That immediately led me to the understanding that if I was going to savor the unsavory I would have to be thankful somehow for whatever came my way. I would have to embrace the artificially sweetened (but still valuable) “attitude of gratitude.” It was a bit of a revelation. What I was prepared for was taking time to really enjoy things, in the present moment. What I wasn’t prepared for was how much it would challenge underlying attitudes and assumptions. When the week was over, I came to some conclusions about how savoring can reach into every area of life. Here’s a little of what I learned about savory thankfulness (some of which may just spill over into life during weeks when I’m not explicitly challenging myself). This might seem like the most obvious. When things are good, it should be easy to savor them. In fact, that was not my experience. It took more effort to savor something I already appreciated than I would have imagined. Our office just moved from an old-fashioned downtown office building to a small, recycled building in a quasi-residential neighborhood, and now I can walk to work. I love it. On my new walk, it was easy to savor the air and the light coming through the bare branches of trees and to imagine the pleasure of slowly seeing the seasons change. A friend had been coaching me in Alexander technique, which is used by a lot of performers and teaches you to appreciate the feeling of your own body parts working in alignment, of inhabiting your body fully. It also taught me to walk with more spring in my step. All right! I am savoring this. It’s delicious. But then I started to notice just how focused I still was on getting there. The Carly Simon song Anticipation started going through my head. If I were driving, I would have pressed down on the accelerator, but when you’re walking and you push hard on the accelerator, you feel it. And that’s when the moment of joy came: in the sudden realization that the body is always in the present, no matter where my thoughts take me, and I can always return to that. That’s worth savoring. When we were married my wife and I joined a “crystal club” at a department store. That’s the kind of thing newlyweds did 35 years ago. We both had always admired crystal wine glasses, so we scrimped and saved until we had a complete set. One Saturday recently we came home from food shopping to discover the shattered remains of our crystal glasses scattered on the floor. The shelf holding them had collapsed. Only a few remained, as mementos. It hurt, but they’re only things. We can get real attached to things, but usually the pain passes after a little while and our resilience bounces us back. On the other hand, I find that some of the hassles we encounter getting through the day can actually have a greater impact on our psyche than we realize. We feel one of our most precious possessions is being stolen from us: our time. The other day, my bank made me come back three times to try to resolve a problem with my ATM card, and the last time I spent over an hour there while a manager was on the phone with someone from the head office in a faraway city. After four hours invested, the end result was “Your account is too old to allow that function.” What! I hate this bank. I hate all banks. This taps into some deep well of irritation with impersonal institutions. I can get right snappy, and a whole day can be ruined, and in the retelling I work myself up again. In the end, though, irritation with hassles is just that, irritation and impatience. In the grand scheme of things, the hassles amount to next to nothing. Bouncing back from hassles becomes easier when we snap out of the fixed notion that things are just supposed to go our way, and if we’re lucky enough, we can even start to let that chip on our shoulder fall off, so we’re not sniping at innocent tellers for just trying their best to do their job. (By the way, this doesn’t mean you stop advocating for bank reform, if that’s your cause. I’m not talking about being a jelly-hearted pushover.) The big challenge comes with the really hard stuff to bounce back from: ongoing pain and loss. The death of my father, my brother, my mother, the pains in various parts of my body that just won’t go away. These things do not respond to having a smiley face plastered on them. They want their due. They exact their toll. I find it hard to contemplate what to be thankful for on this score, what to savor. In a good moment, though, I can glimpse the fact that pain, whether physical or emotional, is something that lets us know we are alive. And as we try to manage it as best we can, we are humbled, we are vulnerable, we seek help. We find a way. We bounce back. And, as we savor the equanimity, we learn to take the good and the bad—whichever is emerging right now. In my own hometown and when I’m travelling, I try as much as possible to use public transportation. It’s a good way to feel connected to other people, and when you’re above ground it’s a good way to see a place. But I will be the first to admit that throughout my life I have not been good at waiting. I can’t tell you how many times I have thought, “This bus is never coming; I should call someone to pick me up.” And then they came up with apps you can check and screens that tell you exactly when the next one is coming. I am an avid user. I wish there was an app to tell me when I’m going to get done cleaning the kitchen, cause it’s starting to bore me. I’ve come to realize, though, that when I’m waiting or doing something mundane like washing dishes, I am quite simply trying to avoid being bored, having nothing in particular to occupy my mind and afraid somehow that something is going to bubble up from in there to make me