One of my clearest, most nostalgic memories from growing up is that of the excitement of Christmas morning. Our parents would round up my two sisters and me so that we could all converge on the living room simultaneously, run to our piles of presents, and ooooh and ahhhh in unison. The excitement of seeing my wishes granted, and the surprise of gifts I hadn’t asked for was just so much fun. That excitement sustained me through the day as we visited relatives and friends.

But the next day was always a different story. I can remember the hollow feeling that arose from knowing that the orgy of getting stuff was over. Life was back to its unexciting normal. I had a few more things, but inevitably, some of them would have already lost their sparkle. It wasn’t until much later that I began to understand that the joy my parents felt in giving was a far more sustaining feeling than the excitement of getting what I’d yearned for.

The Difference Between Heaven and Hell

A traditional Chinese parable tells the story of an old man who knows he will die soon. Worried about the afterlife, he seeks out the village wise man and asks him to tell him about heaven and hell. The wise man says, “Come, follow me.”

They walk down a long path until they come to a large dwelling. When they walk inside they find a huge dining room. In the center of the room is a long wooden table bearing a sumptuous buffet of unimaginable proportions—all the culinary delights anyone could possibly desire. Many frustrated and unhappy people ring the table. They have been given chopsticks that are twelve feet long and therefore are unable to feed themselves. The food remains untouched, the people hungry and dissatisfied. The old man says, “This must be hell.”

They walk down the path a bit further until they reach a similar large house. Inside they find the same beautiful buffet, same ring of people, same twelve-foot chopsticks. However, in this scenario there is much laughter and conviviality. The people here have learned to use the impossible utensils. “In heaven,” says the teacher, “people feed each other.”

Generosity Benefits the Giver and the Receiver

It is said that the Buddha told his monks, “If you knew, as I do, the power of generosity, you would never let a meal pass without sharing some of it.” In Asian spiritual traditions, the practice of dana, or generosity, is the foundation of spiritual life. Rather than beginning with rigorous meditation practices, seekers initially learn to practice more worldly disciplines, the first being the cultivation of generosity.

The Buddha spoke of the freedom of letting go. Our attachments to our material goods, relationships and beliefs keep us from seeing our own boundless nature. When we practice giving, we learn the happiness of letting go. It does not matter how great or small an act of generosity might be; in each instance we cultivate the habit of letting go. Each time we give we can appreciate the benefits to ourselves and others, which brings motivation to share again.

In her book, Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, Sharon Salzberg says that “giving brings happiness at every stage of its expression. We experience joy in forming the intention to be generous; we experience joy in the actual act of giving something; and we experience joy in remembering the fact that we have given.”

“A single act of giving has a value beyond what we can imagine,” says Salzberg. “So much of the spiritual path is expressed and realized in giving: love, compassion, sympathetic joy, equanimity.”

How to Practice Generosity

There are many creative ways to cultivate generosity in our lives. One way is to resolve to follow through every time we feel the impulse to give. In practicing this resolve I’ve found that I often hear almost instantly from the voices of my own lack. These voices remind me that I might someday need the object to be given, or that I can’t possibly afford to share. While it is wise to consider the magnitude of my generosity according to the resources available to me, when the impulse arises I always follow it in some way. I have never found myself lacking because I have given.

Here are some more ideas: Buy a gift or share a meal. Donate some of your possessions to a friend or to a charitable organization. Offer some of your time and energy, perhaps volunteering for a non-profit group or serving at a shelter. Be available to the people in your life. Make a phone call to a distant friend. Write an old-fashioned longhand letter. Next time a friend wants to tell you a story or ask your advice, really listen. An act of generosity does not have to be grandiose.

Then be generous with yourself. Allow yourself to celebrate the joy you have created in another’s life and in your own. There is a huge difference between the expansive feelings that accompany an act of giving and the constricted ones that accompany the habit of wanting or hoarding. Letting yourself feel the blessings of giving can be a great motivator for future acts of kindness.

