Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World (5 page)

A good way of illustrating this is to observe the ways in which many animals deal with danger as compared to humans. Cast your mind back to the last nature documentary you saw on TV. Perhaps it contained scenes of a herd of gazelles being chased by a leopard on the African savannah. Terrified, the animals ran like crazy until the leopard had either caught one or gave up the chase for the day. Once the danger had passed, the herd quickly settled back into grazing. Something in the gazelles’ brains that gave the alarm when the leopard was noticed, switched off once the danger was past.

But the human mind is different, especially when it comes to the “intangible” threats that can trigger anxiety, stress, worry or irritability. When there is something to be scared or stressed
about—whether real or imagined—our ancient “fight-or-flight” reactions kick in as they should. But then something else happens: the mind begins to trawl through memories to try and find something that will explain
why
we are feeling like this. So if we feel stressed or in danger, our minds dig up memories of when we felt threatened in the past, and then create scenarios of what might happen in the future if we cannot explain what is going on now. The result is that the brain’s alarm signals start to be triggered not only by the
current
scare, but by
past
threats and
future
worries. This happens in an instant, before we’re even aware of it. New evidence from brain scans confirms this: people who spend their days rushing around mindlessly, who find it difficult to stay present and get so focused on goals that they lose touch with the outside world, have an
amygdala
(the primeval part of the brain involved in fight-or-flight) that is on “high alert” all the time.
⁷
So when we humans bring to mind other threats and losses, as well as the current scenario, our bodies’ fight-or-flight systems do not switch off when the danger is past. Unlike the gazelles, we don’t stop r
unning.

And so the way we react can transform temporary and non-problematic emotions into persistent and troublesome ones. In short, the mind can end up making things far worse. This holds true for many other everyday feelings as well—take tiredness, for example:

As you sit here reading, see if you can tune in to any feelings of tiredness in your body right now. Spend a moment noticing how tired you are feeling. Once you have this tiredness in mind, ask yourself some questions about it.
Why am I feeling tired? What’s gone wrong? What does this say about me that I’m feeling like this? What will happen if I can’t shrug this off?

Think about all these questions for a moment. Allow them to
swirl around in your mind:
Why? What’s wrong? What does this tiredness mean? What will the consequences be? Why?

Now how do you feel? You probably feel worse; virtually everyone does. This is because underlying these questions there is a desire to get rid of the tiredness, and to do so by trying to work out the reasons for it, its meaning and the possible consequences if you don’t.
⁸
The understandable impulse to explain or banish the tiredness has made you feel more tired.

And this holds true for a panoply of human feelings and emotio
ns including unhappiness, anxiety and stress. When we’re unhappy, for example, it’s natural to try to figure out why we’re feeling this way and to find a way of solving the
problem
of unhappiness. But tension, unhappiness or exhaustion aren’t “problems” that can be solved. They are emotions. They reflect states of mind and body. As such, they cannot be
solved—
only
felt
. Once you’ve felt them—that is, acknowledged their existence—and let go of the tendency to explain or get rid of them, they are much more likely to vanish naturally, like the mist on a spring morning.

Allow us to explain this seemingly heretical idea. Why do your best efforts to get rid of unpleasant feelings backfire so tragically?

When you try to solve the “problem” of unhappiness (or any other “negative” emotion) you deploy one of the mind’s most powerful tools: rational critical thinking. It works like this: you see yourself in a place (unhappy) and know where you want to be (happy). Your mind then analyzes the gap between the two and tries to work out the best way of bridging it. To do so, it uses its “Doing” mode (so called because it performs well in solving problems and getting things done). The Doing mode works by progressively narrowing the gap between where you are and where you want to be. It does so by subconsciously breaking down the problem into pieces, each of which is solved in your
mind’s eye and the solution reanalyzed to see whether it’s got you closer to your goal. It often happens in an instant and we’re frequently not even aware of the process. It’s a tremendously powerful way of solving problems. It’s how we find our way across cities, drive cars and arrange hectic work schedules. In a more refined form, it’s how the ancients built the pyramids and navigated the world in primitive sailing ships, and it is helping humanity to solve many of our most pressing problems.

It’s perfectly natural, then, to apply this approach to solving the “problem” of unhappiness. But it’s often the worst thing you can do because it requires you to focus on the gap between how you are and how you’d like to be: in doing so, you ask such critical questions as,
What’s wrong with me? Where did I go wrong? Why do I always make these mistakes?
Such questions are not only harsh and self-destructive, but they also demand that the mind furnishes the evidence to explain its discontent. And the mind is truly brilliant at providing such evidence.

Imagine walking through a beautiful park on a spring day. You’re happy, but then for some unknown reason a flicker of sadness ripples across your mind. It may be the result of hunger because you skipped lunch or perhaps you unwittingly triggered a troubling memory. After a few minutes you might start to feel a little down. As soon as you notice your lowered spirits you begin to probe yourself:
It’s a lovely day. It’s a beautiful park. I wish I were feeling happier than I am now.

