The Wake Up Call for Lawyers: Recent Episodes

Judi Cohen

Mindfulness for the Legal Mind: a 10-minute talk plus 10 minutes of guided meditation. A brief refuge. The musings of a long-time lawyer, law professor, and mindfulness geek on lawyering from a mindful perspective. Tools to cultivate more joy, ease, and wellbeing in this crazy profession. Ideas to become even better at what you do, and save the world. A few minutes of peace every week, which you definitely deserve.

Sometimes I think, geez, I’ve done enough work. I don’t need to make any more changes. Been there, done that.

And then I bump up against heartache or soreness in my body or anger or a pain in the tutu, as we say in our house. And my reflexive “no!” is right there, and I’m paddling away from the present moment as fast as I can.

But then at some point, if I’m lucky, I remember: stop paddling! “No” isn’t a response to what is. It’s a response to the world – that and taking action – but to what’s happening right here, right now, “right now it’s like this” is the better response. Peace is the better response. Which takes practice. So. Much. Practice.

Which means I have so much left to change. Which reminds me of Mary Oliver – and I’m editorializing The Summer Day, a beloved classic, so forgive me – when she says, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

There are times when I say something harsh or in anger. This feels hard to face and even harder to write, but it’s true – and maybe for you, too. For me there’s relief in facing and naming it.

The consequences are also hard to face: the harm I’ve caused, and its boomerang effect. I don’t mean in some cosmic way, but right in that moment: the impatience that results in impatience, the scorn that flashes right back to me. Do you know what I mean?

So I’m learning the consequences of anger and harsh words. And not only that those consequences are big, and wide, and something we see in the world, but also something we want to avoid moment by moment. Which we can, by practicing kindness instead. Which might feel like a tall order right now, but not so tall that we can’t see over to the other side, where there’s the possibility of peace.

There’s such a temptation to treat mindfulness practice as something that’s getting me somewhere. But whenever I do that, I fall short.

Sure, after all these years, I’m a little less reactive and a little happier. My set point has moved, a bit.

But the distance I’ve come in 30+ years is hilariously short compared to the distance to go. Which is why it’s more peaceful, and useful, to remember that we’re not trying to get anywhere with our practice, and that it’s all about seeing that right now it’s like this.

Right now I’m furious. Right now I’m exhausted. Right now I’m in love. Right now I’m back in the fight. It’s a shift into peace, so we can win the battles and ultimately, the war.

I feel like most of us are trying to be good people: kind, caring, well-disposed towards others. So why doesn’t it turn out that way? Why don’t we have the power to simply be like that all the time?

The problem may be with our mischievous minds. I don’t know about yours, but my mind is easily seduced by gossip, criticism, complaint, and a whole bunch of other nonsense.

Is this just negativity bias? If so, is there positivity bias? If so, how do we cultivate that? This is what I’m trying to do: notice the mischievous thoughts. Drop them like a hot coal so they don’t combust. Remember we’re all in this together and that our one job is to take care of one another.

Try it and see what happens. See if your mind lets go of its negativity bias if you have one, and begins to create a positivity bias. You might have more power than you think.

I’m great at philosophizing and offering advice about how to be kinder, more compassionate, even wiser. But who am I fooling? My philosophy is theoretical, and honestly, on those topics, what’s anyone’s advice worth?

Not much, because no one really wants to follow anyone else’s advice. But we all want to follow examples, especially the examples of people who know what to say, and do, and how, when someone is hurting, or scared, or hungry. Or at least I do.

In the end I feel like it’s not complicated. There are plenty of people to learn from, once I stop fooling myself. And it’s simple to follow their example because usually it’s just one kind word or one loving action. Which is worth all the foolery in the world.

Faith is an old-fashioned word. Maybe its most well-known meaning is religious. But true faith predates religion. Ancient humans had faith in the earth, the animals, the stars.

I don’t know much about that kind of faith, but I do know one thing: that I have faith in my own heart and mind, and in yours. I have faith in our ability to love, and to care, and to see, moment by moment, that we’re all just here for a moment, and that we’re all in this together – whatever is happening, and there’s a lot. And I guess I know one more thing: the power of that kind of faith to inspire – quietly, stealthily – and to move friends and family onto more stable, peaceful, ground.

So this Saturday, this Fourth of July – and I’d say especially this one – here’s an invitation: bring your love. Bring your wisdom. Bring your barbeque, too, but bring your love and wisdom. Inspire your community, just by your presence.

Happy Fourth!

It’s astonishingly easy for me to lie. “I didn’t say that, I didn’t mean that, you misunderstood.” “I’m sorry you feel that way,” instead of, “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.”

I admire people who are honest about their impact and can say, through embarrassment and even shame, “It’s my fault. I see how that hurt you. I’m sorry. How can I make things right?” I admire myself when I’m honest like that, too.

Even more than admiration, though, when I’m honest, apologize, and repair, there’s freedom. The heart opens and the mind quiets. Change becomes more possible, personally, interpersonally, and on bigger levels as well: systemically, even politically.

It’s our national birthday next week. What if we commit to moving forward into the next quarter millennium with honesty, courage, and a commitment to healing and repair?

The fool can beloved or not. Beloved fools are open-hearted and cultivate “don’t know” mind. Not-so-beloved fools think they know something, or know better, or are better.

What I can see, so far, is that takes courage and fortitude to watch closely enough, over a long enough period of time (maybe a lifetime?), to see when foolishness is taking a beloved form, and when not. And to be humble when “not.” Which in my own investigation is not as infrequently as I’d like.

Have you done this yet? If not, that’s today’s invitation. Take a look, now and for as long as you can. Playfully and joyfully, but also with diligence. See what you see. See when your own fool is beloved and when not. Decide what to shift. Have fun with it. See how it goes.

It’s one thing to practice and study mindfulness. It’s a great thing. It’s another to act accordingly.

What happens when you’re in the courtroom or conference room or family room? Does your heart stay open, or clamp shut? Is your mind filled with hate, or love?

When my heart is shut or my mind is filled (or even tinged) with hate, sadly, I act accordingly. When my heart is open and my mind is filled with love, or even tipped in that direction, I tend to act according to that.

In the end, and in these times especially, it’s why I study and practice: to be able to see, as clearly as possible, which way this heart and mind are leaning. And to have the tools, and the fortitude, and the courage, to course-correct to love.

It’s not like we don’t know we’re supposed to do that. It’s not like I don’t know. But it so much easier, maybe even reflexive, to notice the faults of others.

To be fair, it’s also part of legal training: to look for the faults, or the fault lines. To always be on the lookout for what could go wrong, what could blow up, and who could be blamed. What a training.

But only a training. Another training is to look at myself – for all of us to look at ourselves, and see what we’ve done or left undone. And then to care enough to reverse any harm. And then ask how we can help.

I’m thinking about leadership and what’s needed now. Overlooking the faults of others and asking how we can help, feels like a starting point.

I notice that far too often, I let my mind run wild. I don’t mean I’m completely undisciplined – I have a meditation practice and you probably do, too. So we’re not completely undisciplined. But I don’t know about you: when I look at the news, my mind tends to run wild.

Looking more closely, though, I realize it’s not so much mind running wild, as heart running scared. I see or hear something, and my heart automatically runs. Or contracts. And the mind follows, and the wildness starts.

But wildness isn’t a forgone conclusion. When I can stay with my scared, contracted heart, and gently invite it to open, I see what’s really happening: I’m so sad, because of how much I care. And then, everything can change: the heart can soften, the mind has more choices, and wisdom might even arise. And sometimes not only wisdom, but love.

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.

♥️♥️

Sometimes I don’t realize how powerful my state of mind is. I walk into the house or a meeting with something “on my mind,” and whatever that is, constructs my experience. I have no inherent animosity towards the person in the room, but because of a recent, frustrating, call, for example, frustration infuses the next conversation and can even become its whole form.

If I’m someone with long-term, unskillful, habits of mind (and maybe we all are to a certain extent), those unskillful habits can form a kind of pattern of, say, walking into most rooms with frustration, aggression, disdain, or hate.

Mindfulness disrupts habit energy. When I pay attention to what I’m walking in with, I get to choose whether to bring it along or not. I’d like to think there’s very little mindfulness, and therefore very little choice, happening among most world leaders right now. I realize that’s a kind of benefit-of-the-doubt perspective that not everyone feels is appropriate, and I understand. But as usual, I just can’t help but believe that if true choice was happening, the world would look very different.

Thanks for reading. Stay safe out there.

