by Ed Halliwell
Panic arises as a happily panting hound approaches, and you miss out on the joy of petting a friendly creature. Because your reaction happens on autopilot, you may never realize how or why it is skewed. Even if you understand intellectually that your behaviour is out of kilter, powerful thoughts and impulses may override any reasoning. Anxiety trumps logic. Dogs must be avoided. Fearful of what might happen again, you’re living in the past, projecting into an imagined future.
While for some of us it might be dogs that frighten, for others it could be exams, or public speaking, or aeroplanes or spiders. Each in our own way, we learn from, and are limited by, past experience, particularly if our reactions are unconscious and in charge.
Negativity bias
Another issue is negativity bias.3 The human mind and body has evolved to scan for danger, and it does so out of proportion to risk. This makes sense from a survival standpoint: if we space out on something hazardous – an oncoming car, say – that could be the end of the road for us. If, on the other hand, we miss a pleasant experience – a sunset, petting a dog, a friend’s greeting – then from a survival point of view, it’s no big shakes. Not having such experiences won’t kill us.
Those of our ancestors who spotted serious survival threats, such as a predator in the bushes, were more likely to pass on their genes to offspring. Those who stopped to smell the flowers in the hedgerow (but didn’t see the lurking animal therein) might have enjoyed a momentary pleasant sensation, but this could soon have turned to pain, and possibly extinction.
So we’ve evolved to tune in to the fearful more than the reassuring, to focus on problems rather than joys, with a bias to the unpleasant rather than the pleasant. Our mind is drawn to the possibility of risk, though most of the time there isn’t an imminent threat. We see a rope, and our mind says it’s a snake. We hear a rustle in the bushes and our mind says it’s a murderer, not a mouse. Many of us find we’re seduced by the news, which reminds us of and inclines us towards all the bad things that are happening in the world.
Our bias for the negative wires us for survival, but not for happiness – like news bulletins, we tend to give scant airtime to all the pleasant moments and supportive interactions that take place every day. On the basis of bitter experience, both over the course of human history and in our own lives, the autopilot mind acts from the perspective that there’s no time for debate or ambiguity when we might be under threat. Using the example of being afraid of dogs after being bitten, it seems better to miss a hundred happy pups and a hundred pleasant pats than to risk repeating previous suffering, or worse.
No wonder we get stressed: most of our glasses are more than half-empty. As a character in a novel by Thomas Dixon put it: ‘I’m an old man now. I’ve had lots of trouble, and most of it never happened.’
Change blindness
The good news about the autopilot – that it saves time and energy – applies not only when we’re faced with danger, but throughout our daily life. It would be tiresome to have to re-learn to tie our shoelaces every day, so once we’ve learned how to make the bow, lace-tying becomes a mostly automatic process. Driving a car, walking, riding a bike, speaking and writing, playing a musical instrument, or hitting a forehand drive in tennis – once any skill is learned and practised it can become part of the autopilot repertoire. We don’t need to think hard or expend a lot of effort for a routine that we’ve practiced many, many times. It becomes a habit.
A downside of this efficiency is that when we’re doing something familiar, we have a tendency to zone out. And when something unexpected arises, the autopilot often fails to spot it, a phenomenon known as change blindness. In an experiment designed to explore this, researchers set up an administration counter where people would come to fill in a form. When someone asked for the form, the assistant would duck below the counter to get it. Another assistant would be hiding below the counter, and this second helper, who looked quite different from the first, would then get up and hand over the piece of paper. Most people didn’t notice the switch.4
Have you ever driven down a familiar route with the intention to take a different turn-off? What tends to happen? Many people report that they’re so used to going the usual way that they space out and miss the planned new turning, even though they had their eyes on the road.
Again, the autopilot is both hero and villain – although we might have got lost in thought, chances are we didn’t veer off the road or hit another car: the autopilot (usually) keeps on driving us safely, even though our mind is somewhere else. At the same time, because we’re comfortably driving on a road we know well, our mind wanders and we miss the turning, even though we’ve decided we want to go somewhere new. We’re safe, but we’re stuck in an old habit groove.
Sometimes the tendency to over-react and be blind to change may not matter, or even be helpful, but if much of what we do happens on autopilot, how far are we living our actual life? If we’re sleepwalking through our days, only shaken awake by often-mistaken perceptions of threat, then we’re prone to miss many of the joys of living, experience heightened and unnecessary stress, and be blind to some of the genuine choices we have.
Attention training
So, how can we experience things more accurately and fully? First, we need to learn how to pay attention. It’s a bit like having a camera that doesn’t seem to be working – if the pictures it takes of your living room are fuzzy, do you go and buy new furniture? Or do you examine the settings on the camera, and how you’re holding it?