Cultivating generosity is a practice. There are times when it will be easy and times when it will not be so easy. There are times when we give freely, and times when we give with reservation. But with practice, like any other quality we choose to develop, generosity can flow freely and naturally. It can be not just a quality we have, but who we are.

In the past two weeks the pile of unopened mail in my kitchen has grown taller and more unruly. Every so often I try to neaten its edges but I have done nothing to reduce its size. It’s not that I don’t want to; it just hasn’t risen high enough on my list to do anything about it. I’ve pulled out all the bills, but the extracurricular literature—magazines I hope to read sooner or later—remains neglected. Between writing, editing, teaching yoga and practicing my oboe, there just hasn’t been time.

The lofty heap, with its magazines waiting to be enjoyed, represents the small pleasures that have gradually slipped out of my life over the past few years. It reminds me of all the things I would like to do, but have not made the time.

As I was growing up, the greatest sin a member of our family could commit was to be selfish. My sisters and I learned well that we must give first priority to our responsibilities to others. Whatever time is left over could be spent enjoying what we like to do. Being responsible, honest, punctual and honoring commitments were among the highest virtues in my upbringing.

I am grateful that my parents instilled these qualities in my sisters and me. I enjoy dealing with the many reliable people in my own life who keep their promises and show up on time. These relationships are self-sustaining, fortified by a foundation of ease and trust.

Still, I wonder about the nature of responsibility. Is there more to it than my parents taught? What about that stack of brochures and magazines? Is it really irresponsible of me to take 15 minutes to read an article simply for the enjoyment of it? Or, better yet, to lose myself in a great novel for a weekend? Is it a waste of valuable time to set aside my responsibilities for a day? How noble is it to work oneself to exhaustion? Is constant hard work the only expression of virtue, or might balance be a valid form of its expression?

Teaching Yoga and Replenishing Prana

Years ago, I took a workshop with Rod Stryker. Much of the weekend’s class time focused on pranayama, the fourth limb of Patanjali’s eight limbs of yoga. Because the breath is the carrier of our prana or life force, exercises that free and refine the breath have the potential to balance not only our physiological systems, but also the subtler essential energies that animate our bodies.

I have practiced pranayama on and off for 30 years, often quitting in frustration at my inability to inhale deeply with any consistency. During the course, I asked the teacher if he had any insights into why inhaling deeply might be so difficult, while long, slow exhalations were very easy for me. His reply: “You’ve been teaching yoga a long time, haven’t you?” I nodded. “I see this all the time,” he continued. “People who have been teaching for a long time become very good at giving out their energy, but not so good at taking it back in.”

He then advised me to practice pranayama, but to turn my focus entirely to building my inhalations, and to let my exhalations occur as they may. Focusing on the inhalation addresses an essential physical imbalance that has left me feeling depleted much of the time. Psychologically it has begun to change an unhealthy habit of giving away more than I’m willing to take in.

Teaching Yoga is a Two-Way Street

Teaching yoga is not generally the most lucrative of callings. Because of this many of us—myself included—have to “moonlight,” working one or more other jobs to make ends meet. Teachers who don’t want to moonlight often teach an unsustainable number of classes just to stay afloat.

In any relationship there is an exchange of energy. In a student/teacher relationship, for example, the teacher shares information, guidance and heart with his/her students. The teacher’s gift is easy to see. What is more subtle is the student’s reciprocal offering. Because no one is there to spell out the student’s lesson for a teacher, it is the teacher’s job to listen so that he/she can hear the lessons the student is offering back. Often this is simply a matter of giving oneself the time to listen, and being willing to receive the gifts offered. Look deeply at your relationships with friends, colleagues and family. Can you honor what you give to each relationship? Can you identify and accept those gifts that come to you?