♥️♥️

I love mindfulness, partly for its promise of liberation, but also for the ways it helps me on a very practical level, to navigate through life. The lists and aspirations are a huge support, and a kind of blessing, especially right now.

There’s another way to explore mindfulness, though, and that’s through a poetic lens. That lens isn’t more or less supportive, or more or less of a blessing. It’s just a different way of looking. The poetry I’m most interested in is the Dhammapada, a collection of verses that offers all of the teachings in 26 chapters.

I guess what I’m also saying is that right now, poetry feels like a refuge. Please join me on the Wake Up Call if it’s like that for you, too, or if you’re simply looking for refuge. Or stay tuned here, for some snippets.

And stay safe out there.

Seems like setting an intention to be kind and to not cause harm would be a simple thing. But then look at the world, and all of the devastating consequences that happen even when the responsible person claims their intentions were good.

What if we paid attention to intention at the beginning, middle, and end? Meaning, before we spoke or acted, while that was happening, and later? And if we discovered that we’d caused harm, what if we apologized and made amends?

It might not be easy (at least for me). But it’s a formula for powerful change. And it sure feels like we could use some change right now.

Happy Women’s History Month. The theme this year is, Leading the Change: Women Shaping a Sustainable Future. I’m in if you are.

Wishing you safety, wellbeing, peace, and change

It’s funny the way we toss around our points of view, as if we’re entitled to any which one. Or at least we feel like we are. It’s a free country, right?

But wouldn’t it be better if we were more deliberate? And chose a point of view that included caring about everyone, and all the critters, and also the planet? And also took into account that whether or not we adopt a wise, compassionate, point of view, is largely in our hands? And has consequences?

Because it does. Our point of view matters because it’s our rudder. It determines which way we’ll turn when the times get tough. Which they have. So don’t we want a point of view that always, or as often as possible, points us in the direction of safety for everyone on this small, watery, boat we call earth?

♥️♥️

Sometimes I wonder if “wise livelihood” is possible in the law. Can we support ourselves and our organizations and not deal in intoxicants, poisons, weapons, or humans…given the many nuanced interpretations of those words? Including the ways we might, from some perspective we can’t quite see, inadvertently be dealing in one of those ways?

And can we ever completely do no harm, in our adversary system? In our divided country? Our impacted world?

Maybe. And then I wonder, what if no one does that perfectly, but everyone stays committed? That alone feels like a huge deal. A win. One that could, maybe, turn the tide. And if it doesn’t, then at least at the end we’ll be able to say, “I pointed my work; pointed my heart and mind, towards wisdom.” Which is, by itself, a great thing.

Happy Lunar New Year. Ramadan Mubarak. Have a reflective Lent. ♥️♥️

The mind isn’t naturally cloudy. It’s naturally clear and luminous. If you’re in the habit of watching a sunset or looking into the faces of children or elders or the mirror, you probably already know: luminosity is right there, right here.

But if you look in the mirror and don’t see your own luminous mind – and heart - they’re all one system – maybe the clouds have rolled in. And in that case, maybe, just for a moment or hour or day or week, clear the sky, and protect your beautiful mind. Take a break from news media and social media. Choose a tall glass of soda water with lime, or a hot cup of tea. Watch that sun set, or watch the sun rise if you’re an early bird like me. Watch Ken Burns’ American Revolution (not a paid post, but it’s so inspiring).

There’s wisdom not in turning away permanently – we have work to do! – but in taking a break. I’m taking a week off to welcome the 2026 class of the Mindfulness in Law Teacher Training to our first Intensive (!!), so the Wake Up Call will be dark next week.

Happy Valentine’s Day. While you’re out buying chocolates, think about giving yourself a little love, too by giving your luminous mind a break.

♥️♥️

There are so many subtle and not-subtle ways to disrespect other people. When I do it, I can feel the boomerang effect of disrespect. It creates a field. I feel like we’re seeing that play out in Minnesota, in Washington, in the world. It’s a terrible thing.

There’s only one way I know to be truly respectful: see everyone, including myself, as worthy of my patience, generosity, and love. Listen. Care. When I practice those qualities, I feel positive reverberations. And who knows how far out they flow?

And yes, there are people I want to leave out of that flow. I want to, but I feel like it would be better not to. I feel like it would be better to find a way to see them as worthy, too, all evidence to the contrary. Because what if no one has ever done that - seen them as worthy? What kind of pain are they carrying? And isn’t that what they’re sharing, and what we’re seeing play out? Which is also a terrible thing.

Honestly, I feel like we have some real power, still, as lawyers and judges and law students and law professors. The power to stand our ground, protect our democracy, stand up for the rule of law. So the question on my mind is, will we use that power? And the other question is, how?

I have enough. Sometimes I have to remind myself, but it is a fact. It’s not in question. There’s no world – at least in this moment – where my family goes hungry or sleeps on the street. How about you and yours?

There is enough, for everyone, if only we can be generous and compassionate. I feel like that’s also a fact. But sometimes it’s hard for me to remember when so many aren’t getting their share, or any share, right now. How can we remember there is enough, and help make that a reality?

And I am enough. Whatever I have to give, however much love I have to offer right now, is enough. It has to be, because it’s what I’ve got. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have more, or less, and that, too, will have to be enough. How do we remember that we are enough?

♥️♥️

I’m looking around. And it looks to me like there’s just so much harm. Not only our government, but also the ways it’s easy to mimic what’s happening on the national level, even when we don’t mean to: forgetting how much harm we can cause by not offering kindness to everyone (or by forgetting what “everyone” means).

What about looking for ways to not cause harm? And every time we see them, not only not causing harm, but doing something kind? Including for ourselves: what about looking for ways to do kind things for ourselves (which for me, anyway, feels easier when I’m not harming others)?

Because if not now, when? ♥️♥️

Happy New Year. I wasn’t sad to say goodbye to 2025, but I’d say 2026 isn’t starting off with any fewer challenges.

Challenges or no challenges, though, we can set our personal tone. How about 2026 for a tone of kindness? What if we commit to talk, write, and post, one-on-one or to our ten million followers (or 460, in my case), without causing harm, or lying, or being unkind?

I don’t know what if – what happens if we do that. But let’s try it. It won’t be too hard because probably most of us are being kind already. For those who are, and also for those who aren’t, may you be safe in 2026. May 2026 be a year of kindness and safety and ease for all.

Hopefully there will be small moments of peace as we enter the winter solstice in the global north, at the end of a challenging year. It will be dark…but there’s darkness everywhere. And there’s also light.

Which is the invitation of mindfulness: to be that light. The question is, how? How to be the light, for others and for ourselves?

In the stillness of the solstice - in the silence of the heart - we have the answer. Trust yours. Take things gently as the skies darken, or lighten. Be kind, including (especially) to yourself, whenever possible. Remember, the Dalai Lama says that’s always possible.

I wish you ease and wellbeing as we close 2025 and step into 2026. I’ll be off until January 8th, so see you then. Stay safe out there. Love you all.

Here we are in the heart of the holidays, and there’s also so much else going on. For me it’s crucial not to rely on finding moments of calm, but instead to remember to create them.

We all probably do that when we can by settling into the couch with a good cup of whatever. Which is beautiful. But what about also cultivating a state of mind that’s not couch-dependent?

One way to do that is with a little concentration. Not the focused, bearing-down type that we use at work, but concentration as in relaxation: just breathing, gently, with ease and with love.

With that kind of concentration, stress evaporates, at least for the moment. There’s just presence, stillness, and rest. There’s nothing sweeter than a nice comfy couch but when one just isn’t available – like when we’re in a courtroom or Zoom room or train – the breath and gentleness and ease and love always are.

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If mindfulness begins with training our attention, what’s the recipe for its other components, courage and grace?

For me, it begins with stillness. I get quiet and sometimes lovingkindness shows up. But sometimes what appears is a parade of horribles: anger, jealousy, greed, and their buddies. And all I can do is cringe.

When that happens and I can stay put, it’s because of courage: that moment of feeling cringy, knowing I’m feeling cringy, and looking anyway. And staying with whatever the cringy thing is (anger, fear, sorrow) – dying to it, as Pema Chodron instructs. And in doing that, reinforcing and strengthening courage. And over time and with practice, porting that courage into the larger, tumultuous moment.

That’s courage, and then there’s the attitude I’m trying to do all of that with, which is grace. Which is maybe just another name for love. Which means here’s my recipe, for right now: sit, look, cringe, keep looking anyway, love, repeat.

It’s almost Thanksgiving in the U.S. so we’re supposed to be practicing gratitude. want to be doing that all the time, but it doesn’t always work out that way. Do you know what I mean?

