Working Meditation

Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#115: Who we become on the sidelines of conflict

I’m part of many different professional tidepools, each with a group chat on Signal or Whatsapp. The Israel-Gaza conflict has surfaced in these spaces over the past month with layers of aches and perspectives. The personal and collective histories like a messy bundle of electrical wires: inextricably enmeshed and full of charge.

While Israel and Palestine isn’t the land of my ancestors, my elders experienced identity-driven geopolitical conflict alongside the fear, anger, hate and violence it generates. Their forceful expulsion from their birthland is full of stories of slaughter. I was also raised in a beautifully plural society and have experienced the turmoil that sometimes rears its head in true diversity. I’ve seen the nature of individual and collective conversations we have with each other during such times.

Our first step is ususally to share and explain our side. If we are genuinely and fully met in our grief, we feel more secure stepping out further to try and understand the other side. Most conversations get stuck at the first stage because we don’t typically acknowledge another’s pain in public (or private) discourse. We also shy away from acknowledgement because it invites action of some sort; which may be unclear, hard, or even impossible.

So the spaces for shared sense-making—where people bring in their deepest emotion, truest thoughts and questions, with a desire to shape a healthier future—are rare. This shared sense-making is hard enough face to face with people we love and issues we have known about all our lives. It’s even harder in group chats or social media with people and issues we know little about.

Although we all sense that group chats are a choppy tool for perspective sharing and sense making, we have the constraints and tools that we have so we engage. And like most spaces, a few voices step into the circle to share, some with more comfort and assertion than others. Whether we are inside the circle or silent on the periphery, we listen and digest. We learn about human nature and our own nature by coming to terms with our comfort, discomfort and boundaries. We gain a sense of how we like to learn and engage. We create perspectives about ourselves, people groups, and whole cultures. Often without realizing, we veer towards hope, helplessness or cynicism. All these become muscle memory.

Then one day down the line, even if we stand quietly in this conversation, we will step inside some other circle and share our thoughts. We might do this with nuance or binaries, with an attitude of sensing or ripping apart another’s perspective. One thing is for sure, how we behave when we enter that circle in the future will be guided by who we are becoming while on the sidelines today.

“At our best, we serve as inadvertent triggers for each other’s eventual illumination.”— Mark Nepo, Poet

PS: This is a good one about not having a hot take on everything, which forces us to have a definitive stance on issues when first a posture of learning and inquiry is better suited— Pick a Side. Pick a Side. Pick a Side. Now.

#114: Recalibrating the everyday mundane

I find it easier to notice and make space for the big events in life vs. the everyday mundane. I found it easier to line up my attention with intention, and my actions with hopes when I was planning to relocate to a different country, give a job interview, or build exciting new friendships.

It’s the everyday mundane that trips me up. Where I find it harder to see how my current level of attention and action might support larger intentions and hopes. It’s harder to see how my small silent actions will add up over time. Harder to see how that one missed walk with a friend will turn into weeks, months, then years of not seeing her. How long work hours and missed workouts will turn into muscle tightness and loss of flexibility. That a weekly yoga practice will create unexpected strength for heavy gardening. That the sweetest friendship will turn into a life-nurturing marriage. That a few gangly flowers will fill the yard with blazing color all summer.

Culturally too, it feels easier to acknowledge our big visible moments of joy, loss and growth compared to the everyday delight, grief or momentum we silently gather in our pockets. We tend to acknowledge the small moments as children, and for children, but it peters out as we grow. First externally and then even internally. Yet, our experience of life—which is very subjective—is shaped by the ever-flowing quieter experiences.

A moment of misdirected volcanic-anger at a loved one followed by a vulnerable and healing conversation can be as much of a life-changer as seeing someone we love after years. Friendships lost to distance and repeated moves can be as hard on us as breakups. The slow buildup of a beloved new skill as an adult can be as delightful as painting our first full watercolor image as a child. But we’ve internalized the message that experiences capturable by cameras are the ones we should seek.

When driving, we’re only able to notice the big trees and not the small wildflowers. Speed and distance make it hard. That’s modern life in a nutshell. It feels as if we’re being forced to drive through life faster and faster. For this experience to be checked-off so we can jump into the next. It takes some practice, but we can step out of this car and walk amidst the fragrance and thorns. Into the messy field where our joy, creativity and wisdom live.

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”— Mary Oliver, Poet

#113: Psychological trash

I just got back from a trip, with a stomach issue that has lingered. In my fatigue, I watched the house slowly fill up with messiness. An open box here, a glass of water there, unprocessed laundry and unpacked bags there and there. The kitchen also filled up with recycling, compost and dishes; squashing any desire to go there and cook. 

When I got a bit of energy, I slowly started cleaning. The first thing I addressed during cleanup was the trash that was piling up. I took it out of the house and deposited it in the bins sitting outside so it could be hauled away and processed. I feel responsible for the trash I create and yet I create it daily. I reduce my use, reuse what I can and recycle what’s possible but I still create mountains of it week after week.

I also create mental and emotional trash daily. What creates this trash, and where does it go?