Gifting Yourself

People with a strong sense of responsibility to others often tend to diminish their own needs and desires. Can we honor those commitments we’ve made to ourselves in the same way we honor those we’ve made to others? For example, I would never consider not showing up to teach one of my yoga classes. But how many times have I not shown up for my own practice? What makes my practice any less important than anyone else’s? If I do not commit to my own practice, there is no way it will happen. It could be that responsibility is not simply a gift to be offered to others. Responsibility also applies to how we govern our own lives and how we honor our own needs and more important, our dreams.

In metta (lovingkindness) practice, it’s traditional to begin by wishing metta to oneself. This is not an expression of narcissism. It springs from the truth that in order to offer metta to others, we must first cultivate it in ourselves. Giving to oneself allows you to give to others from a state of abundance.

How to Be Responsible to Yourself

• Replenish yourself by practicing simple pranayama—long, slow inhalations and exhalations. Focus on deepening your inhalations, but make sure you don’t create stress by trying too hard. Start with five minutes a day and add a minute or so every few weeks.
• Add Restorative Yoga to your practice. Rest replenishes your energies.
• Take on only as much as you can handle gracefully. It can be tempting to take on an exciting new task. When you feel that temptation, consider what you can let go of in order to fit that new responsibility into your life. If there’s nothing you can let go of, please say “no thanks” for now.
• Go outside. Spend some time in nature. I know it’s a cliché, but nature has a way of replenishing us. You don’t have to spend all day. Take an hour or two.
• Let the world around you nourish you, as you offer your own gifts back. Read a novel, paint, write, take a walk or do nothing, even if it means you have to put off something else for a few hours. It is your responsibility to see that you have the energy to carry you through your daily life. Commit to yourself as you have to others. What you invest in yourself will naturally invigorate all your relationships.

Every year since 2014, I’ve had the good fortune to spend 18 days at Spirit Rock Meditation Center. My partner and I attend two back-to-back nine-day retreats each year in July. The first nine days focuses on the cultivation of kindness and compassion, and the second nine days focuses on mindfulness practice. I feel immense gratitude for the teachings, the practice and the wisdom of the teachers.

When I tell people who haven’t engaged in this type of practice that I’m off to attend a silent meditation retreat, most reactions fall into two categories: “I couldn’t be quiet for that long” or “That sounds really relaxing.” My responses: The silence is actually the easy part, and you appreciate it more as the days go by. Relaxing? Well … ultimately, it can be. But not in your day-at-the-beach sense.

It’s actually very hard work, and it’s very humbling. Unless you’ve tried it, it’s hard to fathom the challenges of being with your own wandering mind all your waking hours with no diversions. You see and become intimate with everything you’ve clung to in your life: your addictions, neuroses, habitual thought and belief patterns.

And then there are the endless earworms, more often than not annoying songs—“Chicken Fat,” anyone?—and commercial jingles. As one of the teachers, Joseph Goldstein, said, “The mind has no pride.” You’re way ahead of the game if you can take the onslaught with a dose of humor at least some of the time.

The only diversions are your own memories, reveries and fantasies, most of which tend to fuel the fire rather than subdue it. Deliverance comes in the form of kind acceptance and the gradually unfolding and often fleeting recognition that none of it—none of it—is permanent or personal.

Like most things of value, this does not happen instantly. It unfolds over years, with strong intention and dedicated practice. After 32 years of practice and many retreats, four of which lasted 30 days, I can say that the change in my way of being—my ability to accept things as they are and act from a place of clarity and kindness—has changed markedly. It’s certainly not “perfect,” whatever that is. There is still plenty to work on, but I like to think I’m less inclined to spend my energies creating new unhealthy mental habits than I did in the past. And discovering existing unhealthy mental habits certainly doesn’t upset me or cause the crippling self-judgment it used to.