The world is just in a difficult place, and the trickle-down effect is pretty powerful. But even so, what if we take this one week, and turn it into a practice?

And what if the practice was asking the question, over and over, all day long, what can I be grateful for in this person, right now? And in this person, and this one? And what if we forbade ourselves from answering, “nothing.” What would we find? What could we shift?

I’m going to try it and see. Will you join me?

I’ll be off next Thursday for the holiday. See you on December 4th. Wishing you a safe and joyful Thanksgiving. 🦃🦃

The thing about mindfulness practice is the benefits. I mean, that’s not the only thing - it’s not a benefit-driven endeavor. Hopefully there’s a little altruism mixed in.

But the benefits are big. First, there’s the calm that arises when the body is still and the mind is quiet. That’s worth all the effort in the world, and it’s portable, too: I notice I can take it with me into my day, which is good for me, and good for everyone else, too.

The other benefit is the insight. Insight into the way it’s not easy, this being human. Insight into how to hold things lightly, since everything is coming and going anyway, slipping through our fingers, and we’re all just here for a moment. And insight into how connected we are, even if we forget - how we breathe from the same air, drink from the same rainfall, live and love dependent, and depending, on one another.

All of which begs the same question as always: how to love one another just a little bit better, each day.

Congratulations to Tuesday’s election winners. For me it was a practice moment: feeling joy and hope, and not turning those into something else with regard to the losers.

Which is a practice I can’t do without my basic, present moment attention practice. Which always begs the question of how to cultivate that. If mindfulness is present moment attention, courage, and grace, how do we cultivate the first one?

It’s simple (and not easy): we give ourselves time for stillness. To me this is mostly like giving myself a treat every day. Mostly but not every time, because sometimes I struggle. I eye my meditation cushion warily, as if it’s dragging me away from the fun.

But actually, sitting down anyway is always the right choice for me. Even if I set my timer for just five minutes, I feel relief. Why? I’m not forgoing my practice, for one – commitment kept. I’m continuing to re-wire my brain to stay in the present moment, where the science says happiness lies – and who can’t use a little more happiness right now, even after Tuesday? And, I’m being kind to myself, which makes me kinder to others, including…everyone, which to me is worth all the rest.

We know the practice: present moment awareness. But how do we practice when things are so rough and torn?

First, with love. The invitation, moment by moment, is, can I bring not only awareness, but also love?

Second, with courage. Because no matter how much love we bring, this mind, this body, this world, will present challenges. It’s nothing personal - it’s just the way things work. So, courage.

And third, with grace. When I googled grace, I got three things: simple elegance, courteous goodwill, and doing honor by one’s presence. I like all three, for all of us, moment by moment by moment.

Also, Happy Halloween!

Now that everyone and everything is mindful (except the federal government), is mindfulness diluted? I was starting to wonder so I’m digging into the question, starting with, “What is mindfulness, or ‘wise mindfulness’?” which is the next step on the path.

From 10,000 feet, to me mindfulness is looking in and looking up. Looking in, by practicing stillness, examining our fabulous minds and hearts, and then training them to focus and be loving and connect.

And it’s also looking in and up, by (1) stopping throughout the day, (2) taking a breath, (3) noticing our thoughts & feelings plus what we, and everyone else, seems to need, (4) considering how to get those needs met without causing harm, and then (5) changing our minds, if necessary, to do that.

Does that make sense? Of course mindfulness is much more, too. Join me on the Wake Up Call….

When I look out at the human landscape right now, it feels like joy is in short supply. Sometimes it’s present, but plenty of moments cry out for an infusion of joy.

The first step, or one of the first, on the mindfulness path, is “wise effort.” In the past I’ve taken “wise” to mean the diligence to develop practices like paying attention, caring, and peace.

I still think that, but I also think attitude matters. If I’m making diligent effort with a joyful heart/mind, joy gets infused into the moment. If my diligent effort is laced with resignation or resistance, those get infused.

The great news is, we get to choose our states of mind. So why not choose joy, and then put diligent, joyful energy into practice? When I remember to do that, practice is more fun, plus joy follows me into the day. I wonder what would happen if we could all remember to do that, even a little bit more?

♥️♥️

We’re all on one path or another. Sometimes it’s the path of least resistance. Sometimes it’s the yellow brick road. Sometimes, to slightly misquote Robert Frost, it’s the path least traveled.

For me the point is, to choose. Which is what mindfulness is all about. Stop, take a breath, observe what’s happening, and then choose the path. And crucially, ask before choosing, “Where will this lead?”

Will it lead to connection and kindness, even if it must also lead to the win? Or will it lead to pain and sorrow? If I go left versus right or right versus left, am I bringing love into the mix, or hate? Generosity, or greed? Clarity, or confusion? As Pema Chodron invites us to ask, am I practicing peace or am I going to war?

Good yontif you’re celebrating Yom Kippur. And to everyone, what is your day about today? What’s your intention for the day? And are you experiencing suffering?

Not, are you experiencing pain and sorrow? We are all experiencing that, if we’re paying attention, given the world. But are you experiencing the suffering that happens when we clench our fist or grasp for something to be other than it is, or rail at the world - are you experiencing that? If so, then letting go is the classical answer to the question of how to stop suffering on a personal level. But how do we let go when there’s so much at stake?

If we mean letting go of caring, we can’t. And we never should. We should care, always, and act as well, in all the ways that we can.

If we mean letting go of wishing the moment or friend or lover or leader or world, was different, we can. It can be hard, for me at least, because it means unclenching my fist, my jaw, my mind. I can come up with so many reasons why not to do that.

But if I let go of those reasons, too, and open my hand anyway, and place it on my heart, and say to myself, this moment is like this, then I can do it. And then I can get to work.

This moment is like this, I care, we all do. There is work to do, that is always, and we need to roll up our sleeves, now more than ever, and do it. And always as well, this moment is like this.

What causes suffering? An ancient question with an ancient answer, and surprisingly, it’s not the hard things in life. It’s the way we think about them.

It’s not the ridiculous amount of work on my plate or the unfair judge that causes suffering. It’s not the impossible partner or the associate who’s always late. It’s not even the scary diagnosis, or the fact that we’ll all get a scary diagnosis some day.

It’s the way we push back, internally, against it all – or the way I do, anyway. The way the mind relates to difficulty as if it shouldn’t be happening. Or the way, when something is good, I want more, or I want the other good thing, or I want them both.

It's all that wanting, that desire; the exhaustion, at least for me, of wanting things to be different than they are. Not in the systemic or political sense – to me, it’s good to want change in that sense – but in the moment. In the moment – in this breath – when, really, I know: right now, things can only be just as they are.

In classical mindfulness there are six different realms, including the human realm which is considered the best one in which to wake up. One of the reasons for that, is that it’s not easy being human. We get old, we get sick, we die. We lose things and we also lose people. We get into arguments and if we’re lawyers, those can be consequential for us and for our clients so we have to win. The world hits us hard. And there’s so much to do: every day we have to earn a living plus take care of ourselves and so many others.

So why this is such a great realm? Wouldn’t it be nicer to live in a realm where all is bliss? Not really. Because if we lived in one of those, we’d be surrounded by ease, and we might just sit around and eat bon-bons. We wouldn’t have to learn how to be kind to those who seem like they don’t deserve kindness, or compassionate to those who are afraid, or calm when the world is on fire.

There’s a misunderstanding that mindfulness is about suffering. The truth is, mindfulness is about the end of suffering and how to go there. It’s optimistic. Given the moment, that seems like something we can all use.

Mindfulness originated with Siddhartha, who became known as the Buddha, which means, “awake.” The Buddha was many things including a phenomenal psychologist, who mapped the mind and then showed how to work with it to cultivate happiness, even in the most difficult of times.

Like all maps, the map of mindfulness can be layered on top of other maps, like the map of the legal mind. My question is, what happens when we do that?

Let’s go back to the very first mindfulness teaching, Setting in Motion the Wheel of the Dharma, and back to some early hypotheses about the legal mind. And see how the mapping looks.

What does it mean to approach each moment, each day, as if it’s the most ordinary day? How would it feel to do that?

And what if it’s not an ordinary day? What if it’s the day of a big trial, or your birthday, or the 500th Wake Up Call?

I’m learning that to practice mindfulness – to really practice, moment by moment, day after day – is to pretty much say: no matter what’s happening, practice with it. No matter how momentous, no matter how terrible, be there, and be kind. Be kind, be compassionate, be patient and generous – practice these, in each moment. Let wisdom float to the surface before saying or doing anything, any time.

I’m learning that the best day of life and the worst are ordinary and not different, with practice. And I’m learning how reassuring and comforting that is.

The Wake Up Call @499

Ten years ago, the Wake Up Call was an unlikely dream, of a place for those of us who were practicing both law and mindfulness, to be together. And here we are, at Wake Up Call #499.

Ten years plus, of exploring how these highly trained legal minds, and those of us who have them, can be different with, and benefit from, mindfulness. Howe we can be more effective. How we can be happier. How we can be of greater service to the world: more compassionate, wiser, more connected (especially more connected). How we can (maybe) inspire others to practice, and in doing that, change the cultures of our law firms and legal organizations. And in doing that, maybe, just maybe, slowly, change the world.

I feel so fortunate to be engaged in this lifelong endeavor with all of you, and grateful, too, for your company. And not just company, but courage and perseverance, in this endeavor and also in an unwavering commitment to change.

As Margaret Mead said so long ago, let’s all of us never doubt that we can create that change. As the Buddha said, let’s also not doubt we can be the change.

I sometimes think the world would run more smoothly if I were in charge. Or let’s face it: I often think that. Do you?

The problem, or one problem (because there are many), with this kind of thinking is, first I have to believe I know what’s best for others. I don’t mean when that’s my job. I mean when it’s my colleague or partner or kid.

The next problem is, when I think I know what’s best, I’m judging, or pitying, the other person for not knowing…especially when they don’t follow my thinking. Which makes it hard for me to approach them with positive regard: I know what’s best, they’re not paying attention, they’d deserve my positive regard if only they were.

So one thing I’m trying to do more is, not be in charge. What a relief. It’s so relaxing. It feels good to remember that, all evidence to the contrary, everyone is just doing their best. And it feels great to take the long view, the view of not knowing, and just be with what is.

There are people in the world who, at first glance (or second, or third), don’t seem to me to deserve positive regard. At all. Maybe there are people like that for you, too.

But in an ancient tale, five people are traveling through the forest: the leader, their beloved, a friend, a stranger, and a wicked person. The group is attacked, and one person must be sacrificed in return for safety for the rest. Whom should it be? The wicked person, if we’re being just? The leader themself, if they’re altruistic? But the answer is, no one.

Because if we sacrifice anyone, then instead of spending our energy cultivating a warm and connected heart, we have to keep in mind who’s in and who’s out. We’re in a constant process of “yes/no, yes/no,” “you but not you…,” as opposed to being in a constant process of listening, understanding, and caring.

Even when my intellect and emotional life feel like they’re in tune, I still have so many old, internal, tangles in my mind. And in any given moment, those tangles can cause me to tense up, grab hold, or turn away.

My tangles were probably formed a long time ago. Daily practice helps me to see them more clearly, and to begin, slowly and playfully, to untangle them. Practice that’s oriented towards connecting with and generating good will for myself and everyone, feels especially helpful.

Which means, practicing with the notion that everyone is basically the same: that everyone wants to be safe, happy, and healthy, and to live with ease. This is no big leap, really. At some level we know it’s true. But practicing with it as a notion, keeping it front and center, training the mind to remember we’re all in this together, training the heart to remember that we’re all connected? That feels like a commitment. A playful one, if we let it be, but a commitment.

It probably won’t change the world (unless it will). But it does feel like a good way to practice, and live.

What happens for you when your body or mind signals that it’s time to relax, and you pay attention to the signal? From a Netflix perspective, it might be just that: turn something on; turn off all the rest. That seems legit – I do it plenty.

From a mindfulness perspective, though, relaxation is different. It’s letting go. For me, it’s a few minutes in stillness, watching thoughts, emotions, and sensations arise, and lovingly letting them go. It’s a light touch, a commitment to go easy with each moment, each thought, this wandering mind, this being called “me.”

Relaxing the mind is the “loving” element of loving awareness. It’s rejuvenating and regenerative. It's the pause that allows wisdom and compassion to naturally arise. Best of all, it’s a sweet way to live.

I feel like we’re trying, every day, to be kind, and ethical, and to serve well. We’re even taking the time to cultivate these qualities.

And I also feel like when we fail, it’s hard. And even harder to turn towards the situation with clarity.

What gets in the way, for me, is justification and denial. And that’s when I slide backwards. Not because my “fail” is terrible, although it might be. But because I lose sight of the positive. Forget about all the goodness. And when that happens, it’s easier to make another mistake.

So what if we pay more attention to the positive, when it shows up? Log it into our memories, our bodies (which keep the score)? My guess is that then, in those, “oh no!” moments, the recollection of goodness will act like ballast, and it’ll be easier to turn towards the moment with courage, and clarity, and compassion. And ultimately, repair any harm (to others, and to ourselves).

Pretty difficult moment, and here we are at the 4th of July. How many more of these will we celebrate?

But that’s not so much my question. My question is more about how I can do my best to be kind and to provide whatever benefit I can in a divided world. And also about how I can bring kindness to myself when I fail.

Happy Independence Day tomorrow. See you on today’s Wake Up Call, and stay safe out there.

In Zimbabwe, there’s almost 90% unemployment. In South Africa, there are the remnants of apartheid. America has cancelled US AID to the poorest of poor, and is about to tax a huge lifeline: money that gets sent home. Conditions on this amazing continent are not easy, to say the least.

And through it all, to a person, the Africans we’ve met, from so many countries on this patchwork continent, are kind and loving and generous. No matter that we come from the west, or from comparative wealth, or have privileges most Africans will never have. Or are Americans, and thus, right now, part of the problem. Still, they create safety and comfort and love, for us and for everyone around them.

As Hafiz said, “…Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.”

I wonder about the power of generosity to set the tone of the law, or change it.

Right now, we’re everyone to their corner and then knives out. What if we could be passionately on the sides of clients, causes, justice, but in a different way - not with a classic, take no prisoners approach, but with generosity? And with faith that the choice to do that would be seen as skillful, not weak?

In a way generosity seems anathema to our work. In another way it seems like a shift we desperately need. There’s no point in guessing, though. We’ll only know if we try.

Not much can change on the global scale, or even in my community (or even in my house), if I’m not thoughtful and intentional about my own personal behavior. I know that. You probably know that, too.

But I’d also say, not much can change if I’m not thoughtful and intentional in a specific way: by being a little (or a lot) more generous; by committing, and making sure, that nothing I say or do will cause harm; and by taking the time, no matter how busy I am, and no matter how much the world throws at me, to train my heart and mind to be still.

Recently I said something snarky and it got back to the person.For the whole day, I dreaded what would happen. When the worst did happen, I felt even worse: a slow, painful remembering of how imperfect I am, despite all the striving. And of how perfection is not even a thing, no matter how much I strive.

In a funny way, dread helped me. In fact, dread was the most helpful thing. Without dread, I wonder if I’d even have noticed, let alone cared. But with dread, and after making peace with dread, which took a minute, self-compassion emerged, and then a plan. And self-compassion plus a plan feels like a decent idea for this moment.

I hear a lot about sending love to humans, being kind and appreciative and compassionate to teachers, loved ones, friends…even enemies.

I hear less about sending love to the earth. Yet of all beings (if the earth is a being, and isn’t she?), doesn’t the earth deserve love, too? Doesn’t she deserve appreciation, and for once, instead of extracting from her, for us to give her our best, our love, our kindness, every good thing we’ve got? Seem like it’s the least we can do.

Are we “cultivating” love, compassion, and joy, or do we already have plenty and just need to access it?

If we have plenty, and just need to learn how to access it, what’s in the way of doing that? For me, it’s wanting to hold onto the things that are working, and wanting all the really awful moments to end: all that wanting for things to be different, instead of learning to be “in” love right in this (imperfect) present.

Which makes me wonder: if that’s true for me, is it true for everyone? And if so, then does that meaneveryone? And if it does, then is compassion the right response, for all the everyone’s who just don’t know, yet, how to access their love?

There’s “ordinary” news: market whiplash; leadership/not leadership; greed, hatred, and delusion.

But there’s sweet news, too: the child of a friend and benefactor who cleans houses for living - a child who’s been planning to be a lawyer since they were five -

got into Princeton undergrad with a full ride.Princeton, full ride, with a solid foundation of love and goodness underneath them: leadership in the making.

In the middle of the muck (from the incredibly hard work of scrubbing toilets) a triumph. From the deep mud, a gorgeous lotus.