My interactions—with myself or another—create new physical sensations, thoughts and emotions or embellish pre-existing ones. I may process these with joy or with pain, with ease or with difficulty; by myself, with another or both. Regardless, every interaction creates an experiential residue that lingers and forms a psychological imprint that primes me for future experiences. How I processed this one interaction often sets my template for how I process future interactions. This internalized imprint is what can potentially become my psychological trash if I’m not watchful.

How do I know if a psychological imprint is trash? I try holding on to it long enough and see if it creates a low-grade feeling of dis-ease inside. Does it make me contract emotionally, leak on me in the form of shame or on others in the form of blame? If yes, then it’s psychological trash that needs to be processed further.

Just like physical trash, the first step is to notice it with unattached and blameless awareness. The second step is to process it into compartments: is it outright trash that has served its purpose, a recyclable that can be used anew, or shapeshifting compost with potential to make something else thrive? The final step is to pick it up and let it go, often repeatedly. So life can flow without the burden of yesterday’s trash. 

She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, “Am I too late for the garbage?” “No, jump in!”— Henny Youngman, Comedian and musician

#112: What do you see?

I was speaking with my mom on video a few days ago, and she kept looking away from me. We live on different continents and sometimes our calls conflict with a TV show she likes to watch. She looks forward to it and I like that this show brings her joy. I also like that she feels comfortable expressing her eagerness to watch this show. It signals to me that my mom is secure in our relationship and, while she misses me, she feels connected enough that she can hang up and go about her day with ease.

So knowing this, I see my mom looking away repeatedly during a particularly connective conversation. I felt our loving bond and I wanted her eyes to return my gaze…but she kept looking away. We’ve done our almost-daily calls for years and this time it was my turn to comfortably express my need, so I asked her.

Me: “Ma, where are you looking?”

Mom: “Oh, there is something on the iPad screen. I’m trying to clean it…so I can see clearly.”

How many times do we think that someone we want to connect with is, metaphorically speaking, “watching TV” while all they are actually doing is “cleaning their screen”? We may perceive disconnection and get stuck in hurt but we rarely know what’s happening on the other side. If something is bothering us so much, could we just reach out and express our need instead? With sincerity, curiosity and without accusation.

Trying to see what they are seeing might just open the door to moments of real connection we seek.

“Words are the most powerful thing in the universe… Words are containers. They contain faith, or fear, and they produce after their kind.”— Charles Capps, American preacher

P.S. I hope my writing pauses aren’t coming across as a loss of zest. I participated in this mind-opening incubator over the last two months (link to our cohort page). My writing will be a life-long pursuit and a loving search for truth, and sometimes I’ll need to pause for sustainability. This was just one of those moments.

#111: Making our physical lives more magnetic

I didn’t grow up with internet and didn’t have my own computer until I moved to the States. I remember writing physical letters not out of novelty but out of need. I remember using calling cards to connect with my family in India, and how distant their voices and lives felt. So I immensely value our abundance of tools and technology; and the ease and opportunity they’ve created in our personal, work and social lives. Every part of my life feels more expansive and fluid than it might have been without these tools. I can safely say that I find this tech-supported bounty undeniably magnetic.

And no matter what side of the tech debate you favor, one thing we can all likely agree on is that the massive leaps underway in computing will make our online lives even more expansive and magnetic: whether it takes the shape of generative AI, quantum computing, Apple’s mixed reality headset or something else. There are plenty of thoughtful perspectives out there on the potential and peril of these technologies so my goal isn’t to probe those here. I want to examine our physical and offline lives a bit.

Most of us already tend to live in and through our intellect, and away from our bodies. Our days pull us deeper and deeper into the mind. We read, write, process information, create and communicate ideas, and have conversations. On turbulent and busy days, we hold our breath, clench our jaw, forget to drink water, and don’t move our bodies. When we don’t have time and mental space to tune-in to the body, we very easily tune out. I’ve lived for years in this tuned-out way. In fact so tuned out from the body that injuries and harmful habits went completely unnoticed even when my body―my precious earthly home―sent me the strongest signals it possibly could. Injuries, aches, lack of sleep, stress-eating and workaholism went easily ignored and suppressed for years. Similarly, it has taken years of patient and countercultural practice to learn to hear my body speak, to step out of the fertile world of my mind and into the awe-inspiring world of my body and physical senses.

Our upcoming innovations will cut two ways: they will make our online world more magnetic and attractive, and our offline one feel more tedious and boring by comparison. They will make it easier to forget that we are living organisms with built-in barometers that not only help us survive but thrive. That our bodies are a source of exploration, understanding, connection, and joy. That they deserve respect as the most sophisticated technology ever made. That unlike the online world, our bodies ping in more subtle, nuanced and easily missed ways. 

Our human future depends entirely on us being able to create a physical life that is way more magnetic than the online one.

“Boredom, rooted in a fundamental discomfort with the self, is one of the least tolerable mental states.”― Gabor Maté, physician and author specializing in treatment of addiction.

From the book― In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction