Really—It’s All Okay!
by Julie Snider

My name is Julie and my practice is counting my breath.

I’ve started writing this article a number of times and each time I return to it my words seem old and irrelevant. My first drafts were about how my practice helped me face problems and ultimately see that they weren’t problems. But that didn’t feel right—my practice isn’t defined by difficulties. It’s always there. Then it hit me: My practice is my life.

So what is my life?

All I know is that I try to be aware, here and now. That’s not always true because I don’t try every moment—I don’t work that hard, and here and now is all the time.

Still, I want to always be aware so when I do wake up here and now I try to pay attention. Holding my focus and staying awake is very difficult for me. Several times a day I wake up and my thoughts carry me away so quickly I don’t notice what’s happened until I wake up again.

I try to stay out of my head. Just be aware of where I am. Let go of judgments, thoughts, distractions, desires—my agenda.

It feels really good: sitting, Samadhi, being aware, being generous, letting go of problems, fixations, anger, want. And it feels wretched when I notice the self-service behind my words and actions. That’s hard to face. I often find myself wracked with embarrassment after some foolish sentence escapes my mouth. The feeling is particularly sharp when I realize I’ve said something like that to a sangha member.

I am so grateful to the sangha for the subtle wake up calls. If I say something that appears harmless and conversational but underneath screams Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!–and I’ve done it, and they all hear it—I usually get no response. It is a horror to realize what I’ve done, but I am so grateful for their kindness. (I just realized that’s what Roshi means by being a mirror with people! How wonderful!)

The same way it’s okay and not damning to make a mistake in the service, it’s okay to make a mistake with the sangha. I try really hard to keep that with me everywhere: It’s okay.

One week, I made some trivial mistakes at my new job and put myself through utter hell for it. The panic, obsession, and agony were so bad that I couldn’t escape them, even though I tried to keep waking up. I just couldn’t let go of the fear! That Saturday, Kyoji asked me how I was, and three thoughts flashed through my mind: 1) I don’t want to get into it. 2) Do I want to get into it? 3) I’m safe. I’m not at work so I’m good.

My answer was a mix of 1 and 3: “I’m good. It’s the weekend!” I immediately thought, “You IDIOT! These amazing people, these devout practitioners can see the idiocy of that statement! Why should the weekend be any better than the weekday? Every day is good!”

I sat, faced myself, and tried to just count my breaths and let go. At the end of the sitting block I was astonished. What was all my fuss about? All that crap in my head was gone and by the time lunch rolled around I was surprised at how deep and full my laughter was. And during the next week at work I was okay too.

I’m trying to listen harder to whatever it is in me that wakes up. Sometimes I go from strong attention to what’s happening to noticing thoughts creeping up, even if they’re not fully formed. I am beginning to sense when I am about to go off track, but I don’t clearly hear the wake up call right away. At the end of the day, I notice that the Samadhi I’ve carried over from the morning has faded and my thoughts are running in circles. I am surprised by their content—it is awful stuff that I recognize as ridiculous and untrue—judgments especially.

I suppose a conclusion should go right about here. I don’t know what to say, so why don’t I just take a couple of breaths! Man, what a practice. It’s good for everything!

[Julie Snider, an aspiring screenwriter in her mid 20s, moved to Los Angeles and began practicing at the Hazy Moon in January 2008. When she wrote this piece, Julie was working at a prominent talent and literary agency as a "floater" ("In other words, I'm a mailroom grunt," she said).]