When I feel committed, it gives me purpose, energy, direction. But to fulfill my commitment, especially if someone else is committed to the opposite cause, I need to understand all angles, all sides. I need to not let disdain and scorn and hate get in my way It's a lot like practicing law.

Attachment feels different. It feels like a clingy state. There’s something I want, I think I know why,and I’m sure I know best. I’m not learning, not open, and often, not understanding. There’s a tightness - it’s inside the word itself - and separation, and sometimes, hate.

Maybe commitment is about being fierce, and attachment is vicious. Maybe commitment is about caring and attachment isn’t. I don’t know for sure. What is the difference for you?

Signaling that we’re mindful, whether we’re speaking, writing, posting, or messaging, is simple.

There’s no lying, denying, or blame. There’s no harm done. We’re remembering that what we say and do, matters. We’re not gossiping, just sharing what’s needed.
And everything we say is kind.

It’s simple, but maybe not easy. If it were, I feel like more of us would be mindful,
whether we’re talking to friends or planning a campaign.

It’s not easy, but it seems to me like a better standard of care, and a better Signal to the world, than the one we have now.

What is an appropriate response when I get something I don’t want, or don’t get what I do want?

Bully the person I “think” is responsible? Chastise, criticize, frighten, and ruin them I’m following the Chief Justice and going with no.

At least from a mindfulness perspective - and I’m guessing this is obvious: it’s the age-old processes of listening patiently and with compassion, remembering we’re all in this together, and then making choices that don’t cause any harm, no matter how disappointing the moment.

Or to make it even simpler, and as Justice Roberts said, file an appeal.

I don’t know what we can do in this moment except stay in the boat, and when we get tossed into the ocean, grab the hull and crawl back inside to safety. That’s how it feels to me right now.

But I wonder if there’s another way to safety.

Maybe it’s too odd of an idea, but what if we could create peace in the middle of chaos, by wishing everyone well. Not as a discernment practice (you deserve my well-wishes, you don’t) but by weaving a great cloak to wrap up into and protect ourselves with, and protect everyone else, too?

Maybe it’s a cloak of peace. Maybe it’s one of love. Maybe it’s a cloak of blessings,
like the great poet John O’Donohue once wrote.

I feel like I could use a blessing right now. Couldn’t you?

Emotions are running high. Western mindfulness, quoting Rumi, says, ill will, anger, even hate: “Welcome and entertain them all….They may be clearing us out for some new delight.”

The ancient mindfulness texts aren’t as big on this. They say, the path to liberation is to abandon ill will. Give it up! Let it go as if it’s burning your hand – because it is.

Rumi sounds like a good, careful, idea. Letting go sounds even better, but a whole lot more radical.

Dr. King said, when you’re right, you can’t be too radical. What if the texts are right? What would happen if we took Dr. King’s advice?

If breath is the focus, the anchor, refuge from an uncertain world, then maybe love is the antidote.

I’m not saying I know much about love other than that it feels absent in so many places, and crucial in even more.

I do know that love isn’t about two (or three or four) humans and our stary-eyed moments. It's about finding some way to keep our hearts open, available, and un-barnacled. It's about going down into the deep, to the belly of this remarkable vessel we call home, and ever so gently and lovingly scraping and prying off the detritus until the old, varnished, and luminous hull shines through.

I’m wondering about patience these days:
accepting that things are what they are.
I’ve studied and tried to practice that kind of patience
with friends and family and colleagues and students
and the everyday vicissitudes of life,
and even with myself.
And all of that’s one thing.

But then there’s the news.
And Anthony Romero’s suggestion (he runs the ACLU)
that if all else fails, “we may have to shut down the country.”

If patience is about accepting how things are,
is it also about waiting to see if all else fails?
And about shutting down the country if it does?

The Dalai Lama says patience puts us in a stronger position
to judge an appropriately nonviolent response.
That sounds so wise, to me. But so does Mr. Romero.

This isn’t a moment when I can pay attention all the time:
sometimes I just need to turn away, or walk away.
But whether I’m engaged or disengaged,
wisdom and love have their place.

The question I’m working with is,
how do I meet each moment with three wise intentions:
to let go of wanting things to be different,
because right now, they just are how they are;
to be kind and loving, no matter what;
and to have compassion for the wild cast of characters
living on, and running, the planet right now.
I wish I had any answers but at least that’s the inquiry right now.

So, happy Valentine’s Day. ♥️
The classical invitation is to send some love to the beings you love.
That’s an easy one to accept.
And here’s another invitation, maybe not as easy:
send some love – not flowers or chocolate but secretly,
just in your own heart, or practice –
to someone you could never imagine loving, ever.
And see how it goes.

When I think of faith, it’s often faith in someone or something. But these days I’m thinking of faith in terms of believing that if I keep practicing, and we all keep practicing, then we’ll know the appropriate response, meaning, the right thing to say or do.

The right thing in our day-to-day lives, for sure. But also the right thing in a bigger sense. In other words, faith that all of this sitting in silence and filling the space with kindness, will give us the wisdom to know the appropriate response, if the courts go sideways or we’re in danger of losing the Republic entirely – a Republic, said Benjamin Franklin, if we can keep it.

I have these moments when I feel like I should be doing more.
Or at least doing something.
But right now I’m not sure what to do, or how, or when.

So instead, right now, for now, I’m taking care of myself.
I’m practicing, I’m spending time in nature,
I’m spending time with friends and family and the puppy.
Doing less. Resting up. Taking refuge.

But there will come a time when what to do,
and how, and when, will become clear.
And when that time comes –
when there’s a crack and the light starts to get in -
I plan to be rested and resourced and ready.
I hope you do, too.

There are two ways I can see to relate to the world right now,
if this is a moment that feels distressful.

One is to be bothered by the world and also by the distress,
and to work from that perspective…
possibly with success,
but also with dismay, disapproval, disdain.

The other is to not be bothered by anything, not even distress,
and to be kind to ourselves and everyone else,
remembering that it’s possible to welcome everything
and still fight with every ounce of our being
for love, and justice, and peace.

I care, and then I turn away.
I get busy, or I lose interest,
or the crisis stops affecting me directly or never did,
and I let my attention slip away.

I’m being honest, but I’m not glad about it,
because what I really want is to keep my heart open,
and keep my attention focused on whoever I can support.

Not by losing myself or getting overwhelmed
or letting my own wellbeing slip,
but by creating enough space in my heart and mind to remember
that caring for others and caring for myself
are not different, not separate.

I feel like I spend a lot of time – too much time –
thinking I understand.
Maybe we all do, even when we know
everyone’s understandings are different.

At the same time I think most of us know
there’s a lot we can’t see.
It feels helpful to keep that in mind,
and to keep an open, “don’t know” mind,
and be learning and surprised by each moment.

Because even when the surprises aren’t good,
at least we know that any moment now,
there’ll be a new moment,
or a new perspective, or a new way of seeing,
or a new message, or even a new messenger.

We could say that,
depending on our political beliefs,
beliefs about climate emergency,
relationships to inequity,
inner and outer resources,
and what comes our way,
our 2025 theme –
the quality of heart and mind
we’ll be working with and cultivating -
is a forgone conclusion.

But what if we don’t say that?
What if we chose our theme,
intentionally and regardless?
Decide that this year our theme will be
patience, for example,
or connection, or enough-ness?

What if each of us takes some time,
and some breaths,
and looks inside at whatever it is that we value,
and want to work with, and work on,
and then chooses that as our theme for the new year,
no matter what comes our way?

Because there is always faith.
It might be faith in our abilities.
It might be faith in the wisdom that’s available to us
every once in a while. It might be faith in cause and effect:
the way that, when we express frustration,
no one is happy, and when we express love, people care.

Or it might be faith that the earth will take care of herself,
No matter what we humans cook up, or, if that’s too big,
that this day will dawn, or if even that’s too big, that,
when we breathe in, in the next moment,
no matter what else happens, we’ll breathe out.

Sometimes I naturally notice the calm and peacefulness of the closing of the year.

More often there’s so much going on, either in my own life or around me, that I feel
restless, worried, a kind of agitation of body and mind that clouds my thinking and makes it difficult to settle.

For me the thing that helps most is creating space: space to breath, in the middle of a busy day, time for a walk, indoors and out (especially out, no matter how freezing).

There’s something about being in nature, no matter how postage-stamp-sized the place, that eases my worried mind (thanks, Eric Clapton).

I hope you can be outside this next week, even a little. I hope you can breathe some crisp, clean, air, and take in the wondrousness of nature, even as she sleeps.

If you’re feeling restless or worried, I hope it eases your worried mind.