Habits and the Power of Choice

One example: One of my family’s favorite communication styles was snarky speech. On some days, and with certain people, I’m damn good at formulating instantaneous smart-ass responses. Despite the fact that snark comes easily to me, since the advent of blogs and social media, I rein it in when I’m engaging in controversial discussions. Snark seems only to provoke ugliness. I never comment anonymously. I feel it’s important only to write in ways I feel comfortable claiming.

I’ve been consciously practicing this form of skillful speech for many years now—albeit not always successfully. Yet I was surprised and amused that whenever my mind felt a need to comment on my meditation practice in these past weeks, it came in the form of a silent, snarky comment. That habit is just really in there. The stuff we’ve practiced for decades has deep roots and lots of momentum. It takes a long time and a lot of vigilance to change the habits we’ve cultivated. This particular conditioning, one of many I’ve discovered over years of practice, was mostly entertaining to watch. Other habits of mind have not been so easy to accept.

Patience is the Highest Virtue

One of the retreat teachers, Kamala Masters, gave a beautiful talk one evening on patience. The Buddha said, “Patience is the highest virtue.” At a moment in my practice when impatience and expectation had been obscuring my ability to be present, her words had profound resonance. Her words caused me to reflect on the gradual unfolding of my practice over the years, and the fact that equanimity lives much closer to the surface of my being than it has in the past. It used to be a major event to experience equanimity. Now it is accessible much of the time.

As I sat on retreat wishing for whiz-bang insights and the infinite spaciousness I’ve experienced in the past, the quiet, spacious calm of equanimity was right there, available in that moment. The only thing keeping me from seeing it was my desire for something else I thought would be more exciting. It is patience, the ability to be with what is—even if what is present is impatience—that allows me to appreciate today’s practice and to open to equanimity.

Kamala said, “When the fruit is ripe, it will fall from the tree.” We can’t force our awakening, any more than we can force our bodies to practice fancy yoga poses or force other people to be anything other than who they are in this moment. But we can find satisfaction in patience, in being present for the gifts that are available to us now whether they are pleasant or unpleasant. Slowly but surely, with intention, practice, patience, acceptance and a healthy dose of humor, we can cultivate the habit of happiness.

I’ve been practicing yoga and meditation for quite some time. A couple of months ago I had an opportunity to see how well my practice supported me. I had just finished an energy session. My phone had a bunch of messages from my son and the school counselor. I called the school and she told me that they received an essay from my son explaining that he had tried to hurt himself.

My first reaction was to blame myself and wonder where I had failed him. I cried for a moment; spoke briefly with a friend, who reminded me that this was not about me; took a few deep breaths; prayed and headed to the school.

I was able to support my son while we talked to the school counselor, had him evaluated, and started him on his road to recovery.

We found a wonderful counselor who has helped my son learn how to live his life more fully and happily.

This experience taught me many lessons:

• Things aren’t always as they appear; I thought my son was well adjusted as a 15-year-old who identifies as gay in Utah.
• We can be a support as a witness—by being there, being available and listening.
• Taking quick action is imperative when lives are at risk—even when we think they might be asking for help. If that’s the only way someone knows how to ask for help, I suggest we heed it.

My practice supported me in a situation that took me by surprise. Until it happened, I didn’t know how I would feel and react. I felt my emotions and I was able to take the necessary steps. I was calm inside and out.

I continue to support my body, mind and spirit with practice because it helps me to be present, aware, and able to handle most situations. Practicing yoga, meditation and radical self-care help me to be the best mother, partner, teacher and friend I can be.

Some things you might consider for yourself:

• A daily yoga and meditation practice
• Consuming clean and healthy food, water and air
• Regular sleep

I’d love to hear your thoughts about how you handle unexpected situations.

Stepping back from anger isn’t easy.

When people who you love are taken from life too soon or when life doesn’t go as planned, you can feel hurt and angry

You can slip over the edge into anger over “little” things, too, such as if someone leaves dirty breakfast dishes in the sink or if a friend forgets to call.

