For the past several weeks, John and I have been navigating stress on every side. We are treading water, taking life one day, and sometimes one hour, at a time.
Herbie’s health struggles turned out to be more complex, and longer lasting, than initially hoped, which has required frequent diet adjustments, trips to see internists, and constantly chasing down veterinarians on the phone. And then after a rapid decline, our family lost one of its dearest members this week—a man who was John’s primary role model and the living embodiment of gentleness and dedication for ninety-two years. We also received some difficult news from another corner of the family, and through it all, pending career milestones and geographic expansion loom, demanding our attention.
Late winter has been bursting at the seams with chaos. It has been difficult, and often tense. As a result, I can’t ever seem to get ahead of my own thoughts. Life itself is preventing me from finding the equilibrium I crave.
When Herbie first started to struggle, I began documenting tiny joy-moments that carved tunnels through my distress. I shared them on Instagram each week with my essays. I noticed that no matter how worried I felt, no matter how anxious or unsettled I was on a particular day, I was always able to find glimpses of love and beauty around me. They bolstered my spirit and wellbeing.
Most often, I discovered that beauty in friends who made checking on us a priority. One delivered flowers and lentils; one sent dinner from five states over; another texted every day. They made their presence known and channeled care as an active, rather than passive state, which is exactly what it should be. When things were hard, I found solace in connection.
As the weeks passed, and stress took a deeper hold, I noticed it became harder to tap into those joy-moments. If I’d found solace in connecting with loved ones, I thought, then it stands to reason that I might find solace in connecting with myself. But when life is chaotic, that becomes difficult. In The Art of Communicating, Thich Nhat Hanh describes this challenge:
We think that with all our technological devices we can connect, but this is an illusion. In daily life we’re disconnected from ourselves. We walk, but we don’t know that we’re walking. We’re here, but we don’t know that we’re here. We’re alive, but we don’t know that we’re alive. Throughout the day, we lose ourselves.
It’s true, I realized; stress increases disconnection in every way. Lately, it has been harder to walk, harder to meditate, and harder to write. It has been harder to enjoy the simple pleasures that usually keep my world humming with happiness.
We’re alive, but we don’t know that we’re alive.
Thich Nhat Hanh illuminates this further:
If we’re overloaded with fear, anger, regret, or anxiety, we’re not free... Real freedom only comes when we’re able to release our suffering and come home. Freedom is the most precious thing there is. It is the foundation of happiness, and it is available to us with each conscious breath.
Freedom is my goal—freedom from illusion, freedom from suffering. I am fully on board. And Thich Nhat Hanh says it’s always available. But if real freedom only comes when we arrive at home, how do we do that?
In his gentle way, he makes the answer simple:
The path home begins with your breath. If you know how to breathe, you can learn…how to work in mindfulness so that you can begin to know yourself. When you breathe in, you come back to yourself. When you breathe out, you release any tension. …The way in is the way out.
This perspective makes breathing sound revolutionary and healing. And it is! But as anyone who has ever been overwhelmed by anxiety knows, conscious breathing can be harder to do than one would think.
Understanding that, Thich Nhat Hanh recommends focusing on each inhalation and exhalation. He knows how quickly thoughts can overwhelm our good intentions, often interrupting even a single inhalation, so his teaching says to focus on each breath not just at its start, but for its entire duration. He offers mantras to help, like Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in. Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out.
The breath, he says, is our pathway to liberation:
Breathing in and breathing out is a practice of freedom. When we focus our attention on our breath, we release everything else, including worries or fears about the future and regrets or sorrows about the past…. We can be there for ourselves. It takes only a few seconds to breathe and set yourself free.
Releasing worry and fear sounded appealing this month, so I kept reading. Our thoughts, Thich Nhat Hanh writes, block our ability to enjoy the present moment and disconnect us from our bodies. Breathing reminds us we have a body and leads to a “happy reunion between body and mind.”
That reunion sounds like reason enough to explore this practice, but the benefits of conscious breathing go even further. Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that our breath can carry us directly into our suffering and help us generate the energy needed to face it, rather than run away. By breathing, we can recognize our suffering, and in that recognition, the seeds of love and compassion are born.
Understanding suffering gives rise to compassion, he explains. Then, “love is born, and right away we suffer less.”
Thich Nhat Hanh points out that suffering restricts our ability to enjoy everyday pleasures like sitting, walking, eating breakfast, showering, cleaning, and working in the garden, which struck a chord. He was right, I realized. Recently, I had been too swept up in stress to actually enjoy walking Herbie around the neighborhood, taking a shower, or sharing a meal with John.
The next time I took Herbie for a walk, I decided to give conscious breathing a try.
I’d spent most of the morning chasing down veterinary specialists in two cities, pushing my to-do list aside, and I was tense. Once we got out of the house, I noticed that Thich Nhat Hanh’s prediction was true. There I was—walking down the street on a clear, bright day, beloved sidekick at my feet—but I wasn’t enjoying our walk. My mind gripped one thought and then the next.
This is the part where I breathe, I thought. So I started to pay attention, gently focusing on my inhalation, then my exhalation, training myself to watch the entire thing. The happy reunion Thich Nhat Hanh promised began to root, and despite my stress, my own breathing became pleasurable.
As I continued to breathe, I began softening to the world around me. I suddenly noticed my surroundings; it was like that moment in The Wizard of Oz—my black-and-white world had switched to color. A little bounce was reappearing in Herbie’s step, and a Great Blue Heron soared overhead. The trees swayed and sparkled with the awakening of early spring.
Thich Nhat Hanh’s advice was transformative. When I stopped thinking and talking on that walk, and listened mindfully to myself, my breath carried me through my suffering and right into the present moment.
There, I rediscovered my capacity for pleasure and saw opportunities for joy everywhere I looked.
Between you and me—
This week I fell hard for Nina MacLaughlin’s moon column in The Paris Review and enjoyed this piece about (not) getting back to “normal” after a pandemic. I am liking Kathryn Schulz’s memoir, Lost & Found.
To be honest, I have thought about throwing my hands up in this space for a month. For the first time since July 2019, I considered bowing out for a week. A mental health day! But I believe in showing up honestly even when I am in the uncomfortable thick-of-it, so if I hear the tiniest whisper that might be worth saying, I give it a try.
I am not advocating for pushing through work when other things call. I believe prioritizing care is the way, even when—especially when—slowing down instead of muscling through downgrades productivity worship and, in doing so, elevates our connection to ourselves and each other. Rest and softness are a radical choice.
That being said, I am truly delighted to be here, whether it’s by the skin of my teeth or not, and I am so grateful you’ve joined me. I am taking next weekend off from writing to celebrate my birthday, as I do every year. It couldn’t have come at a better time!
I look forward to seeing you on the other side. As Thich Nhat Hanh said, there is no way to happiness—happiness is the way. May we all find the way this week.
Take care out there.
The audio version of last week’s essay, which explored the big, scary, unavoidable part of taking a leap of faith, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Help us grow! Send this to a friend who could use a deep breath and ask them to subscribe. You can also become a sponsor. Every gesture of support is appreciated.