Sometimes I have an endless supply of energy. But there are also times when
my mind is sluggish, not bright. Life feels exhausting or boring or blah. Does this happen for you?

The good thing is, when I turn my attention to the blah feeling itself, my mind wakes up. I can see how sluggish I feel, but I can also see that it’s temporary, and even get interested in it, as yet another fascinating state of mind.

When all of this happens, I also try to appreciate (with varying degrees of success)
what the situation offers: a simple, powerful reminder to pay attention in each moment, even the slothful ones.

That appreciation, when it’s available, along with the attention when it’s available, seems to brighten the whole mind.

I have this image of myself as being mindful,
sitting above the fray.

In my dreams.

The truth is, I’m not above the fray at all,
because the fray is my own mind.

For example, it’s never my intention
to be blindsided by hate or greed.
But I do get blindsided -
in the sense that when they show up, I can’t see.
My clarity is gone. They are the fray.

So I do what I can, like I’m guessing we all do.
For me that means
trying to notice hate and greed before I’ve acted on them;
once they arrive, staying interested in a non-partisan way;
and ultimately, trying to let them go.

Because I feel like, what else can I do?
I need to let them go if I want to be able to hear
what others are saying.
And I need to hear what others are saying
to understand how to love them.
So what else can I do but let go, and listen?
What else can any of us do?

I want to say this is the season for gratitude,
and that’s not wrong, but I’m also not 100%.
I’m grateful, and I’m also confused and fearful and nauseous.
Or I’m pedaling fast and furious, or hiding behind my screen.
Greed, hatred, exhaustion, restlessness, doubt:
they all co-exist in this heart and mind right now,
alongside gratitude.

So the question I’m asking myself is,
how do I create enough space for everything?
How can I be gentle with the way things are?
What creates spaciousness and ease?
Breath helps because it creates spaciousness:
continuing to pay attention to the breath
and the sense of the body, breathing,
moment by moment.

Love helps because it creates ease:
continuing to be loving even with those who wear
hats with slogans I can’t understand,
and with myself when I feel like
I should understand and be able to connect.

So, gratitude, spaciousness, and love.
That’s what I wish for your Thanksgiving table next week,
and for all of the ordinary days as well.

I’m finding that right now, practice can be challenging.
It’s hard to get up an hour early in the dark.
But that’s often the case.

The bigger challenge right now is not the early dark mornings.
It’s the lack of clarity that arises when
anger, impatience, and fear take over my sit, or my day.

That’s why right now, I’m understanding a little bit better
the wisdom of all the great teachers,
who counsel us to befriend these difficult states of mind.
I’m noticing that befriending anger helps me to
occasionally, see the pain underneath;
that making friends with impatience helps me to
sometimes, remember to take a breath;
and that letting fear be a beloved companion points to one day,
possibly, with plenty of practice, letting it go.

Whether you’re celebrating right now or mourning,
I feel like the best idea might be to just take a breath.

Maybe you’re thinking about what’s next,
gathering friends, gathering forces. Amazing.
And, wouldn’t it be good if we could all just take a collective breath?

There will be time. There is time.
Right now, can we take care of ourselves and the people we love?
Can we go to our cushions, our communities, our hearts –
not to the mat, not yet - and connect and not turn away?
Can we maybe, just maybe, forget about winning and losing,
just for a moment? And remember to just be together
on this small blue planet we all call home,and breathe?

This year it feels like there are real live goblins in the streets.
So maybe it’s an odd time to put out the welcome mat.

But to me it feels like there’s no other choice. If we notice our internal goblins -
fear, anxiety, and concern or notice the goblins in others, and turn away,
we’re missing the chance to care.

If we welcome whatever we see and hear, however scary it is,
then maybe there’s a chance that no matter what happens next,
we’ll survive, because we care.

Go to the places that scare you, say all of our teachers. Well, here we are.
What can we do but make ourselves and each other welcome?

Sometimes I don’t know what’s happened today, or I know, but I’d rather not.
The moment is so fraught and the consequences so big that turning away sometimes feels like an option.

But turning away from the external - turning off the news, turning off my phone -
is one thing. Deciding to stop checking in inside - stop pausing, stop taking a breath and observing how the moment feels, which is how to investigate a state of heart, state of mind is another.

I feel like I can take a break from the external and still know what’s important in the large sense, and what to do next. When I turn away from the internal it’s almost impossible for me to know how I’m doing. Which makes it hard to know what’s important in the moment. And without knowing that, how can I know how to proceed?

When I think about impermanence
I think of it as an immutable quality of life.
When I think about democracy, though,
I want to believe in its permanence.

That belief, or illusion,
is what gets me knocking on doors,
making calls, and mailing my ballot.

Maybe both are true: empires come and go,
and there is wisdom in believing in the illusion of their permanence,
at least until proven otherwise.

I’ve been noticing this week,
as I practice apology and forgiveness,
that these practices invite me to dig deep.

What I’m digging for is generosity.
To apologize with a full heart,
I need to be generous enough to be willing to say I’m sorry.

To forgive – and often I need to forgive myself –
I need to be generous enough to see
that when I cause harm, as awful as it feels,
there is room to grow and (hopefully) time to make amends.

The amazing thing is that when generosity is the foundation,
apology and forgiveness bring so much ease and joy.
Maybe check that out, and see if it’s true for you, too.

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. L’shana tova!
It’s a celebratory day, but it’s also a time for contemplation:
a time to consider any harm we’ve caused, apologize, and ask for forgiveness.

From a mindfulness perspective, this invitation is always present.
In each moment, we know how to look, and see, whether we’re causing harm,
remember the consequences of doing that,
and back away or, if it’s too late, apologize.

It’s easier for me to write those words than to do the work.
And when I don’t, my conscience bothers me.
I don’t feel great about my day. Regret creeps in. And I don’t sleep well.

So today I’m going to apologize to some folks, and ask for forgiveness.
Please join me?

The funny thing about mindfulness is that
even though it takes effort and solid intention,
it’s also deeply relaxing.

I used to think that focusing on my breath was some combination
of dreary, boring, and hard.
Now I’d say, it’s none of those things.
It’s pretty interesting -
sometimes the breath is interesting, but equally often,
what’s interesting is how wild my mind is.

And it’s also easy, when I remember to relax.
Which is really what mindfulness is all about:
breathing in and waking myself up,
then breathing out and relaxing.

Sweet practice for any time,
but especially for this not-so-easy moment.

I want to say I’m ok with the news, the polls, the weather, my friends, my family. I want to say that, but plenty of times I’m just not.
I’m anxious or impatient or fearful or just flat out exhausted.

Mindfulness invites me to step back, observe what I’m feeling, and not flinch.
And not only not flinch, but welcome whatever I see.
Welcome, and then love.

And then also do better: be a little kinder and wiser the next time.

It’s a tall order, and it gets taller.
Because mindfulness also invites me to notice (or realize?)
that whatever I see in myself is pretty much true for everyone.
Which I take as an invitation to not flinch from anyone else either,
to welcome whatever everyone else is bringing as well,
and to love everyone else, too.

And then, to do better for the world:

to keep working as hard as I can for change.

How much effort is enough? In the law, often the answer is, it’s never enough.
That’s a burnout-answer.But it doesn’t mean we don’t have to work our tails off to do a good job.

Mindfulness invites us to work hard, too, but there is an “enough.”
Sometimes “enough” is a few minutes of practice. Sometimes, it’s a ten-day silent retreat. Always, it’s practicing a least a little, every day.

In the immortal words of Justice Stewart, we know it when we see it.
Louis Armstrong famously said,

“If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, the critics know it. If I don't practice for three days, the public knows it.” I’m thinking Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Stewartboth knew what they were talking about.

When I think back on being 20 and choosing to be a lawyer, there was a lot of, “why not? That seems like a cool path.” There was less of, “how will this serve?” or “will this contribute to a more harmonious world?”

I see now that whether my work created harmony or discord was always the important question.

Pema Chodron invites us to ask, “am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?” That’s the question I would ask my 20-year-old self today. It’s the question I ask my 65-year-old self as often as I can remember: “Today, will I be practicing peace?”

What about you? Are you practicing peace? Or do you wake up each day, ready for war?

Behaving mindfully is not always easy. Don’t cause harm, don’t take anything that’s not mine to take, don’t be biased, don’t cloud the mind, always be kind: it’s clear what the invitation is. But for me it’s not easy to remember to accept that invitation and live each moment like that.