I know that I can feel anger rise over something as seemingly insignificant as a loved one leaving the house in the morning and forgetting to say goodbye.

I used to become angry about all of these “big” and “little” hurts, these things that I perceived as injuries, personal insults, challenges to my ability—my power?—to shape the world and my own life.

But then I started practicing yoga and learned to let go of my anger.

Each pose helped me learn to stop holding onto unrealistic expectations, taught me to discern false expectations—expectations of my own creation, really—and to see how such expectations made me feel angry and created a spiral of anger that fed on itself.

Yoga helped me break the spiral. The poses helped me see the world as it is, not as I might want or expect it to be. Instead of becoming angry whenever others didn’t live up to my expectations, I had to learn how to shift my expectations, letting go of those that were unrealistic, and become better acquainted with reality.

It was in my first yoga class that I began to let go of my anger. With eyes closed, arms limp at my sides, legs loosely spread, I lay in Savasana listening to my yoga teacher’s calming voice as she encouraged us to let go of tension in our bodies.

She guided us from one part of the body to another—ankles, calves, hips, shoulders, neck, jaw, tongue—so that we could check our bodies for tension. Each time she mentioned another part of the body, I felt myself release the day’s frustration, disappointment, and anger. I felt my muscles loosen. I felt the tension melt into the earth.

In each pose I looked past unrealistic expectations, self-doubts, and fears. The movement of my body in Downward Dog or Triangle demanded my full attention. It was impossible to keep thoughts of anger in my head and do the poses at the same time. I had to learn how to step back from anger and let it go.

With each step back, I gained a new perspective, a brief second in which to pause and notice my response to life. In that moment, I realized, I didn’t have to respond immediately with criticism or anger. I could recognize my momentary anger as it surfaced, the same way that I could notice the way I entered a challenging pose.

By the end of each class, I noticed how my anger had seeped away. I began to understand that life wasn’t about holding onto anger, a misconception that I’d held onto for years. It was about letting go of anger. And the thought that I didn’t have to hold onto my anger anymore—that I could be myself without being angry all the time—was liberating and energizing.

Since that first yoga class, I’ve learned to accept that life is not what I might want it to be but what it is—raw, messy, unpredictable, always changing.

Life, like yoga, often fails to go as planned. People die whether I love them or not, just as they get sick or go through divorce or fall out of Tree Pose.

It’s the way life is—a process as natural as breathing—and nothing, certainly not anger or rage, can change the way life works.

Thanks to yoga, I’ve become more aware of my actions and thoughts in each pose. It’s this awareness that lets me see anger as a reflection of my own unrealistic expectations.

My yoga practice has helped me learn to step back from these expectations. As it turns out, stepping back is the first step in learning how to deal with anger.

Practice Journal: One way to step away from anger is to recognize whatever might be making you angry. Try listing the things that arouse your anger. Can you trace the arc of your anger–the way it might escalate from a slight disturbance to an irrational boil? Can you take a moment to pause–just as you might pause in a challenging pose–to notice what’s disturbing you? Who or what might cause you to feel such anger? Can you identify the root of your anger? And can you find a way to move through it without letting it upset your balance? Write: 15 min.

What’s the connection to yoga? Stay with me, please.

Yoga has helped me to stand tall and shine bright, like a sunflower. I came to yoga in need of dealing with my addiction to substances and my inability to think straight or sit still. Yoga has helped me with these issues and much more. When I was younger, I loved how yoga shaped my body. Now I love how yoga shapes my mind and spirit.

Yoga has been a discovery of self, an excavation of my true self.

Yoga Practice is for Everyone

Like sunflowers, yogis come in all shapes, sizes and colors. I love that so much of the yoga community has embraced our differences and I hope the trend continues to grow.

As a yogi who’s not skinny, I have sometimes felt as if I didn’t fit in. Most of this comes from my own judgment and self-image issues. I’ve had students come to me and say they liked that I was normal-sized.

