When I took a course in meditation, I was given a mantra and told to mentally repeat it – and whenever my mind wandered, gently return to the mantra. There would be a time when the mantra would naturally fade but when new thoughts came, I was to bring my attention back to it once more. I wasn’t to blame myself or strive to annihilate or control my thoughts; I wasn’t to believe I had failed; I was simply to begin again.

Beyond a meditation practice, calling our focus back to what we want can feel hard, but the intention to do so builds resolve and strength that is ultimately liberating. Our thoughts make a big impression on us and define how we see the world and ourselves. Direction of thought matters; it determines how we feel, what we create, and what we believe we can and cannot do.

One Sunday I had things I could do, some things I should do, but nothing I particularly wanted to do. So, I decided to let whatever occurred to me lead the way. I looked around to see what might catch my attention and my eye landed on the cabinets above our washer and dryer in the mudroom. Upon seeing them, I felt my usual wave of disappointment and frustration. They’re packed with stuff: laundering supplies, yes, but also multiple baking pans, a casserole dish, Christmas tins and plastic containers, a large, red shirt box housing an assortment of odd kitchen items, old dishes, windshield wiper fluid, car oil, party supplies, an antique sewing machine, a boxed assortment of furniture cleaners, an extension cord, and so on.

Thirty plus years ago I was hired part-time as a “Mother’s Helper” for a six-year-old I’ll call Sparky. She was a beautiful, sweet girl with blond ringlets. Her mother, whom I’ll call Joanne Brimmerman, described her as an “angel” during my interview. Mrs. Brimmerman was very nice. The position included dusting and vacuuming, tidying/light cleaning the kitchen, tending to recycling, grocery shopping, picking Sparky up from school and taking her to lessons and/or play dates with friends.

A couple days into my experiment, it was my turn to do our family’s weekly shopping. The grocery store where we shop is currently undergoing a complete redo. Almost everything is being moved: shelves dismantled; items relocated. The employees and patrons are often understandably fatigued and frustrated with the disorder. As I proceeded with my shopping, I quickly understood I could no longer rely upon my years-old mental map of the store to help me find what I was looking for.

Headaches have become a not so uncommon phenomenon in my life – often attributed to hormonal shenanigans, sinus something, or chronic self-criticism. I have great compassion for the headache-sufferer, myself included; it’s a lousy ride. Whatever their origins, I’ve noticed that as soon as I start to get one (or a “wave,” as I sometimes call those that rise and fall and don’t develop into anything more), I get quite upset, even a bit fatalistic – fast. This reaction troubles me because I know it only makes everything harder.

Recently I went to bed and awoke in the middle of the night with a bad headache. It was like awakening on a ship out of control in a storm; someone had to take the helm. Determinedly, I did a breathing technique that starts with slowly placing attention on my toes and feet and works up to my head. The headache didn’t go away completely but the intense energy that was driving it lessened. I was now in an altered situation and a better position. I felt the shifting effects on my body and mind and sleep seemed possible – a possibility that, to my surprise, soon became a reality.

In the morning, I still had a low level headache but understood that I needed to keep choosing. If I wanted to move in a new direction, I had to keep choosing a focus that at least leaned in a better direction than the stress reaction that had become normal for me. There’s no magic wand, but the effects of a new frame of mind steadily gaining strength, endurance, and reliability produce what can feel like magic.

This year, in an unusual turn of events, I cooked a Thanksgiving turkey. Usually I bring side dishes and deserts and someone else makes the turkey. This time when I went to carve it – though I have hacked my way through the procedure before – I thought I’d shoot for better results. So I watched a YouTube video on How to Carve a Turkey.

As I attempted to apply the Turkey Carving System, however, I struggled; there seemed to be resistance on both the turkey’s and my part. I stopped and rethought my approach. I started paying more attention to the turkey’s design, using it as my guide. I followed its structure – places where it naturally gave and where it didn’t. As soon as I slowed down and paid more attention to the moment than the plan, the task got easier.

he other night I dreamt of a bear. I am outside, and several yards away, a bear is holding onto the low branch of a tree. Upon seeing me, it releases the branch and starts to approach. I think to myself that when faced with a bear, one is supposed to stand still, but I cannot find the courage to do so, and hurry back to my cabin. Scrambling inside, I try to lock the flimsy door, but it seems the bear is now on the other side, pushing against it, making it hard for me to secure the bolt.

When I awoke, the first thing I wanted to know was the actual recommended protocol regarding real bears and the people who don’t want to be attacked by them. Depending on the type of bear, some say to make yourself as big as possible and make lots of noise, back up slowly while facing the bear, play dead or fight back, do not stare. Overall though, the advice seems to be: don’t run.

It’s not so easy being still when we believe something might hurt us. But learning to allow our minds to settle is the way through fear. When we take three slow breaths (with a longer exhale than inhale), it lessens the sympathetic nervous system’s fight or flight response and increases the parasympathetic nervous system’s rest and digest response, bringing the two into greater balance. This kind of breathing helps convince the sympathetic nervous system we’re not truly at risk, as it is counter to the shallow rapid breaths we’d be taking if we really were in danger. Our sympathetic nervous systems are set off by whatever we interpret as a threat, whether the thing actually is or isn’t. Without the perception of danger, no triggering of stress and the fight/flight response occurs.

When I was a girl, starting around the age of seven or so, I wanted my clothing to say nothing – to make no statement, to remain a silent participant in my presentation. I preferred dark greens, navy blues, and anything muted. I remember once trying on shoes and feeling uncomfortable with an inch-high heel, which made me feel as though I were looming and conspicuous. In no way was it my desire to arouse the impulse in others to notice me.

This fashion sensibility maintained its grip for many years, loosening now and again for special occasions, and relaxing slightly in high school. I wanted to express something more but feared I would be trying to be something I was not, and that humiliation would follow. Without realizing it, I feared that free expression would make me a target.

Recently I took to playing a game with myself; I tried answering all of what seemed to be my unproductive thinking with, “You don’t have to worry about that.” The first time I thought it, I was surprised at how receptive I was to my own advice. And the more I employed the phrase, the more aware I became of what a high percentage of my thinking orbits around some form of fretting. I worry a lot, over the smallest of things – the minutiae of how to do, what to do, whether I should do, what I did. Tending the micromanagement of my fearful projections depresses my energy, so when I stopped, if only for a few minutes, I started feeling small surges of freed energy and my mood rose.

A couple days into my experiment, it was my turn to do our family’s weekly shopping. The grocery store where we shop is currently undergoing a complete redo. Almost everything is being moved: shelves dismantled; items relocated. The employees and patrons are often understandably fatigued and frustrated with the disorder. As I proceeded with my shopping, I quickly understood I could no longer rely upon my years-old mental map of the store to help me find what I was looking for.