What is easy for me to remember, when I’ve caused harm or taken more than my share or harbored (or spoken with) ill will, is that it’s possible to take responsibility, make things right as best as I can, and learn from my missteps.

Not comfortable and not easy, but possible. And sometimes, from ‘possible’ I can get to forgiveness (forgiving myself). And to gratitude, for sometimes, getting a second chance.

I have no idea how many times I say something, or write an email, or post, with irritation on my mind. Or hit the numbers for Verizon, with exasperation. I do know that when I do, the result is often not great.

When I remember to be mindful - to consider my timing, be honest, and be kind no matter what (and no matter who) –the result is decent. The other person seems more interested and relaxed. And I feel ok, even when I don’t get what I want.

Timing, honesty, and kindness: I’m loving this recipe because it feels like a win. And seems to influence everyone’s experience for the better.

Maybe you’re already using it. Awesome. If not, check it out. If it works, pass it on.

The problem with good intentions is that they’re subjective. Plus, I may have good intentions but what ‘good’ are they if my impact is still harmful?

Wise intentions are different. Wise intentions are objective and aspirational. When I remember to set and follow them, I’m less likely to hurt anyone and more likely to be helpful and even, maybe, contribute in some small way to the good

Dedicated to the U.S. women’s soccer (football) team, for the win
…and for a much bigger win in November.

The Path to Waking Up

Each of the eight steps of the mindfulness path - the path to waking up - feels important. But the first, which emphasizes that everything we say and do matters, feels like the most important to remember. When I do, I’m kinder on call-center calls, more compassionate to people who upset me, curious about political views that seem diametrically opposed to mine and the neighbors who hold them.

Everything we say and do matters…for one obvious reason, to me anyway: we belong to each another. All eight billion of us share this small planet we call home. So, we have a binary choice. We can save our kindness for those we feel “deserve” it, or care about everyone and the earth. One choice got us into the pickle we’re in. The other might just get us out.

…

For the Olympians!

Right now feels like a moment when I need to assert my beliefs and work very, very hard to create change. The stakes feel too high to do anything else.

At the same time, when I act like an expert not too many people seem to want to hear what I have to say. When I let go of believing I’m right and they’re wrong, they seem at least a little bit interested.

But is it even possible to let go, to cultivate beginner’s mind, right now, in this polarized moment? If it is, I wonder what would happen if we all did that: let go, remembered that after all, none of us knows how things will turn out, and met one another with completely open minds.

…

For Joe

The birds in the trees, the light at dawn, the gorgeousness of morning: these things are all mixed up right now with dysfunctional politics, a precarious climate, and so much going on at home.

Mindfulness helps. Present moment attention without judgment, the first step, is crucial. And so is the next step.

The next step is, don’t wish things were other than they are. Work hard to change things, absolutely. But be present moment to moment with the joys and the sorrows, too.

It’s a big invitation. And, it’s the main reason we practice: to be able to be present, no matter what. And with that presence of mind, take wise and decisive action.

...

For those who are confused, in the U.S. and everywhere…

Each day of being relatively balanced feels to me like a day of possibility. What I notice is that when I’m balanced, when I’m really feeling human - not in survival mode, not activated, not checked out, there’s the possibility that mindfulness will point me towards kindness and compassion, for myself and for everyone.

I also notice it’s circular. When I’m practicing mindfulness regularly, I’m less in survival mode, less activated, and less checked out. And I’m more likely to feel at least as balanced as it’s possible to feel right now. And a little bit kinder.

It’s a good argument for mindfulness. It’s an even better argument for a little bit of formal mindfulness practice - say ten minutes? - every day.

Hi everyone, it’s Judi Cohen, and this is Wake Up Call 448. I’ve been talking about the three kinds of suffering: ordinary suffering like not getting what we want, or getting what we don’t want; the suffering of change, the way we can’t hold onto the things (or people) we love, and we can’t eliminate all the stressors: we can’t create a pleasant, unchanging reality for ourselves because, our bodies, other people, the world – none of it will stand still.

Insecurity is the third kind of suffering. When I say insecurity, I don’t mean the insecurity I felt as a teenager and in my early twenties, wondering if I looked ok, was acting ok, was popular enough, had good enough judgement, things like that.

I mean a general, pervasive, but also (in my experience) often illusive, insecurity: the insecurity of knowing we’re not on solid ground. Of knowing that our life, our very existence, is not guaranteed. Or I should probably say, the insecurity of knowing that not only is our existence not guaranteed, but that our demise is.

Maybe we don’t think about this too much. And then we get a diagnosis or take a fall or get into a crash, or something happens to someone we love. And then the insecurity that was floating, maybe only barely perceptible and well under the surface, rises up to the top.

And is there for us in stark relief, one of the hallmarks of being human: the knowledge that one day, we’ll die. And for us, meaning for mindfulness practitioners, one of the hallmarks of being mindful is that not only are we aware that one day we’ll die, but that we also know that we can’t ever know when that will be.

It’s all well and good if we can let go and simply accept that our existence isn’t guaranteed. Then, there may be the suffering of old age, sickness, and death, but there’s nothing extra. We’re free, and can experience each moment with ease. But what if that third kind of suffering, that subtle but persistent insecurity, is present?

Here are a few of the ways that insecurity shows up for me, in situations where it’s hard to simply let go…even though that’s the instruction.

First, I just flat out don’t want to die right now. I’m having a good time. I don’t want that to change. And while I know it will – meaning I know there will come a time when I’m not having a good time, or there will just come a moment of death – and I can accept that truth (most days) – there’s definitely a wanting that not to be the case, a wanting things to be different and for death not to be part of the equation. And because of that, there’s a low- and sometimes not-so-low-level insecurity…about when death will come, and how, and the fact that I can’t control or solve for either.

Also, it makes me insecure to think about dying because it will bum out a bunch of people. My kid. My husband. My step-kids (I think). My grands, for sure, but they’re little. My brother, now that my mom’s gone and he wouldn’t get the whole estate. Just kidding. He’d be bummed. My friends, my communities. Death is a bummer for the people who don’t die, too, unless the person who dies is very old or is in pain. So I have a desire for death to not be part of the equation because it will cause sorrow for others and I’ll feel responsible. Or I won’t feel anything, probably, but in anticipation, I’ll feel responsible. Which makes me feel insecure, because I can’t help them. (I mean, I can do that letter-writing thing but I won’t be here for anything else).

Here’s another reason I feel insecure when I remember that my existence isn’t guaranteed and my death is, and that I don’t get to know when death will come: there are people I need to call.

I’m pretty convinced I’ve got time, and I know that Mac truck could be coming for me. And I don’t want that because I haven’t picked

Change: in my experience, it's sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes welcome, sometimes super hard, but nearly always, out of my control.

And yet, when everything is going swimmingly, I forget that. I’m like a dog with a bone: grrrrr - don’t take this away! When everything is sideways, I forget, too. I can’t wait for things to shift, or I’m pushing for them to shift, and sometimes pushing hard. When I forget that change is nearly always out of my control, there’s this subtle (or not-so-subtle) stress.

But there’s another option: remembering. When I remember that the bone is going to disappear one way or another (not even the best bone lasts forever), that the sideways moment will right itself somehow, that everything changes and there’s usually nothing I can do about that, then, paradoxically, there's a pause. Sometimes there's even an “ah ha.” And in that pause, that ah ha - in that rare but delicious moment of remembering - I don’t feel so protective of the bone, or so trapped by the tilt. I can relax.

Today's Wake Up Call is dedicated to my Dad, Lou, who died a year ago today. Yes, all things change, but missing you hasn't changed yet, Dad. Maybe it’s one thing that never will. I hope you're safe and at ease, wherever you are.

For a long time I was convinced that suffering was for other people. I thought, I have enough to eat, a nice home, a great partner and child. Where is the suffering?

But I was missing the fundamentals. I was failing to see that this being human in & of itself is challenging. We have to shop, cook, clean, brush our teeth, pay our bills. We get a cold, we stub a toe, we get nasty emails and we still have to do our job. And that’s just the everyday.

What if we paid attention to this kind of suffering: the small difficulties of being human - moment by moment? Not in a woe-is-me kind of way, but with interest? With curiosity? I wonder what we could discover. I wonder what we could heal.

The way I see it, we have two choices. We can rail against reality and exhaust ourselves.

Or we can find a way to leaving the room, the house, the office, the world, the moment, a little bit better every time, no matter how we’re feeling or what’s happening around us. We can learn to let go of wanting things to be other than they are.

Door number one: suffering. Door number two: the end of suffering.

