Nathan Peterson

This Is Practice

There is a space between worrying and not worrying. We have a choice.

When we’re worrying, it doesn’t feel like we have a choice. “I’m worried” — it feels like something that happens to us, something which we’re helpless to control.

And it’s true. We are helpless when it comes to the things we worry about: happenings, outcomes — these are the waves at the surface of the ocean.

Controlling the waves is a waste of our energy. But we try.

We can arrange our lives around trying to control life’s outcomes — many of us do — but the fact is that any one of us could be in a car accident or be given tragic news tomorrow. Like it or not, it’s the reality of life. Life’s outcomes are not under our control.

Not knowing what is coming and not being able to control what happens is not a comfortable feeling. If we come to terms with the fact that we can’t control reality, we often then get to work trying to control our feelings about reality. “If I can’t control the world, at least I can control myself,” we say, and we spend more energy trying to control more waves — more realities of life that are infinitely beyond our ability to control, much less understand.

The most obvious problem with this wave-controlling approach is that it wastes our life. We have a finite amount of days, and each day we’re given a finite amount of energy to invest. Trying to change the realities of life is a poor investment of our life — not because things shouldn’t be changed, but because we are not the ones who are able to change them.

It doesn’t help that our world is set up to capitalize on our compulsion to control and to avoid the discomfort of feeling out of control. Paradoxically, the solutions we’re sold for this problem (tools and devices meant to help us feel in control, but which actually control us through the calculated release of dopamine in our system) deepen the problem by distracting us from the real solution, which is right in front of us...

We know we shouldn’t worry. We know our 80-year-old self would tell us that. We know that worry takes us away from our loved ones, from our best work, from ourselves... but we feel we have no choice. It just... happens. We are worried. It doesn’t feel like a choice. But it is.

It’s hard to see worry as a choice because we miss an incredibly small, almost invisible reality of life — one that comes up a million times a day, yet few of us ever notice: the space between stimulus and response.

The stimulus is different for each of us and different for each moment, but that’s the beauty of it: Life is giving us a million chances to practice and grow in this regard every day.

Examples of stimulus could be a large unexpected bill, an offensive comment from a spouse, an uncomfortable memory, or countless other things. It could be anything – it could be a leaf blowing across the ground. But we know the stimulus when it happens, because the next thing we know, we’re worrying. “There it is, it happened again.” And we may go off-grid for 15 minutes, an hour, or a week, trying to work that thing out in our head — trying to resolve it, change it, or at least to stop feeling so worried about it.

In our attempt not to worry, we end up worrying about worrying. Great. It feels never-ending, because it is never-ending. That path leads in circles. It can be 15 minutes or 15 years — because the path lasts as long as we choose to walk it, and it ends when we choose not to take another step.

There is a space between stimulus (the leaf across the ground) and response (worry). This space looks invisibly small, but it is infinite.

If we slow down enough, we can see it. And this is the beginning of finding our ability to choose something new.

Next time you see the leaf blow across the ground, also see the space. Life is showing you the way, through that leaf you wish wasn’t there. If you don’t see it this time, it will send another opportunity in a moment. Because Life isn’t concerned about what’s happening at the surface of the ocean the way you are.

See the space. Notice it. Use the stimulus — that comment from your spouse, that unexpected bill, that uncomfortable memory — to practice.

You can say it to yourself, a thousand times each day:

This is practice.

You see the leaf... look for the space.

There is a space between worrying and not worrying. Once we find it, we recover our ability to choose.

In this space, there is a much better and more fitting choice for us to make than worry. It is trust.

We can transform our life from the inside out — from a life of worry to a life of trust.

Life itself is leading us into this transformation. Persistently. Patiently. Lovingly.

It starts with slowing down. A countercultural move, so expect a lot of resistance. But you can choose. Slow down. That’s the first choice.

The next choice: notice. Instead of reacting, we can choose to wonder. To see. That’s when the infinite space — which has always been there but has not been visible to us — becomes visible... and accessible.

And from this space, what was once an automatic, programmed reaction becomes a conscious choice. We can choose to worry. But now we see that we can also choose to trust.

That one choice can turn into many — a practice of trust. We can call it faith. A faith that can move mountains. It transforms us. And it can transform our world.