The camera of the mind is powerful, and yet most of us don’t learn how to use it properly. It’s astonishing really that we spend so much of our time trying to change our life circumstances and so little exploring how to perceive them with skill. We’re constantly rearranging the furniture and then taking disappointing pictures, rarely considering if there’s an issue with the lens, or our positioning. We fail to see how leaping around like a drunken monkey affects our framing. This is madness, and yet it’s how most of us live our lives, most of the time.
If we want to enjoy greater happiness, we need to find another way. But how do we do this when we’re stuck in our ingrained habits of perception, maybe without even knowing? It is a little tricky, but fortunately, it’s also possible. We may not always use the mind’s camera well, but it does have the features we need.
Although we’re prone to slip into ‘monkey mind’, our attention is sometimes held on a task or other object. There are times when we feel more focused on and connected to what is happening – when we’re playing a sport perhaps, or making a meal, or painting. At these times, often when we’re doing something we enjoy or feel good at, present-centred attention is happening, and we feel in flow with what we’re doing.
We’re also capable, to a certain extent, of choosing our course – as humans, we don’t live completely on automatic pilot. We may get stuck in self-defeating habits, but we also have some capacity to direct our lives. If we can use what conscious choice we have to practise paying attention, we can expand that domain of conscious choice.
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The science of mindful attention
Research is beginning to show the scale of our absent-mindedness, and the tangible effects of paying attention. Matt Killingsworth, at Harvard University in the US, has been running a study,1 asking people to answer three questions at different times of the day, namely: ‘How do you feel?’, ‘What are you doing?’ and ‘Are you thinking about something other than what you’re doing’? He’s collated more than half a million reports from over 15,000 people during 22 activities and found that their minds are distracted 46.9 per cent of the time.
This wandering of the mind isn’t harmless. Killingsworth has found that when distracted, people are much less happy than when they’re focused (in fact, the study shows paying attention makes more of a difference to happiness than how much money we earn). The link still holds when people are doing something they don’t like – a daydream during an unpleasant experience is less
likely to bring happiness than staying present to what you’re doing, even though you aren’t enjoying it.
So, what happens to our attention when we train in mindfulness? Quite a lot, it seems. Many studies have found that long-term meditators perform better in tasks designed to test attention, as do relative novices after they’ve taken a mindfulness course.2 This suggests attention is a skill we can learn.
After a few months of mindfulness training, people are more aware of things in their environment that might not otherwise be seen consciously,3 and experienced meditators are less prone to change blindness.4 Some benefits of practice can be seen very quickly – one study found that after just eight minutes of mindfulness practice, study participants were better able to pay attention and their minds wandered less.5
The effects of mindfulness training can be seen in the brain’s attention networks. Both experienced and relatively new meditators show differences in attention-related regions, especially in what’s known as the ‘default mode network’ (so-called because it becomes active, seemingly by default, when we stop paying attention), compared to people who haven’t practised. These differences suggest they’re able to focus more effectively.6
As well as being less stuck in the ‘default mode’, which has been linked to mood issues such as depression and anxiety, people who practise mindfulness show less ‘cognitive rigidity’ than non-practitioners. They are more able to be flexible, to come up with creative ideas and new responses, when life throws a curveball.7 With practice, it seems, we can use our attention to navigate through life.
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Attending to the breath
Because the mind is so used to wandering off, a good way to train in attention is to practise placing and re-placing it on a simple object, such as the breath. The breath is a good object for a number of reasons. It’s always available – as long as we’re alive, the breath is there. We don’t have to buy the breath, or remember to take it with us when we leave the house.
The breath’s rhythm is the essence of existence, symbolizing a mindful approach to life. The breath doesn’t try to get anywhere – it just moves in and out, unfussily engaged in the amazing process of keeping us alive. As with most things in life, we don’t have full control over the breath, although we do have some influence over it.
The breath happens in the body, and homing to it brings us into centre. We move our place of attending down from the head, where we can easily get caught in worries about the future and analysis of the past. The body is a domain of present-moment sensing, and the breath is always happening in it right now. When we tap into the breath, we may feel our own vitality, our own immediacy.
Attending to the flow of breath can be calming, and as we tune in to it, we may naturally come more into alignment with its qualities of simplicity and steadiness. Even when we feel scattered as we practise mindfulness, the breath offers a reliable anchor to return to, calling us back to attention.
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Practice: Mindfulness of breathing
Below are some guidelines for mindfulness of breathing. It’s usually a good idea to begin with short sessions of between five and 15 minutes, so you can gradually become familiar with this way of working.