Long ago I realized that we each have unique experiences that we can draw upon to help others in their lives. Each challenge I’ve faced has in turn helped many others through their difficulties and helped them to feel that they are understood and accepted.

So come to yoga as you are. Stand TALL and shine BRIGHT like the sunflower.

I’d love to hear your stories about whether you have struggled with these issues, and how yoga practice has helped you feel understood and accepted. How do you stand tall in your life?

I’m not sure when the winter holidays began being equated with stress, but I think I know why. When I was a child, holidays were well-orchestrated events. My parents loved to surprise us with special, unexpected gifts we hadn’t asked for, and loved to set a cozy and festive stage for the ultimate event, the opening of gifts. They got a huge kick out of seeing us enjoying ourselves, so they took great care to make things as magical for us as they could.

Now as an adult, I find myself wanting to recreate that cozy, festive atmosphere for my own holidays. Only since I’m no longer a kid, I have to create it myself—not as easy. So rather than stressing myself out trying to create magic—when we all know that magic happens on its own—perhaps I need to redefine what would make these rare schedule-free days truly magical for me.

Most years I spend all day in the kitchen on Thanksgiving, even if the only recipient of my culinary explorations is going to be my partner. I do love to cook, and I’m diehard about cooking everything organic and from scratch. But sometimes spending my day off in the kitchen wears me out. By the time dinner rolls around, I’m often too exhausted to truly enjoy eating. And how much can two smallish people eat?

This year we’ve been invited to spend Thanksgiving with a lovely couple we met through mutual friends. Despite my repeated offers to bring something, they’ve continued to refuse any contributions to the feast besides our company. Even though I love to cook, I’m grateful to not be in charge this year. It’s kind of like my parents doing all the planning so that I can enjoy whatever surprises the day might bring.

Santosha is Here and Now

As we all know, Thanksgiving is a holiday we’ve set aside as a culture to acknowledge our good fortune, and to remember to be grateful. It’s about stopping for a moment to remember our many blessings, big and small. Santosha, the second niyama, is the practice of cultivating contentment. Practicing contentment means we appreciate the blessings we already enjoy rather than wishing for something we think we lack. Santosha helps us recognize our inherent completeness, just as we are. Contentment leads to a quiet, satisfied mind, a mind that celebrates the perfection of each moment.

So, just to get things started, here are some things I’m grateful for, in advance, as Thanksgiving Day approaches:

• • Traditionally, I teach a yoga class on Thanksgiving morning. I’m grateful to get to start my day with my amazing yoga sangha, many of whom I’ve known for decades. They are truly a blessing.
• • I have the opportunity to get better acquainted with some new friends, and meet their family members we’ve only heard about.
• • I’ll get to spend most of the day at home with my sweet felines, who will be completely grateful for whatever food I give them.
• • Not being responsible for the Thanksgiving Day meal will allow me to take a long walk in my beautiful city.
• • Even though my sisters live far from me, and I won’t be able to spend face time with them on Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for their presence in my life and for the opportunity to catch up with them on the holiday.
• • I won’t have to drive my car all day.
• • I’ll have time for a long pranayama and sitting meditation practice, maybe two.
• • Like every day, unexpected things will happen. I’m grateful for my longstanding mindfulness practice that helps me to greet the unexpected with acceptance and even delight.

If yoga is truly a path of peace, gratitude for our lives as they are is one of the paving stones. I can’t manufacture magic on Thanksgiving, but I can recognize the magic that’s already there.

It’s a mystery how it happens, but, thanks to the poses that I do on my mat, I can feel a deeper sense of compassion for others and for myself. Why is that, I wonder?

When I press my palms against the mat in Downward Dog, I can feel compassion for my tight hamstrings and stiff shoulders.

Standing on one leg in Tree Pose, I can feel compassion for the back of my wobbling calf, my out-of-balance hips.

