This article first appeared in the Pine Mountain Buddhist Temple Newsletter.

I appreciate the Dharma offerings I read from Reverend Masters Phoebe and Seikai, and it seems appropriate to make my own offering. I have taken the approach of writing about my own experiences and how Buddhist training has helped me to understand my place in the world. Perhaps the reader will make a connection or relate in some way.

When I was a young adult, I decided that some of my emotions and personality traits needed to change. To manifest these changes, I attempted to control my feelings and thoughts and steer them in the direction that I felt would make me the best version of myself. Controlling thoughts and emotions did not work well for me. I was overly analytical and continually aware of my thoughts. I felt uncomfortable because I could not just be “myself” without evaluating my performance as a human at every moment. Since I could not do well at controlling my thoughts, I decided to control my actions in the physical world by exercising and eating well. My approach toward exercise was working out with weights and running more than was needed to maintain good health. I did not see bigger muscles because I lifted weights too frequently and did not get enough calories. My vigilance over my eating took the form of being very careful to eat only what I deemed to be very healthy food and to perform mental calculations on the number of calories I consumed. I underestimated the number of calories I needed. My lack of eating sufficiently resulted in binge eating. The binge eating meant I was out of control and created a vicious cycle.  This behavior was taking place when I began to practice Buddhism. My focus in training was to allow the thoughts to arise and pass without acting on them or passing judgement. This was very helpful and gradually I found a more balanced approach to my relationship with eating and exercising. I am also learning to be more accepting of myself just as I am.  When I look back at where I was, I find that now I am in a much better place. Of course, there is always more training to be done. I see that thoughts can be managed beyond simply letting them arise and pass. For example, I now see that self-criticism can be helpful to identify areas in which I can improve. It is the negative judgement of myself that is unnecessary. Now I focus on softening the self-critique and making room for a more positive assessment. Instead of concluding, “that was a dumb thing to do’, there is room for, “maybe that was not the best approach; I will try something different next time.” Making an effort to see my life through the lens of gratitude is another example of gently managing thoughts. Finding the positive aspects of a situation is yet another way in which I would coach my younger self on the benefits of “controlling thoughts.”

I struggle with anxiety. It seems that sometimes when a thought about something I dread, fear, or find unpleasant arises, I have developed a very fast (we are talking gunslinger quick!) mechanism for squelching the thought. This sequence happens so quickly that I do not even realize it has happened until I experience an uneasy feeling. I have not been able to reverse-engineer the process to get to the source. It seems that the anxiety I experience is a signal that I need to pay closer attention to my emotions as they arise. This has been a challenging reflex to observe in action. So far, I have been able to “catch” it just a handful of times. Habits of thought require ongoing attention. The difference between now and when I was younger is that I have learned not to force the solution and to judge myself less harshly. I have learned that the process of noticing is enough. I may observe the feeling-blocking reflex in action and allow the feeling to arise and thus decrease anxiety—or maybe not. I have developed faith that the practice is enough. This is where ongoing training is so valuable.

Another area in which I have lots of opportunities to practice is anger. When I was a young boy, my frustration would be expressed in the most severe swear words I knew: “pee-pee, potty, poo-poo!” I wish I could say I have outgrown this tendency, but alas that is not the case.

I have strong opinions about the way events should unfold. When a thing does not go as I think it should I can become incensed. I have a few flashpoints; my anger can be quick to ignite because someone is not following rules of traffic and common courtesy. I can become upset when a physical action does not result in the expected outcome. For example, if I cannot loosen a bolt, I can be furious that it is not following my will. After all, I have very good reason for removing that bolt so it should cooperate with my plan! The commonality in these moments of daily living is that I can plead a pretty compelling argument for my viewpoint. Self-righteousness is very seductive! This is an area that still has lots of room for improvement. It is frustrating to observe that I am still quick to anger. I am always very disappointed in myself when I indulge in an anger outburst. The outward expression that explodes is not productive, nor is it helpful. It is frustrating to repeat what I know is not good to do. The best I can report is that slowly I am improving on noticing when a situation starts to unravel, and I am getting better at not adding fuel to the fire. Perspective helps here. I may not be a continuous example of equanimity anytime soon; perhaps not even in this lifetime. The important thing is to continue the work of finding balance.

Recently I was walking along a downtown area and on the other side of the street a loud altercation unfolded between two young men. One man was very upset and vocal about his anger, reaching the point of threating to kill the other. I could sense that when the threat was made, his anger was at a tipping point. It could have been allowed to lessen, but instead it was stoked. It can be hard to stand down at such a key moment; the emotion seems to almost demand to continue. I was grateful that two large men were hovering between the two angry parties in such a way as to indicate that they would intervene if the anger was expressed physically. I was distressed to witness the strong emotions, even from across the street. The argument served as a vivid reminder of how my own anger creates negative consequences. It inspired me to keep my anger in check. It also made me happy to observe that sometimes I reach the tipping point and even when I spark, I usually choose not to fan the flames that far.

