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.

The “winter of our discontent” has finally ended. The sun is out and the world is suddenly filled with light. We have weathered months of heavy snow falls and deluge like rainstorms. At times, we could have used sleds to transport us or even an ark to float us above the rising flood waters brought about by the torrential rains. We have been living in a climate of such extremes. I have been wondering if the earth has been reflecting back to us the extremism of the age in which we live. Our culture polarizes everything- black and white thinking and no shades of grey. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the violence here at home with right wing extremists and urban gangs, and the lack of civility in Congress all amount to a continuous reinforcing of the idea that “might makes right.” There seems to be little room for measured tones or moderation.

Spring is the season for taking time to do the proverbial “smelling of the flowers.” All around us is an abundance of color and life. This is welcome excess. Unlike the harshness of winter with its howling winds and blinding snows, we are now in a more gentle season. If we stay mindful of all the beauty that surrounds us we will be able to carve out a middle way between the extremes of winter and spring. The natural world has much to teach us in the way of harmony and balance. Walk around your neighborhood and take in the way nature has provided us with the warmth of the sun, the flowers, and the magnificence of the trees in bloom.

Most of all, to find a middle way, in these difficult times, open your eyes to the inter-relationship of all life. The way through the extremes is the path of gratitude.  Let us celebrate this season of rebirth!

By Jonathan Kaplan, Ph.D.

The past few days have been quite rainy and blustery here in NYC.  Not wanting to get rain in my eyes, I found myself leaning forward and looking at the ground, while dodging pedestrians and their umbrellas.  As I watched what passed underfoot, I became more aware of what I could see down there.

Cracks in the pavement, and lots of black and white spots–remnants of chewing gum trampled by the masses–and, more interestingly, puddles.  Lots and lots of puddles.  Like any busy urbanite, most of my effort was focused on dodging them and making sure that I didn’t get splashed.  My behavior stands in stark contrast to what my young son does:  stop abruptly in front of each puddle and dramatically jump over it.  He grins enthusiastically whenever he clears a puddle.  And, if he doesn’t make it, his smile is even bigger, perhaps correlated with the giganitic splash he just made. 

Anyway, as I found myself looking at puddles, I started noticing the reflections in them.  Dark skyscrapers, white clouds, yellow taxi cabs, and red stoplights shimmered across the surface.  Interesting shadows darkened the waters, while streaks of light could be momentarily blinding.  It reminded me of impressionist art, especially the urban works of Gustave Caillebotte (such as Paris:  Rainy Day). 

So, as you’re walking around the city today (and on future rainy days), why not take a peek and see what beautiful paintings lie underfoot?  And, if the mood strikes you, jump over them!

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!

Walking through Park Slope recently, I overheard a woman muttering to herself about how much she hated the rain.  Bent over and walking quickly, she was cursing under her breath as she rushed off with her umbrella.  Normally, this would not be out-of-the-ordinary.  What made it strange, though, was that fact that it was not even raining!

The sky looked dark and the forecast called for rain.  However, in that moment (and indeed all morning long), there was no rain.  This woman was making herself feel miserable by ruminating over something that was not happening.  Presumably, she expected to be unhappy later when it rained, so she had started to make herself feel bad now.  Why?  Is there any inherent advantage to getting a jump-start on feeling irritated, annoyed, and inconvenienced?

This is a trap that catches all of us periodically.  We expect to feel bad about something, so we start feeling worried, angry, or sad about it now.  If it doesn’t happen, then we usually find something else to make us feel disappointed, stressed, or anxious.  If it does happen, then we think, “Aha!  I knew it!”  What does this get us?   Why not take a moment to recognize what’s actually happening, rather than forecasting misery?

As for the woman I ran into, I hope that she found a moment of peace or–perhaps more profoundly–recognized that there are many reasons to feel grateful for rain.  As for the weather, it never rained.