In Plank, I can feel compassion for my aching wrists and elbows.

And in Mountain Pose, I can feel compassion flow through the bloodstream and make its way into the world as I raise my arms to the sky and lean over into a Forward Bend.

The process of learning the different yoga poses–especially the more challenging poses–has taught me in unexpected ways how to soften my heart and allow myself to be who I am rather than push or strive to be someone else.

Often, this renewed sense of compassion comes in the form of a softer, gentler voice that whispers: “Relax,” or “Lighten up,” or “Stop being so hard on yourself.”

What I’ve discovered is that compassion lets you see yourself and others in the moment…and this vision gives you the ability to share, heart-to-heart, what’s deepest and true about yourself.

Compassion brings the whole world into sharper focus.

It lets you see the suffering and pain beneath the surface because, in some mysterious way, when you’re compassionate toward yourself, you can let go of your own suffering and pain and be fully in and part of the world around you.

It’s compassion that compels you to act in some way—to volunteer at your local food bank, to give a donation to the animal shelter, to help an immigrant learn to speak English—to relieve the suffering of the world.

It’s compassion that compels you to give a hug to the yogi practicing on the mat next to yours after he or she has just fallen out of a pose.

And it’s compassion that compels you to extend your arms in Downward Dog and soften your heart.

“If you want to be happy,” says the Dalai Lama, “practice compassion. And if you want others to be happy, practice compassion.”

Practice Journal: How do your yoga poses help you practice compassion? What happens on the mat that allows you to be compassionate? Why do you think practicing compassion might lead to happiness? Write: 15 min.

I’m not sure when I realized this, but yoga has helped me to overcome many fears—fear of being seen, speaking in front of groups, trying new things. Fear stopped me from moving ahead. I have used and can use my practice to move through just about anything. Insidious as it sounds, the benefits of a daily yoga practice have a way of sneaking up on you.

Of course, for humans, fear has kept us alive historically and presently. There are legitimate fears that teach us about survival: fear of moving objects, not having enough food and wild animals. Fear triggers the fight-or-flight response whether or not we find ourselves in a life-threatening situation. It is one of the causes of some of our stress-related habits and illnesses.

Patanjali explains in verse 1.12 of the Yoga Sutras, Abhyasavairagyabhyam tannirodhah. If we do the practice [any practice], we will be able to let go of the grip of things [i.e. fear] that stand in the way, and then we will move towards one-pointed focus (our goal=no fear).

So what practice can you do?

• • Asana, yoga postures: move a muscle, change a thought
  • Gratitude: each day think of three things you are grateful for
  • Smile even if you don’t feel it at first
  • Chant a soothing sound like “ah” or “om”
  • Talk to someone who cares
  • Take a walk
  • Write in a journal
  • Pranayama: try a cooling breath practice
  • Meditation
  • Breathe: take three deep breaths, count to ten
  • Spend time with positive people
  • Laugh: at yourself, movies, what ever you think is funny
  • Play: with animals, children, in the dirt
  • Create new things
  • Participate in a sport
  • Avoid people, substances and behaviors that don’t support you

Movement toward change is the aim. Each of these things can be made into a daily practice that can move you to a better place. Some of them are more easily achieved with the guidance of a trained professional. Are all of these yoga? No. Can we achieve a yogic state of mind, de-stress and start to let go of fear through them? Yes.

Tomorrow I have to meet a new group of 50 people for my new business, and I’m scared. This is probably why I chose this topic. My life has led me here and I am ready. I will do my practice, breathe, be prepared and take the plunge.

I’d love to hear stories of how you’ve overcome fear.

One of my clearest, most nostalgic memories from growing up is that of the excitement of Christmas morning. Our parents would round up my two sisters and me so that we could all converge on the living room simultaneously, run to our piles of presents, and ooooh and ahhhh in unison. The excitement of seeing my wishes granted, and the surprise of gifts I hadn’t asked for was just so much fun. That excitement sustained me through the day as we visited relatives and friends.

