How I learned to meditate

The first time I meditated was about six years ago.

Like many people, I was drawn to meditation - the desire to feel calmer and happier. I was a medical student at the time and my life was too stressful and busy.

There always seems to be more to do, more things to worry about, and no time to reflect. I felt disconnected and unsatisfied.

Then I got dumped by a man I was madly in love with. I felt like a complete failure. I was shocked and in disbelief - how could I want something so badly and still take it away from me?

I'm not used to failure. I'm used to setting a goal, making steps and trying to accomplish them -- one at a time -- until I get what I want. I fantasized that with enough effort, I could achieve any goal and avoid all feelings of pain and discomfort in the process.

But the pain was so great, and my attempts to escape it failed so miserably, that I realized my usual mindset was no longer coping with it. I can't imagine it. I need a new mental exercise. I decided to turn my fledgling interest in meditation into a regular practice.

"I just meditate," I thought, "and then I'll find some peace and happiness."

It's on autopilot

What no one told me, however, was that meditation can make you feel worse before you feel better. Until I complete all of these steps, I often feel like it's just another failure.

Soon after I started sitting down, it became painfully obvious that I had never really paid attention to my inner experience. I was so focused on what I needed to do and what I wanted to accomplish that my mental processes were constantly on autopilot. I've never had to question them because they've always worked for me.

I don't know what's going on there, and it's easier not to look.

I did it anyway.

Here is the honest, imperfect process I went through when I started meditation. These are the instructions I wish I had read in a meditation book.

Meditation, like life, is often a mess. But a deeper level of peace can come from learning to see, and then love, chaos. Deep calm is possible, but first, you have to acknowledge the chaos. Then you can start learning to control it.

start

Sit down. Sit in a comfortable seat. Get comfortable with your posture. Keep your back straight, but let the rest of your body hang over your spine. Sit comfortably -- not too stiff, but not too lax either. Promise yourself that you will soon be on the path to enlightenment.

Breathing. Observe breathing in and out. Ah, that's a good one. Think about it. It would be nice if you had one of those special meditation MATS you see in zen houses.

Distractions. When your back starts to hurt, start focusing on discomfort. Gave it a twist, tried to make it disappear. Recognize that you have been distracted and return to your breath.

Become more distracted. Wondering how much time has passed. Take a peek at the clock. Only two minutes? ! Feeling depressed and upset. Realize that you still have to make dinner, pay the bills, and clean the house.

Enough is enough. Decide you don't have time for this. Get up and think that you will come back to this enlightenment thing at some other time.

In the middle

Go back to your seat. After a few weeks (or months or years), realize that you've been feeling uneasy for some time and you don't know why. Maybe you didn't give this meditative thing a fair chance before. Decide you need to try again.

Pay attention to. Watch how quickly your mind slips into judgment and fantasy, no matter how hard you try to keep it still. Observe how each passing thought becomes a train you automatically hop on and ride -- for minutes, hours, or days.

Admit something. You must be crazy to think that. But recognize that you might be onto something here too... There's more to investigate.

Change your seat. There's one more. Do it again every day, even if it's just for a few minutes. Focus on your breathing. When a new thought comes along -- because of a sound, feeling, thought or emotion -- watch it go by, but don't get on the train and ride to another station. Stay where you are. Watch it until it passes, then let go.

The end without end

Attend carefully. Realize that as you sit, you may find yourself looking at the entire range of your human experience. You might learn something about yourself. For example, you want something that consumes everything, but are not satisfied when you get them. Maybe you're trying to resist painful feelings you can't change.

Broaden your experience. Discover that what you've been labeling as "crazy" is actually just the normal human condition. Have a little more compassion for the people around you because you know that no matter what they say or do, they are facing the same basic struggles as you.

Live in the moment. Recognize the grievances you have been carrying around for a long time. Admit that you've been waiting to start your life until you have this or don't have that, because you didn't think to accept right now where you are, who you are, and what you have.

Consider other possibilities. Perhaps, incredibly, there is an alternative to long-term discontent.

And again, every day. Go deeper. Consider making a retreat or two. Focus on your breathing, get distracted and come back. And came back again and again. That's it. That's what you've discovered: You've been at your destination all along -- even before you start your journey.

I spent most of the last six years thinking that I meditated incorrectly, or that this wasn't the right practice for me, and only recently realized that each step happened exactly the way it was supposed to and was the only one that could be done.

My results come not by strictly forcing my mind to stay focused, but by continuing to sit and watch, day after day, even if I don't like what I see. Learning to let go over and over again is an exercise.

As time went on, my mind began to become more focused without effort. I've learned to identify negative thought patterns and let them go without judgment. I feel more connected to others when I realize that we are all more alike than we are different.

I have not yet reached enlightenment, but in my best moments I feel a deep peace that transcends the need to control my outer or inner world, or to "be" anything special.

It's a peace that comes from knowing that I can accept myself as I am. In those moments, I felt great.