Think about that for a moment:
I wish I were feeling happier.
How do you feel now? You probably feel worse. This is because you focused on the gap between how you feel and how you
want
to feel. And focusing on the gap
highlighted
it. The mind sees the gap as a problem to be solved. This approach is disastrous when it comes to your emotions because of the intricate interconnection
between your thoughts, emotions and bodily sensations. They all feed into each other and, left unchecked, can drive your thinking in very distressing directions. Very quickly, you can become trapped inside your own thoughts. You begin to overthink; you begin to brood. You start to ask yourself endlessly the same pointed questions that demand immediate answers:
What’s up with me today? I should be happy—why can’t I just get a grip?

Your spirits sink a little deeper. Your body may tense up, your mouth may frown and you may feel downhearted. A few aches and pains might appear. These sensations then feed back into your mind, which then feels even more threatened and a little more downbeat. If your spirits sink far enough, you’ll start to become really preoccupied and miss the small, but beautiful things that would normally cheer you up: you might fail to notice daffodils beginning to bloom, the ducks playing on the lake, the innocent smiles of children.

Of course, nobody broods over problems because they believe it’s a toxic way of thinking. People genuinely believe that if they worry enough over their unhappiness they will eventually find a solution. They just need to make one last heave—think a little more about the problem … But research shows the opposite: in fact, brooding reduces our ability to solve problems; and it’s absolutely hopeless for dealing with emotional difficulties.

The evidence is clear: brooding is the problem, not the solution.

You can’t stop the triggering of unhappy memories, negative self-talk and judgmental ways of thinking—but what you
can
stop is what happens next. You can stop the vicious circle from
feeding off itself and triggering the next spiral of negative thoughts. And you can do this by harnessing an alternative way of relating to yourself and the world. The mind can do so much more than simply analyze problems with its Doing mode. The problem is that we use the Doing mode so much, we can’t see that there is an alternative. Yet there is another way. If you stop and reflect for a moment, the mind doesn’t just think. It can also be
aware
that it is thinking
.
This form of pure awareness allows you to experience the world directly. It’s bigger than thinking. It’s unclouded by your thoughts, feelings and emotions. It’s like a high mountain—a vantage point—from which you can see everything for many miles around.

Pure awareness transcends thinking. It allows you to step outside the chattering negative self-talk and your reactive impulses and emotions. It allows you to look at the world once again with open eyes. And when you do so, a sense of wonder and quiet contentment begins to reappear in your life.

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking out new landscapes but in having new eyes.

ATTRIB. MARCEL PROUST, 1871–1922

P
icture yourself on a suburban hilltop in the rain and looking across a gray cityscape. It could be the town you grew up in or the one where you now live. In the rain it seems cold and inhospitable. The buildings look tattered and old. The streets are clogged with traffic and everyone seems miserable and bad-tempered. Then something miraculous happens. The clouds part and the sun comes streaming through. The whole world is transformed in an instant. The windows of the buildings turn to gold. Gray concrete changes to burnished bronze. The streets look shiny and clean. A rainbow appears. The mucky river becomes an exotic, glistening serpent threading its way through the city. For one fabulous moment, everything seems to stop; your breathing, your heart, your mind, the birds in the sky, the traffic in the streets, time itself. All seem to pause, to take in the transformation.

Such beautiful and unexpected changes in perspective have a dramatic effect—not only on what you see, but also on what you think and feel, and how you relate to the world. They can radically alter your whole outlook on life in the blink of an eye. But what’s truly remarkable about them is that very little actually changes; the cityscape remains the same, but when the sun comes out you simply see the world in
a different light
. Nothing more.

Viewing your life from
a different place
can equally transform your feelings. Think back to a time when you were getting ready for a well-earned vacation. There was far too much to do and simply not enough time to cram it all in. You got home late from work after trying and failing to “clear the decks” before allowing yourself to take time off. You felt like a hamster trapped in a wheel going round and round and round. Even deciding what to take with you was fraught with difficulties. By the time the packing was complete, you felt exhausted and then had trouble sleeping because your mind was still churning through all of the things you’d been working on throughout the day. In the morning, you woke up, put all the bags in the car, locked up the house and drove away … And that was it.

A short while later you were lying on a beautiful beach, laughing and joking with your friends. Work and its priorities were suddenly a million miles away and you could hardly remember them at all. You felt refreshed and whole again because your entire world had shifted gear. Your work still existed, of course, but you were seeing it from
a different place
. Nothing more.

Time can also fundamentally alter your outlook on life. Think back to the last time you had an argument with a colleague or a stranger—perhaps with someone in a call center? At the time you were fuming. For hours afterwards you were thinking of all of the clever things you could have said,
should
have said, to put down your opponent. The aftereffects of the argument probably ruined your whole day. Yet a few weeks later, you didn’t feel irritated by it any more. In fact, you hardly remembered it at all—the sting had gone out of your turbulent emotions. The event still happened, but you were remembering it from
a different point in time.
Nothing more.

Changing your perspective can transform your experience of life, as the above examples show. But they also expose a fundamental problem—they all occurred because something outside of you had changed: the sun came out, you went on vacation, time passed. And, the trouble is, if you rely
solely
on outside circumstances changing in order to feel happy and energized, you’ll have to wait a
very
long time. And while you wait, constantly hoping that the sun will come out or wishing that you could travel to the peace and tranquility of an imagined future or an idealized past, your actual life will slip by unnoticed. Those moments might as well not exist at all.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.