But the next day was always a different story. I can remember the hollow feeling that arose from knowing that the orgy of getting stuff was over. Life was back to its unexciting normal. I had a few more things, but inevitably, some of them would have already lost their sparkle. It wasn’t until much later that I began to understand that the joy my parents felt in giving was a far more sustaining feeling than the excitement of getting what I’d yearned for.

The Difference Between Heaven and Hell

A traditional Chinese parable tells the story of an old man who knows he will die soon. Worried about the afterlife, he seeks out the village wise man and asks him to tell him about heaven and hell. The wise man says, “Come, follow me.”

They walk down a long path until they come to a large dwelling. When they walk inside they find a huge dining room. In the center of the room is a long wooden table bearing a sumptuous buffet of unimaginable proportions—all the culinary delights anyone could possibly desire. Many frustrated and unhappy people ring the table. They have been given chopsticks that are twelve feet long and therefore are unable to feed themselves. The food remains untouched, the people hungry and dissatisfied. The old man says, “This must be hell.”

They walk down the path a bit further until they reach a similar large house. Inside they find the same beautiful buffet, same ring of people, same twelve-foot chopsticks. However, in this scenario there is much laughter and conviviality. The people here have learned to use the impossible utensils. “In heaven,” says the teacher, “people feed each other.”

Generosity Benefits the Giver and the Receiver

It is said that the Buddha told his monks, “If you knew, as I do, the power of generosity, you would never let a meal pass without sharing some of it.” In Asian spiritual traditions, the practice of dana, or generosity, is the foundation of spiritual life. Rather than beginning with rigorous meditation practices, seekers initially learn to practice more worldly disciplines, the first being the cultivation of generosity.

The Buddha spoke of the freedom of letting go. Our attachments to our material goods, relationships and beliefs keep us from seeing our own boundless nature. When we practice giving, we learn the happiness of letting go. It does not matter how great or small an act of generosity might be; in each instance we cultivate the habit of letting go. Each time we give we can appreciate the benefits to ourselves and others, which brings motivation to share again.

In her book, Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, Sharon Salzberg says that “giving brings happiness at every stage of its expression. We experience joy in forming the intention to be generous; we experience joy in the actual act of giving something; and we experience joy in remembering the fact that we have given.”

“A single act of giving has a value beyond what we can imagine,” says Salzberg. “So much of the spiritual path is expressed and realized in giving: love, compassion, sympathetic joy, equanimity.”

How to Practice Generosity

There are many creative ways to cultivate generosity in our lives. One way is to resolve to follow through every time we feel the impulse to give. In practicing this resolve I’ve found that I often hear almost instantly from the voices of my own lack. These voices remind me that I might someday need the object to be given, or that I can’t possibly afford to share. While it is wise to consider the magnitude of my generosity according to the resources available to me, when the impulse arises I always follow it in some way. I have never found myself lacking because I have given.

Here are some more ideas: Buy a gift or share a meal. Donate some of your possessions to a friend or to a charitable organization. Offer some of your time and energy, perhaps volunteering for a non-profit group or serving at a shelter. Be available to the people in your life. Make a phone call to a distant friend. Write an old-fashioned longhand letter. Next time a friend wants to tell you a story or ask your advice, really listen. An act of generosity does not have to be grandiose.

Then be generous with yourself. Allow yourself to celebrate the joy you have created in another’s life and in your own. There is a huge difference between the expansive feelings that accompany an act of giving and the constricted ones that accompany the habit of wanting or hoarding. Letting yourself feel the blessings of giving can be a great motivator for future acts of kindness.

Cultivating generosity is a practice. There are times when it will be easy and times when it will not be so easy. There are times when we give freely, and times when we give with reservation. But with practice, like any other quality we choose to develop, generosity can flow freely and naturally. It can be not just a quality we have, but who we are.