for that) rang. I found the process frustrating and unsatisfying.
We often dash through our days in just the same way, rushing to complete one activity so we can move on to the next. Focusing on the end product rather than the process of getting there takes away from what’s happening in the present moment—so much so, in fact, that we often can’t even remember what we’ve just experienced.
When my son was in high school, he had his own epiphany about time. Now a college senior majoring in music performance, back then he’d already begun to get serious about his trumpet playing and, under the guidance of an outstanding teacher and mentor, was finally learning how to practice. Until that point, he’d put in the requisite fifteen or twenty minutes, speeding through his scales and embouchure drills so he could get them over with and play video games. But after reading The Inner Game of Tennis and discovering how to focus, he started playing longer and with a greater sense of presence.
Although 15-year-old boys aren’t typically known for their ability to verbalize complex internal processes, he summed up his experience with an uncharacteristically Yoda-like observation: “When I used to practice, 15 minutes felt like an hour. Now an hour feels like 15 minutes.”
Of course he didn’t realize he’d achieved the enviable mental state called “flow.”
Most of us overly scheduled people would seriously question adding yet another task to our already excessive daily To-Do lists. Between going to work, looking after a family, attempting to maintain a semblance of fitness, and maybe even having a social life, how can we find the time?
It’s possible to make room in your agenda for a mindfulness practice, even though it might mean playing fewer games of Angry Birds or Tweeting less frequently. By including twenty minutes of meditation—or even just five, for starters—you might find you accomplish more throughout the rest of the day. Or, as my son realized, you might even enter The Zone: that sweet spot where you connect effortlessly with your experience and don’t even notice the passage of time. You’ll still have only twenty-four hours at your disposal. But it could feel like all the time in the world. Or like no time at all.
levitra hollywoodtrans.com My Australian Shepherd Freddie has much to commend him. He’s loyal and loving to his family. He doesn’t chew up underwear, move pillows from room to room, or snatch sandwiches from the kitchen counter like my Golden Retriever Calvin used to do. He’ll turn on a dime and come when he’s called, even off-leash. He walks jauntily by my side without pulling. And he’s incredibly smart—bilingual, in fact. The repertoire of commands he understands both verbally and by hand signals alone includes not only the useful basics (sit, stay, heel, come, leave it, down) but also many tricks I’ve taught him to keep us both busy. He can spin (clockwise), twirl (counterclockwise), sashay sideways, shake, salute, wave, march in step with me, backup, roll over, play dead, speak, play peek-a-boo, balance a treat on his nose and catch it, grasp an umbrella between his paws, weave through my legs, jump over and crawl under a bar, fetch a toy from another room by name, and take a bow.
But Freddie’s intelligence (along with an acute hypervigilence, endemic to herding breeds like his, to every sound and sudden movement) also makes him hard to live with at times. He barks. At everything. Incessantly.
Most annoying is his reaction to the TV. It’s impossible to watch a show when he’s in the room because he runs up to the screen and, in his most menacing big dog voice, tries to scare off the intruders. He gets really worked up when he sees fighting or hears raised voices. And since my husband and I favor shows like Breaking Bad, Dexter, and Homeland, with plenty of violence and bad guys, Freddie is always on his guard.
You’d think I’d be able to train him to lie at our feet for the duration of an episode. Believe me, I’ve tried. I tell him to “chill” (which he’s been taught means “stretch out and rest your head on your paws”) and toss him treats for being quiet. It works, for a while. But as soon as the plot heats up, so does Freddie.
The problem has gotten much worse since our Black Friday purchase of a 55” TV. It’s twice as big with a far sharper picture than our previous model. If the escalation of his barking is any indication, Freddie feels even more threatened by the outsized images on the new screen.
I wish he would curl up and sleep peacefully next to me on the couch like our other dog Baxter. Wouldn’t it nice to be able to kick back and relax with two warm, furry, quiet canines at my side? But since exciteablility is part of Freddie’s temperament, I doubt I’ll ever be completely successful in training him not to bark at the TV. So I’m coming to terms with not having the dog of my fantasies and learning to live with the real one in my house.
When you’re stuck dealing with a situation or person you’re not entirely happy with, the best option is to find a way to accept it. Jon Kabat-Zinn describes this as “the challenge of mindfulness.” Rather than trying to force your experience (or a difficult spouse, coworker, or pet) to be different, “be present for your experience as it is.”
I can’t quite muster the equanimity to tolerate Freddie’s barking throughout a TV show. It’s just too hard to hear the dialogue over the noise. So I’ve come up with a way to accept him and also enjoy my TV viewing.
I put him in his crate with a bone to occupy him. It works for both of us.
Last week my office was in complete disarray. Stacks of books stood precariously in the middle of the room; walls, stripped of artwork, revealed rusty nails and gaping holes; contents of drawers—five-years’ worth of flotsam and jetsam—spilled off the desk onto the floor. It looked like a hurricane had blown through.
In fact, a hurricane was making its presence known outside the building. But the mess inside had nothing to do with the storm.
My office was undergoing a renovation blitz, carefully orchestrated to occur over the span of a weekend so as not to disrupt business. In the space of three days, old furniture was cleared out, new furniture moved in, and a fresh coat of paint applied. Hurricane Sandy threatened to disrupt the schedule. But we got lucky in DC, feeling only minor effects from the gusting winds and heavy rains. So the redesign project went without a hitch.
After the meteorlogical hurricane, I returned to work in a completely different space: new chairs, new sofa, new bookcases, new tables and lamps, new floorplan, new paint color. Only the old desk remained.
Each person I saw had a reaction. There were the expected, “It looks great!” and “I like the color!” But other comments made me realize how oblivious we often can be to our surroundings.
“Did you get a new couch?” (Yes, and also new chairs, tables, and bookcases.)
“Is this couch bigger than the old one?” (Almost twice as large as the former love seat.)
“I love the new desk!” (Referring to the only piece of furniture I didn’t replace.)
And my personal favorite: “What happened to your windows?” (Formerly windowless, my office, sadly, still remains so.)
Aside from the obvious (or, for some, not so obvious) changes in the decor, people saw the office in a new light because the seating arrangement was different. It’s amazing how off-balance such a shift in perspective can make us feel.
Try it yourself at home, and you’ll see what I mean. You don’t need to redecorate. Just sit in a different chair from the one you habitually occupy at the dinner table. Or watch TV from the armchair instead of the sofa. Changing your point of view can jolt you out of the “autopilot” state of mind we so often inhabit. It’s a simple, but powerful, lesson in mindfulness.