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It’s hot and humid, and I’m poised to be leaving for a meditation retreat for a few days.  Before I leave, I wanted to say a few words about the weather lately.

In NYC, it’s been unseasonably hot. We’re sweaty, sticky, and uncomfortable, which provides a wonderful opportunity for complaining. For some reason, we almost compulsively need to let other people know just how dissatisfied we are. Indeed, I think it constitutes a bonding experience for many people. At such times–whenever we feel distressed in some way–we have a natural tendency to dwell on it both mentally and in conversation. And, correspondingly, these “bad” things take on extra weight and importance. It’s easy to neglect other aspects of the present moment that are (1) going well and (2) neither good nor bad. Further, we can (3) gloss over subtle variations in the “badness” of what we complain about.

Things Going Well?

So, what might be going well on a hot and humid day? Many things! You might even be inside, enjoying a cool breeze from the air conditioner, yet you’re complaining about the weather? In that moment, you’re actually feeling just fine…if you let yourself feel it. It reminds me of an observation from the Zen monk, Thich Nhat Hahn, who noted the pleasantness of not having a toothache.  And for us New Yorkers, who hasn’t appreciated the cool, air conditioned cars of the subway?

Further, there are many nice things associated with late summer. How about tomatoes and other warm weather crops, like corn, cucumbers, peppers? Farmers markets and grocery stores abound with all kinds of delicious goodies. And, because they’re in season, they are also less expensive than other times of the year. Appreciating crops might not be a particular “in the moment” experience, at least until you’re enjoying a tasty caprese or eating corn that you don’t need to cook because it’s so sweet. (If I can be permitted to summon my inner gardener as an aside:  for both of these vegetables, you should eat them ASAP. Tomatoes taste sweetest at the instant they’re sliced; even a half-hour can introduce some bitterness. Corn, in turn, slowly becomes starchy after it’s picked. Ideally, you would eat it on the same day.  Don’t believe me?  Then, do some mindful eating experiments!)

Neutrality isn’t just for the Swiss

And things that are neither good nor bad (or both)? There’s a lot of that, too. The color of my neighbor’s car is not particularly important to me, for example. Like the humidity, it’s very real, especially as I walk by. What’s a better place to be mentally? Cursing the weather or simply noting the car’s paint job?

Subtle Shades of Crappy

Often, we aggrandize or over-emphasis our distress in ways that preclude noticing variations in our experience. We tell ourselves that something is awful, then we miss out on something that might be as bad as we think. For example, one of the exercises in Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, a therapy program for chronic pain developed by Dr. Jon Kabat-Zinn, involves a careful, slow body scan. Through this process, people are able to recognize that many areas of their body feel just fine. Similarly, in summertime, we might miss the somatic experience of walking into shade, if we’re too preoccupied by damning the harsh sunlight.

Hey, isn’t mindfulness about “nonjudging”? What’s all this talk of “good” and “bad”?

Yes, mindfulness is all about accepting the present moment without judgment, criticism, or even celebration. We simply rest our attention on our immediate experience. In doing so, we help avoid the chronic cycle of resisting what’s painful and holding onto what’s enjoyable.  So, please forgive my brief use of judgmental language for the sake of linguistic convenience (and making it to my retreat on time).  In any case, I encourage you to bring your full attention to whatever you’ve prejudged to be good or bad, like the hot and humid weather. Allow yourself to see other aspects of the experience that might run counter to what you expected. Through this practice, we begin to broaden our awareness of what’s happening now, and ultimately develop a more nuanced appreciation for the ephemeral nature of life.

For the next several days, I will be “unplugged” for the first time in over 3 years:  no internet, no e-mail, and no voicemail.  I’ll share my reflections on the experience when I return.

I confess. I am a person of limited patience. I go after things with vigor. When I am confronted by obstacles, I grit my teeth and push through or so I think. This winter has been one for the record books. Snow, more snow and yet more snow. The blistering cold, the piles of snow, the ice and those infernal winds force us to submit to the will of “mother nature” whether we want to or not. Like all other New Yorkers this winter, I have been snowed-in and snowed-out by the weather. For someone as impatient as I am, this has been a test in learning how to go with the flow, especially when you don’t want to.

I have cancelled clients, classes and social engagements. I have stayed indoors despite creeping cabin fever. In short, I have been forced by a power far greater than my ego-driven self to slow down and check out the scene.

