I’ve never been much of an athlete. That is to say, I was never very good. I was a swimmer, and loved being in the water (still do), but when I was younger I never could persist through the physical discomfort it took to get faster.
That’s all changed for me as an adult. While I still don’t LIKE being uncomfortable, I’ve built up a tolerance for it that has served me in so many ways. I first noticed it when I took up running to get in shape after my son was born and somewhere along the way I came across one of those annoying motivational posters about how your mind will quit 100 times before your body actually gives out. I don’t know if it’s true, but I believe it because I have had the experience, over and over, of thinking I can’t go another step and then doing it anyway.
I had a similar revelation when I started meditating regularly. One of the ways I practice is by attempting to sit perfectly still. If this sounds easy, you’ve never tried it. Because the minute you sit down with the intention to not move, you notice an itch. Or maybe you realize you could be more comfortable if you moved *just* a little. I’m telling you, it’s always something.
When I was new to meditation I would go ahead and scratch or adjust and tell myself it didn’t really count, but with some practice I’ve gotten better at sitting with the desire to move. I can recognize it, feel it, and stay still. Sometimes my whole meditation will be about not scratching a particularly persistent itch as it moves, infuriatingly, across my scalp.
Why would I do this to myself? Because it makes me a better writer.
Writing can be wildly uncomfortable, and I’m not taking about bad ergonomics. No, I’m talking about writing things like loss, anger, grief, physical pain, heart break. To write any kind of pain (physical or emotional) we have to tap into the experience of it. If we want to write agony convincingly, we have to be willing to feel it. Not only that, we have to be able to stay with it long enough to find words to describe it. That shit is hard. No joke.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to a scene that requires some sort of deep emotional investment and suddenly realized I needed to do laundry. My subconscious is sneaky like that. And before I started meditating and training my mind to stay with the hard stuff, I would get up and grab the hamper without thinking.
It’s not that I don’t still have the impulse to do laundry. Sometimes I even push back from my desk before I realize what I’m doing. Then I scoot myself back in, take a deep breath and try to get comfortable with the discomfort I’m about to bring down on myself.
And my writing is better for it. When I reread things I’ve written when I was uncomfortable I FEEL the emotion all over again, which is a good sign. I want my readers to feel things with my character and if I can make myself feel it first, I know I’m on the right track.
If you’re curious to give this practice a try, you can check out this meditation I posted recently on Insight Timer. It’s free, but it’s not easy. When you’re done, pop back here and tell me how it went.
I enjoyed reading this post, as it speaks about an (or perhaps the most) important phase of embracing mindfulness, and that is getting beyond the initial discomfort of strengthening these mental and spiritual muscles. Thank you for reminding me of how much work this all has taken, including the time and other resources invested.
Hi, Bret, and YES! Meditation has a reputation for being this peaceful easy thing (and I appreciate that the positioning helps get people started), but it’s training, just like strength training for the muscles in our bodies. Sometimes it’s peaceful and easy, but sometimes it’s really hard. Cheer’s the struggle!