My general reaction to those little life lessons, the AFOGs, has not been delight. Instead, I’ve often felt affronted or like I’ve messed up or failed.

I’m starting to see how to meet those lessons a little differently, though: with joy. Which means I have to laugh at myself, and at the ancient, cement-like, internal structures that feel like they kept me safe…and are no longer useful.

Which isn’t easy, but is at least more and more possible. Because no matter how hard the lesson – no matter how painful those knocks on the nose – when there’s joy instead of offense and ease instead of despair, it feels like the opposite of failure. It feels like freedom.

It feels supportive to share about what we’ve read or come to understand about kindness and connection. I’m as guilty as the next person of doing that – probably more guilty. Just ask me – I’m happy to share.

But the real wisdom is in walking the walk. If I’m talking about how we belong to one another but in my next move, I’m in a “we/they” conversation, how is that helpful? If I’m not only acknowledging but embracing everyone, things can shift.

This kind of mindfulness “on the ground” feels aspirational. It also might be our only way out of the mess we’ve created.

Creating happiness when so much seems to be crumbling before our very eyes – sometimes that feels like a challenge. But what works for me is the moment-to-moment feedback loop.

When I speak and act with goodness, even in conflictual or adversarial moments, the goodness makes me feel happier. Not happier because I’ve given something up – I’m not doing that – I’m standing my ground – but happier because I’m standing my ground with generosity or curiosity.

When I forget to do that – when hatred or greed gets the better of me, which is definitely not never – it feels pretty terrible. When I remember, there really is happiness. It’s something to check out, this personal feedback loop. And see if it works for you, too. See if it brings you a little moment-to-moment happiness in this crazy world.

Here I am, again, my heart all bound up in some petty dispute. For the millionth time, I see, and feel, tightness, closed-up-ness: this old heart trying to protect itself. It takes so much effort. It feels like I’m shoving an old bureau in front of its door.

But seeing is understanding. Only when I summon the courage to see that the door is closed, the mouth is set, the eyes are no longer soft or loving – only then can I let go. So, in a way, seeing is not only understanding. Seeing is also healing.

Sometimes I feel like we take for granted the privilege we have as lawyers, law professors, judges, and mediators. Or that we’re not worthy of our power. Or that I’m not.

Because what is privilege if we forget that we’re all in this together, and that everything we say and do, matters? And what is power unless we use it to clarify our minds? Or access, if we don’t remember to first, access our own hearts?

The more attentive I am, especially to this mind running amuck, the more stable I feel. If I’m off on my latest adventure, surfing for that pair of shoes I just have to have or baking those cookies I just have to eat, there’s so much tug and pull. If I can catch those impulses before they take over, I still might buy the shoes. But at least I don’t feel so consumed.

The mindfulness metaphor is that of a mountain. The invitation is to stop chasing our tails – the gentlest possible way of naming what we’re seeing on the world stage – and instead, sit still, in silence, like a mountain.

When I remember to do that for even a few minutes, I feel the difference. The agitation settles. I feel grounded. There’s a measure of peace.

Even though peace might feel like a rare commodity these days, it’s actually right here, under our noses, if only we can remember.

I can take a stand on just about anything. It’s not just that I’m trained to argue. It’s also that as a human, I have preferences. And they don’t necessarily match what the world offers up.

So I’m as guilty of quarreling as the next person. As guilty of holding fast to my position, wanting to be right, wanting to win, as anyone.

Until I remember my fate. Which is the same as yours. Which is the same as everyone’s. Which is to be here, but just for a minute.

When I remember that, I remember that quarreling is a terrible idea. I can still care passionately. I can still work as hard as I possibly can for justice and the rule of law, and make the best possible arguments, and win. But I can do it without quarreling. I can do it by practicing peace. I feel like we all can, if we only remember our fate.

The problem with blame is that it cuts into the heart. When I blame someone, I can feel it like a knife, cutting me as much as it cuts them. Blame sets the scene for conflict, and there’s already so much conflict.

But when thoughts of blame arise, I also notice that it’s also possible to let them go. And when I remember to do that, it’s possible to see underneath, and to realize that these thoughts only arise because of how much I care.

I blame my partner or a friend or one of the kids, and underneath it’s just care – caring about them, about how they’re doing, sometimes about myself. I blame the current administration, and underneath is how much I care about the rule of law, and my country.

From a mindfulness perspective, letting go of blame creates more room for love. That feels true for me. What about for you?

I hope you’re staying safe. I hope you’re making room for love.

♥️♥️