And check it out I did! On the day of the most recent snow event, I decided to take a very long walk and see what I could see. Under several layers of clothing and wearing boots designed for the arctic tundra, I ventured forth into my Queens neighborhood. No cars were on the road. The snow covered streets were a pristine white. The trees were highlighted by small hanging icicles. But what was most spectacular was the quiet. No car horns or traffic, very few people, just the silence of snow crunching beneath my feet. I drudged onward for almost a mile. The more I walked, the calmer I became. This seemed rather paradoxical to me since a storm was raging all around me, yet I ( the eye) of the storm felt peaceful and centered.

I realized that I was experiencing something that I have been striving to feel during all my years of meditation on the pillow: the ability to be at peace in the center of chaos. This in vivo experience on this wintry Thursday afternoon had brought home to me the importance of paying attention to the teachings that are right there in everyday life.

The snow has helped me to slow down and hear the falling flakes. But I still don’t like the cold!

I ride city buses all the time. I like buses. I prefer them to the subway. I love looking out the window and watching the world go by. My mind wanders. I daydream. But there is one thing that happens on a bus that has the capacity to totally “undo” me. Whenever, I see someone who is relatively healthy, young, and totally oblivious take one of the seats that is designated for the “elderly and or disabled,” at the very front of the vehicle, behind the driver’s seat, I lose all my mindfulness training and I am about ready to blow a fuse.

Last week when I was on the bus in my Queens neighborhood, I witnessed a particularly acute example of such behavior. The bus was very crowded and a boy around 15-years-old took one of those seats. He had his iPod and he was totally involved in whatever music he was tuned into. Unfortunately, he was completely tuned out to anything else.

A very fragile, elderly woman got on the bus and was looking around for somewhere to sit. My immediate impulse was to get up for her, but then I reminded myself that the reason I was so grateful to have a seat was that the arthritis in my left knee was causing me a great deal of pain and that I was in no shape to play good samaritan.

I, then, argued with myself as to whether or not I should say something to the boy. He bristled with very defiant and oppositional energy. I felt totally conflicted. Was it really my business to intervene and speak to the teen? What was going on with the woman? What was preventing her from speaking up for herself? Where was everyone else? How come no one was getting up and giving her a seat? What about the bus driver who was a witness to what was happening- what was going on with him?

I didn’t know what to do. I ended up doing nothing. This didn’t feel very good to me. I see myself as a person of action yet, this incident showed me that there are times when doing “the right thing” isn’t always possible. I wanted to help the woman but I didn’t have a clue as to how to do so. In the past, I actually have spoken to people who have wrongfully occupied those seats. Every time I have done so–no matter how diplomatic I have been–I have been the recipient of curses and hostility. I was afraid that this would happen again.

I have asked myself if it is possible to look at this episode in a mindful way. This incident has taught me the importance of ‘acceptance.’ I need to accept that people often don’t do “the right thing,” including myself. We live in an imperfect world with imperfect people. Remembering this, I have concluded, is the first step to mindful wisdom.

This blog entry took me a while to write, as my mother died a month or so ago. This is not about grief (for a nice paper on mindfulness and grief, click HERE), but how to be with such pain while having to function in our real, urban world.

When my mother died, I was in the relative comfort of Massachusetts with family, where it felt safe to feel everything that was coming up for me.  Then it was back to reality, the stimulation of our city, taking care of the business of life, my psychotherapy practice, family.  The feelings, of course, did not magically go away, and while they have changed, they hit when they want.

Hmm, so what to do when I’m standing on a subway platform and a wave hits me and I tear up?  Do I try to control the expression (assuming I can) of these feelings? As a man in this culture, there is a strong unspoken prohibition against the expression of these feelings in public (and private too) from which I am not immune.  At times, it is the noise of the city, the visual stimulation, the smells, that make for the stress of urban life.  When it comes to feelings like these, it is the awareness of other people that impacts me the most, bringing up feelings of self-consciousness.  I would prefer to grieve in a quiet, private place, with people that I choose, but that’s not always possible.

So, while we have little control over these powerful feelings when they do present themselves to us, we do have control over our awareness of them.  While we may feel the need at times to contain our behavior, we can still practice our awareness of these feelings in the present, especially where and how we feel them, in particular in our bodies.  We can notice how we relate to our feelings, whether we judge them, or push them away, argue with them, or allow them.  Often the best we can do is to let them move through us, without resistance or judgment, and to explore how we experience to them.  With that, I let go of the struggle and allow a few tears to roll down my face, waiting to get home for the good sob.