unsettled. It’s extremely typical in meditation: you end up waiting for the session to end and trying to calculate how soon that’s going to come because you’re having trouble handling the boredom. So, savor the boredom? Why? Because, as we all keep discovering time and time again in meditation (eventually we will learn, I guess), we don’t really need to keep ourselves occupied with a lot of extra thoughts. It’s peaceful to take a break from that. My savoring challenge helped me learn (once again) to savor the freedom from the need to entertain myself every minute of the day. I can just let my mind be. Sometimes things just get totally out of hand. One fall weekend some friends were visiting and the weather reports were saying that a hurricane was going to come through. I said to them, “Don’t worry, they always say that, but hurricanes don’t really come this far north with any real force.” We woke up the next morning to find three-story-high trees uprooted, power lines down, water everywhere… And once I could make my way out of my neighborhood, after a day or two, I went to check on my office. The hurricane had ripped the roof off the building where my top-floor office was. As I gazed through the former ceiling at the sky, I looked at a dripping wet computer and a collection of waterlogged books, carpets, and furniture. All my work was now to be disrupted for months of recovery. When things go haywire, the same tendency we have with hassles—to indulge in some “why me?” time—can easily take over. But, I’m starting to really appreciate the antidote that a meditation teacher friend of mine told me about: just say “Why not me?” And then you can have a good laugh at the absurdity of trying so hard to keep it together in a world that is beyond your control. Have a chuckle or a nice deep belly laugh about that. And, naturally… Savor it. My work, like so many people’s work, involves creating one thing after another after another. It’s unending. You’re in the middle of one thing and you can’t help but think about the next thing that’s looming (there’s that anticipation thing again). It works this way with just about anything from building a bridge to cleaning house. It’s so easy when one thing is finished to immediately plow into the next thing, or to just collapse in exhaustion. So, in my work, when a piece of writing is finished, when an issue is finished, when a book sees the light of day, I always make sure to have a moment to pause, to celebrate with teammates and friends and family, to raise a toast, to wear the laurel wreathe, to take in the accolades—just for a little while—and then move on, not dwelling there. A next thing will come along, but that pause to refresh ensures that your work doesn’t simply become one damn thing after another. I have twin granddaughters who are seven years old and live far away, and one of our favorite topics of conversation—during the precious times I have an opportunity to visit them—is their friends. They each can easily name three friends from their class, with relish. It’s such a delight to watch how children make friends. They sort of sniff each other out and start tentatively to do a little something together and then before too long they want to spend every day together. Few things are more poignant than that moment when one child asks another, “Do you want to be my friend?” Neuroscientists in recent years have been talking about something called “brain coupling,” whereby two people become so in sync while communicating with each other that they are like one brain. I’m sure we have all felt that with a friend. The sheer joy of a shared laugh. The moments of listening when you need to be heard. The shoulder to cry on. Someone to share ups and downs, without caring which it is. I’m blessed with friends all over the world, people I can connect with within minutes no matter how long it’s been. Other human beings…what’s not to savor? As wonderful as friends and companions and lovers can be, in some sense, no one can really know what goes on in your mind, who you are, and how you are. You can tell them. You can leave hints. They can intuit. But complete knowledge of our inner workings is just something that is off limits to others. And that can make us very lonely sometimes. No one gets me. No one feels what I feel. No one is in here with me. We all know how scary that can be, and when lonesome gives way to deeply lonely, and when that gives way to cut off and disengaged, we have real problems, which is why in the UK they recently created a minister for loneliness: to address the problem of people, often elderly people, becoming cut off and disengaged. We need community to live (see companionship above). And yet, in the right doses, being by ourselves can be deeply restorative. It can help us discover a deep reservoir of contentment that does not need to be chased after. We can find a vast inner space where we are free from the need to talk, where poetry and creativity and compassion come from. It’s a place where the emotion of awe resides. That kind of space—a space of awe and wonder and simplicity—is well worth savoring. It may be the most savory treat of all. Barry Boyce is Editor-in-Chief of Mindful and Mindful.org. He is also editor of and contributor to The Mindfulness Revolution: Leading Psychologists, Scientists, Artists, and Meditation Teachers on the Power of Mindfulness in Daily Life. He is presenting a program called “Savor the Moment with Mindfulness” March 16-18 at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health, together with Mirabai Bush, Sebene Selassie, and Malaika Tabors.
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Elaine Smookler December 20, 2022
Barry Boyce November 1, 2018