Some five or so years ago, I saw a picture of myself in which my head was thrust forward. The picture gave clarity to a comment made to me years ago: that if I were an animal, I would be a turtle. Since then, I have been working to improve my posture from the shoulders up. My progress is going slowly. I am finding more and more occasions in which I become aware that I need to correct my posture. It seems that my default is head forward. The interesting part is my attitude towards the moment I realize that my head isn’t upright on my neck. I can be aggravated about it and think, “here I am again; back at square one.” In my better moments, I am grateful for the awareness and the opportunity to improve my posture. I think of it as a gong during meditation, reminding me to bring my attention back to the present.

For me, this personal posture challenge illustrates why Buddhist training is simultaneously hard and easy. I think the hard part is when we realize that we need to make an adjustment in our thoughts/actions/deeds that will bring us closer in alignment to a way of living that reduces our karmic output. We might think, “I’m ‘doing it wrong! I’m inadequate. I am making such slow progress or no progress.” The easy part is that the recognition is enough; our Buddha nature will take care of the rest.

The more our practice grows and our faith blossoms, we realize the “hard” part isn’t difficult. We let go of our judgement and ego and appreciate the insight. From this viewpoint, it is hard to imagine a life without training. I think this is why I have seen Reverends Phoebe and Seikai express surprise when someone says training can be hard. Life is harder without it.

‘Little by slow’ is the theme of my experience as a Buddhist and I have an analogy to describe why I think it is so for many people. Generally, one doesn’t see immediate benefits when starting a meditation practice. Much like dieting. If one is about to reach for another piece of cake, there is an immediate reward if the cake is eaten (this sure does taste good!). There is no immediate feedback in not eating the cake. A person doesn’t suddenly see or feel the body becoming leaner. It is disappointing to not experience the taste of the cake. If one stood on a scale after refusing extra cake, the needle would not drop a pound to reward the self-control. Only after weeks and months of declining the extra calories does one begin to see the results in the mirror and on the scale. As time passes, carrying less weight and having more energy are the reward. Training is the same way. As time passes we see things with increasing perspective and clarity. It does not happen immediately!

Years ago, my sister observed that emotions don’t have opposite and equal reactions. She noted that after being concerned or worried about something for an extended period, the relief did not last the same length as the preceding concern. She did not feel happy and elated for the corresponding duration once the situation was resolved. I thought of my own experience in school, being worried about doing well on an upcoming test long before exam day. After completing the test and doing well, I did not experience the corresponding amount of joy and jubilation to match all the worry I had felt, certainly not for the same amount of time I invested in worrying! I simply returned to my setpoint. This is the direction in which Buddhism points us, the middle way.

I am prone to dyslexia, which manifests in a number of ways. I rarely remember names of people or shows (or anything specific), and I get confused when directions consist of more than one or two steps. I am unable to remember specifics of a recent conversation. If I am given a verification code of 5 or 6 numbers, I frequently remember them out of order. I have a vivid memory of being given a list of words to learn to spell in high school. The list had 20 words or less and it took me well over two hours to remember how to spell them sufficiently to pass a spelling test. The common thread of my dyslexic experience is that I regularly experience an outcome other than what I expected because my thought/interpretation/mental formation is one thing, and the outward experience is another.

The way I have adapted to this untrustworthy aspect of my mental processing is to interact with the world based on the impressions I form, rather than specifics. I can recognize plots and characters, even though I can’t recall the name of the program or actor. I can recall the conclusion drawn or the message received in my interactions with others, though without the exact words. I either depend on someone else to navigate or I use the map/GPS feature in my phone. I triple-check my number recall and mathematical computations. I rely on the computer by using copy and paste and spell-check. I can usually identify when I have misspelled a word, even if I can’t summon the correct order of the letters. When I am able to develop processes and systems for accomplishing tasks, I am much less likely to make a mistake. When we all follow rules, it helps make things more predictable and I am less unnerved.

I have been writing this article over a period of months. As I reflect on what I have written, an insight occurred. The dyslexia I just described is one of the reasons for my temper; it is frustrating when one thing is expected, and a different thing takes place. Frustration can quickly turn to anger. The anxiety I experience also has roots in my dyslexia: it is troubling when my internal mechanisms are not reliably consistent. Like almost all insights, it is helpful to have an explanation, but it does not change the work to be done. Insight or not, the solution is the same: continual training.