Find a place where you can sit comfortably, perhaps on a chair with a firm seat, one that’s low enough for the feet to be flat on the floor. Place the hands on the thighs, palms facing downwards. If possible, sit with the spine self-supporting, so you aren’t leaning on the back-rest of the chair (unless you know you need extra support). Let the body be upright, but without straining or stiffening. Let the head and neck be balanced gently on unhunched shoulders, allowing a sense of openness in the chest. You can close the eyes, or have them open, perhaps letting the gaze fall downwards, a few feet in front of the body.
The overall posture to cultivate is one of quiet dignity, like a just king or queen sitting on a throne. By sitting with dignity, we’re cultivating the seeds of confidence and cheerfulness. We’re creating a good container in which mindfulness can happen. Notice how this posture feels right now.
Now bring attention to breathing. Feel the breath moving in and out of the body – tuning in to its rhythm and flow. Feel the texture of the breath in the belly, and the movements of the abdominal wall with each inhalation and exhalation. You don’t have to breathe deeply, or try to control the breath in any way – just let the breath happen as it happens. The only task is to feel into and follow it, letting the mind move with it like a surfer riding a wave. Not grasping tightly to the breath, just gently following it in and out.
During this practice, you’ll probably notice the attention sometimes wandering to some other object. You’ll suddenly find yourself thinking about breakfast, or your next holiday, or why your first lover left you. Or maybe your mind will be drawn to a car alarm outside, or a pain in your leg, or into searching for the meaning of life.
You might find yourself thinking about the breath, or analyzing the benefits of mindful breathing, or telling yourself you’re doing this well or badly, or wondering what’s going to happen next, or wanting to stop. Or maybe the mind will tell you it’s bored. From the perspective of the practice, it doesn’t really matter where the mind drifts – you can simply acknowledge that wandering has happened, and patiently, compassionately, bring attention back to breathing.
You don’t need to berate yourself or see distraction as a problem or failure – each time you notice the mind has wandered, you’ve already come back to mindfulness. You might like to congratulate yourself when you notice the wandering, and choose to come back to the breath. It usually helps to time your sessions, as this will give you one less thing to think about. Remember that it isn’t the intention to feel calm or relaxed, or to try to concentrate better, or indeed to try to get anything from the practice at all. The only task is simply to feel and follow the flow of breathing, and gently come back when you notice the mind has wandered.
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Working with mindfulness of breathing
Mindfulness practice isn’t always easy. This isn’t a problem: the more we notice difficulty, the more we create chances to gently work with it. Whatever happens when you practise, see if you can cultivate an attitude of ‘no problem’. Racing mind? No problem. Falling asleep? No problem. Aching bones? No problem. Restlessness? No problem. In observing these events with kindness, we’re allowing space that helps make things workable.
Below are some typical ‘non-problems’ that people often report when they start practising mindfulness of breathing, and some suggestions for how to work with them.
Frequent thinking
It doesn’t matter how many times the mind drifts. The task when we notice is to acknowledge the wandering (perhaps with a mental smile, as if greeting an old friend) and gently return to the breath. As best you can, let go of any judgements (such as: ‘mind-wandering means I’m a failure’).
There’s no need to try and get rid of thoughts – that approach tends only to heighten a sense of struggle. Allow them to be present in the background, and each time you notice the attention wandering to them, acknowledge this and then return to the breath. Remember that each time you notice, acknowledge, and come back from wandering, the muscle of mindfulness is strengthened.
Strong emotions/body sensations
By noticing attachment to pleasant sensations and resistance to the unpleasant, we begin to be freed from their grasp. When you observe that emotions or body sensations have drawn the mind away, acknowledge your noticing with an attitude of kindness, and, as best you can, return to the breath.
Be gentle – if a sensation seems to signal that you need to do something, such as changing your posture to take care of your body, it can be good to listen to that signal and make a shift. Similarly, if emotions or sensations feel too overwhelming to sit with, then it may make sense to stop for a while until you feel a bit more steady, perhaps seeking support from those around you, or a health professional.
Sleepiness/restles
sness
Many of us are prey to extremes of sluggishness and excitation. If we frequently fall asleep during meditation, this may be a signal that we’re tired and need to get more rest, or maybe we need to practise at a different time of day, when we feel more refreshed. If we choose to continue meditating when we’re sleepy, we can open the eyes or raise the gaze, or, as we notice drooping, to re-position the body in a more upright posture.
Restlessness can manifest as twitching, heat, pressure, a racing mind, a sense of irritation and exhilaration, or a strong urge to move. Can you let these experiences pass through you without following or rejecting them, as you compassionately bring your attention back to breathing?
Doubt
This isn’t working/It’s pointless/I’m wasting my time/I should be doing something more active/productive/helpful. These are just a few ‘practice-interfering thoughts’ (the PITs) that commonly arise. When doubt shows up, can you remember your commitment and invite curiosity, allowing these thoughts to move through the mind without automatically believing them? Can you do this just for now, allowing time for the seeds of mindfulness to flower?