I was 35,000 feet in the air somewhere along the eastern coast of the United States, still an hour and a half from my destination, when the pilot came on and announced that there was severe weather ahead and that everyone needed to fasten their seatbelts immediately.
For someone who doesn’t like turbulence, loss of control, or uncertainty, this was a real “fear-jerker” for me. The tone in the captain’s voice, the urgency of his message, and the hurried behavior of the flight attendants were huge cues of “threat” for my nervous system.
What was fascinating to me was that my body was in full-blown anxiety mode even though nothing was actually happening in that moment—not a bump or disturbance of any kind. What was even more fascinating was that this reaction lasted a good part of the ride, even though it turned out there was not one blip of turbulence. And, in fact, that plane flight turned out to be one of the smoothest I’ve ever had.
This example illustrates the way our minds anticipate emotional discomfort and experience anxiety and distress because of this. It illustrates what I would say is the difference between pain and suffering, a distinction made in Buddhist teachings. One way I think about this is that pain is what is actually here; suffering (in this Buddhist context) is the narrative and mental constructing, the anticipating and projecting and resisting that our minds do.
If I were in the middle of actual turbulence (on the plane, or in life), the experience would in and of itself be difficult. That is life’s inevitable pain. But in my situation, there was no actual turbulence, just anticipation that created my suffering. Yet how often do so many of us suffer due to dread of things that often never come to be? (Or even if they do happen, we create additional suffering due to stories we attach to the experience before, during, or after its occurrence.)
One of the many benefits of mindfulness meditation is that it can help separate and differentiate sensations in the body from the narratives and the overlay of thoughts that our mind creates.
In some interesting research on physical pain, mindfulness studies have found that meditators exposed to pain during experiments show an increase in activity in the parts of the brain that process the sensory experience of pain, but decreases in parts of the brain involved with thinking, evaluation, memory, and emotions associated with pain. With less subjective judgment about the pain, and less anticipation of pain, research participants reported less intensity and unpleasantness of the pain. This has been found to be true for emotional pain, as well, with mindfulness training helpful in reducing anxiety and depression.
How does any of this translate into finding more ease in our day-to-day lives? Here are a few things you can do to reduce the suffering that comes with the dread of uncertainty, whether you practice mindfulness meditation or not.
1. Begin to notice what is actually here and distinguish this from the anticipation and constructed stories about the future that our minds will often conjure up.
Ask: What is actually here right now? In what way is my mind creating a story about something that is not actually happening right now, or only happening in my mind? Sometimes getting out a piece of paper and making two columns can be helpful to really differentiate these.
For example, in the column for “what is actually here,” you might write: “I’m getting ready to give a presentation. I’m feeling nervous.” For the second column (what your mind is imagining), you might write: “I’m going to make a fool of myself. People will think badly of me and I’ll feel humiliated. I’m not good enough.”
Now step back and view both columns from a little bit of distance. Appreciate the distinction between your lived experience (based on facts) and the mental constructs that accompany that lived experience (based on interpretation or anticipation). That little bit of mindful distance can be the difference between being caught in the middle of a storm versus watching the storm pass by from a sheltered spot. The storm is there nonetheless, but with awareness and clear seeing, the storm can become just a bit more tolerable.
2. Be with what is here.
If difficulty is here in this moment, we have some choices. We might take skillful actions if anything can be done to lessen our pain (for example, call a friend for comfort or do something helpful to calm or soothe ourselves). On the plane, rhythmic breathing was something I could direct my attention to, and it helped to anchor my nervous system and steady my mind in the midst of my fear.
When possible, we can problem-solve if the situation allows (for example, seek out skilled doctors if there is a medical problem or illness; practice a presentation beforehand to gain more confidence). Both problem solving and skillful actions are effective for things that are within our sphere of influence.
But often with difficult situations, there is at least some aspect of it that falls outside our sphere of influence. This is where acceptance can be most helpful. Bringing acceptance to that which we can’t control might look like making space to be with our sadness or grief about a loss or upsetting event, or reminding ourselves that we can put in our best effort but can’t always control the outcome of a situation.
Accepting doesn’t mean we like what is happening or that we’re “OK” with it. It means we take the resistance and emotional struggle out of fighting something we can’t change. Doing so can free up our energy to acknowledge our fears and bring compassion to our emotional struggles.
3. If your mind is conjuring up difficulty that is not actually here, notice this tendency of the mind and make note of the ways it is creating unnecessary suffering for you.
Let’s go back to the person about to do a presentation. They might notice that while some anxiety before a presentation is normal and common, their anticipation of messing up and people thinking badly of them and judging themselves as “not enough” is making an already-challenging situation much more difficult.
In this noticing, they might remind themselves to come back to what is actually here. There is anxiety in my body—yes. And then there is the narrative my mind is constructing. The anxiety becomes more workable when it is separated from all of the mental constructs attached to it, and when it can be accepted for what it is.
On the plane, it was helpful for me to observe that my body was reacting to an anticipated situation (fear of turbulence), and not to a present-moment one. In my case, this didn’t stop the anxiety from being there, but it did help me see a little more clearly what was happening and do so with some curiosity and kindness.
From this place, I did the best I could to soothe myself. I put on meditation music and focused on my breathing; and I tried to surrender control over what was to happen (since I had none). Eventually I was able to recalibrate to what was actually here (the smooth air, people going about their business around me, and me as a passenger who is anxious about turbulence).
When we can distinguish what is actually here from the narratives our mind conjures up, we may still experience anxiety, dread, or other unpleasant emotions that are a natural part of our human condition. But we can loosen the grip, lessen the impact, and step into the observing nature of our mind and of awareness itself that can often bring some ease to even the most challenging moments.
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