It is the day after Christmas. A few days ago I thought ahead to today, when I would sit down and reflect in writing on what I’ve seen in my practice. It was something to look forward to, because there were “good” things to report. That was a few days ago. This evening I am working to accept a feeling of misery over this morning’s interaction with a sibling. From this perspective, I sit down to report gratitude for some of this year’s awarenesses.

Opportunity to See
This fall, I was fortunate enough to go on a 21-day wilderness trip with twelve other people, including several extended family members, my spouse and child, and a few friends. It involved strenuous travel in a remote place, and required setting up and striking camp daily. On some days, the travel was dangerous and stressful. We’d been waiting for a permit for this trip and planning for it for over a decade. It was the first time for me and I expected it to be exciting and fun. What I didn’t expect was for my conditioning to come along. In this setting, which in effect functioned much like a retreat, I saw very clearly that conditioning had stowed away with the rest of my gear. On many days it was so “in my face” that it obscured the wonders and pleasures of the trip. I saw within myself a young child jealous for attention, someone who was very unsure of her worth, a cranky person who lashes out when she feels slighted, and one who puts a damper on everything when she is afraid. I saw someone who is abusive when she fears I don't measure up. I saw the judge who belittled all the feelings of jealousy, anger, insecurity, and fear. The bad news was that I couldn’t get away from any of it—or was that the good news? Someone else inside managed to contain most of the fallout to the body in which it was all happening. During the trip I spoke of the inner turmoil a limited number of times to only two (external) people. And I “debriefed” after the trip with a few external people who speak the language of reflection, so I could see it all more clearly. Although in retrospect I wish I had not believed conditioning as much as I did, I also see that I was aware of it in the moment, and that most of the time I stayed with it enough not to act on it. Mostly, I am amazed and grateful for the opportunity and the tools to see it.

Young Teacher
At a recent visit to a sister’s house, my 11-year-old son ran across a copy of How To Talk So Kids Will Listen & How To Listen So Kids Will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. I had heard of this 1980s bestseller, but had not read it. This intelligent and willful child loves to resist, argue, and procrastinate, which makes me, a control-oriented time-keeper, crazy. He also loves how-to books of all kinds, and read aloud to me from this one. A few days later, at an impasse in a vehement disagreement (not uncommon for us), he pulled out a sheet of paper and led me through an exercise from the book to help us resolve it. This got my attention; I acquired a used copy and read it. I thought I had already learned about the communication techniques it described, which are based on reflective listening and being present in the moment. But as I read it I could feel tears coming—I wished I had been spoken to so respectfully as a child. The next day there was another disagreement between my son and me, and I had my first chance to use what I had learned. The results were a revelation. Even though he had read the book and knew exactly what I was doing, he responded positively. I am grateful to him for so clearly showing me how things can be done differently. I intend to continue this practice with him. He turns out, once again, to be a great teacher.

Being Right
During the summer I had a major experience with letting go of being right. This issue is a struggle for me, since I have a strong rule-follower tendency, and I only recently fully realized the strength of my attachment to it. I was able to let go of having to be right on an issue that had been tormenting me, and the feeling of freedom was remarkable. A sangha member who has been my mentor in many ways this year helped me work the problem through. She shared the following poem, which now hangs next to my desk.

A Place Where We Are Right by Yehudi Amichai From the place where we are right flowers will never grow in the spring. The place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard. But doubts and loves dig up the world like a mole, a plow. And a whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood.
As I write this, I see now that today's misery issue has in many ways to do with having to be right. It feels far from settled, but in this place, I’m grateful to have this touchstone to turn to, grateful for my family, the sangha, my many years of practice, and the opportunity to continue it. Gassho.