I feel like at this moment in a relatively long life so far, I should be able to say yes to certain things, no to others, and be able to count on things remaining relatively stable. Do you have that feeling?

And yet I can’t because they’re not: nothing is either this certain thing or that. Nothing is truly solid, reliable, permanent. And the more energy I put into thinking it should be, the more struggle I’m in.

When I can remember that my work, my home, my family, my life, are not definable or corral-able or really anything I can count on, it’s incredibly scary, yes. But it’s also a little bit funny, a little bit odd, and in the end, such a relief.

It should be easy to find someone to insult us, on social media, for example, or from among our snarkiest friends. I feel like I want to find someone every day, or let them find me, because they help me to see where I’m holding back, where I’m stuck.

If you're looking for that, too, what happens when someone shows up and we just get defensive? Or we don’t listen in order to learn?

And what if it’s not just one person? What if everyone is this friend, this teacher, and every insult is just an opportunity to learn how to be more kind?

When something or someone upsets me, I’m quick to blame. I’m slower to remember to simply sit still, with upset, anger, fear, or sorrow.

When I’m upset, sometimes I think I’m the only one who feels like I do, or who’s having the problems I’m having. But that’s never the case: everyone gets upset, frustrated, bummed out, and scared, at some point or other.

When I can remember that, and learn from it – meaning, learn from the difficult moments – things feel lighter. I take things less personally. I remember we’re all in this together, and that everything changes. I can begin to notice when sadness gives way to gratitude, and anger to compassion.

If there’s a difference between easy and easeful, then I’d say, learning, remembering, and noticing are not easy. But when I do them, I land in a more easeful place. The effort feels worthwhile.

(To the grads and to those speaking out on all sides: may all beings be safe, filled with compassion, and live with ease.)

The more I learn about mindfulness, the more I realize I’m not solving for anything. I’m just learning to stop strategizing.

The world is beautiful and full of love, and also, torn up by war, overwhelming, uncertain at best. To me the most natural response has been to strategize. How could I possibly get by without a plan?

But I’m beginning to see that a more mindful response is to do just that. Of course we have to know how to do our job well, how to love well, know the route home. Yet moment by moment, what seems most important these days is learning to stand in the middle of each uncertain, moment, without a solution.

(To generosity and gratitude and to our friends, Larry & Julie, some of the most generous and grateful people I know.)

To me, groundlessness as a wisdom practice is challenging. It’s an invitation to forget every concept, let go of everything I know, and sit in the direct experience of my life. I love the idea. But as a practical matter, how do I make dinner if I live in a non-conceptual reality, let alone how do I walk into a courtroom and present evidence?

On the other hand, what if the aspiration to let go at this level, in the relative sense, is about just letting go of unwholesome concepts like that we, and others, are bad, wrong, difficult, not enough? To me this feels like a powerful enough letting go, for me and for now, because it points to a powerful level of freedom: the freedom to connect compassionately with others, and the freedom to be connected to my own luminous self.

What about you? If you have a practice of letting go at this level, where does it feel like it leads?

(Dedicated to letting go of any sense that we’re right, they’re wrong, and the fight is to the death; and to cultivating love and compassion in all directions on our small blue planet.)

There’s a way that my habits and patterns block whatever wisdom I have. I think I know where to point, but my fear that the direction isn’t perfect, stops me. I think I know what to say, but perfectionism whispers, “what if that’s not it?”

Every so often during meditation, my habits fall away and I can see perfectionism through a loving lens, as just a constellation of thoughts, forming and dissolving. When that happens, wisdom is right there, waiting. Sometimes it waits like a signpost. Sometimes it shows up like gravity, reminding me to anchor to the earth. Sometimes it’s like peaches in summer, round and ripe and ready for picking, if only I remember to lift my gaze and gently open my hands.

(For everyone struggling with what freedom means right now.)

The trouble with letting my enthusiasm show is that most of the time I’m afraid I won’t look cool. I’ll be outed for being joyful in a world that’s scary and getting worse. Enthusiasm almost feels inappropriate.

But what if enthusiasm is just effort infused by love? And what if we didn’t feel inhibited to bring love – not romantic love but the natural luminosity of our own minds – into our days? What if, even in the midst of the chaos that is 2024, we still, nonetheless, brought a kind of enthusiasm floated by love, into our courtrooms, conference rooms, classrooms, and living rooms? That would be cool enough, wouldn’t it?

(For my Berkeley students, who navigated a difficult year and all the while, honored me and one another with their loving and dedicated practice.)

I don’t know whether I’m more impatient with the world and the people in it, or with my own impatience.

When I’m impatient with the world and my people, the antidote, patience, feels like it softens striving. And more: patience with family, friends, the way things are, has a kind of alchemical quality. When it arises - in me or in anyone - everyone seems to relax, and to see and listen and care for each other just a little bit better.

When I’m impatient with myself, the antidote of patience is a relief. I can let go of being frustrated with myself. In fact, I can let go of “selfing” altogether (for a moment) – all that exhausting “I/me/mine.” I can be more present, hear what others are saying, and sometimes, listen to nature. There’s a window of peace. That alone makes the practice of patience worth it, for me.

(For everyone like me,

whose impatience has gotten the better of them now & then)

One way of thinking about ethics is that we have a cannon, we have rules, and as lawyers, we’re bound to follow those rules. Another way of thinking about ethics is that on some fundamental level, all ethics are about not causing harm.

From either perspective the question for me is, how to be a ferocious advocate and not cause harm? Which begs a larger question, which is, how can I not only not cause harm, but also, cause, or at least be a catalyst for, harmony?

Maybe that’s not realistic. But I want to imagine it is, or at least that there’s an ethical path that makes harmony possible. And then I want to find that path. Because if it’s find-able, and walk-able, then who knows? Maybe we can create more harmony in our lives and in the world than any of us can imagine...

(In loving support for all suffering in Israel/Palestine/Gaza)

I like to think of myself as generous. Hopefully so do you. And, I know I could do more.

It’s not just about philanthropy although that matters. It’s about being loving, compassionate, and patient, too.

And it’s about giving the gift of fearlessness: asking myself how I can help make everyone feel safe and at home, even the “other side,” and even those whose political views are very different from mine. What if we could begin all of our conversations with that kind of generosity? Maybe we could build more bridges instead of tearing so much down.

(To the memory of those who lost their lives on the Francis Scott Key bridge this week, and to the families they loved and supported.)

With all of this training of the heart and mind, shouldn't we be getting somewhere? I feel like at least we should have something to show for all the hard work.

And yet the great teachers all say the same thing: there’s no place to get to and no one to become. There's only the journey of cultivation and letting go. There's only learning to love and slipping up; learning to be more generous and then forgetting; learning patience, losing it, and remembering, again and again and again.

No problem, no hurry, nowhere to get to and no one to become.

Once upon a time there was a lazy lawyer. Said no one, ever.

How can a lawyer be lazy? They wouldn’t last a minute, in law school or in practice. There’s an endless amount to do, and then there’s more to do later. And our job is to, well, do it all. Well.

But maybe there are ways we’re lazy in terms of taking care of ourselves. I’m guilty of that. So...what if we could be a little less lazy about our wellbeing, our resilience, our mindfulness? What about that happily ever after?

Whenever I say or do something unskillful, my first hope is that no one notices. Hat trick.

But let’s say that happens - no one notices. What then? Then, I have to notice. And I need to call myself out. With humor, hopefully – after all, this 'being human' is an imperfect thing - but yes, call myself out.

Which means that until the day I’m no longer unskillful, which is probably not ever coming, I won’t get beyond reproach.

Which feels cringey. But also, true, and like a relief.

For me, forgiveness is possible in many cases but in this heart, not all. Not all, yet, anyway.

I wish I could forgive the people who caused me grave harm. Because not doing that feels like allowing something to fester.

Underneath not-forgiving, I can feel dread. But about what? That not-forgiving is hurting me, or someone I love? That the people who caused me harm didn’t know, and so obviously merit forgiveness? That they knew but didn’t understand what a terrible thing they were doing, and so at least deserve the benefit of the doubt?

At the very least, I can forgive myself for not forgiving. Maybe you can do that, too, if forgiveness is challenging for you. It’s a start.

I want to be loving. I want to not separate people into camps: worthy of my love, not worthy of my love.

Because who am I to decide? No matter what someone has done, no matter their views or even their actions, why would I want to hate them? All that does is create a hole in my heart.

And yet so often, I parse. This person is good, this person is not. This person is giving me what I need, or want, this person is not. This person – in my estimation – is contributing to the world. This person is not.

What if my own heart were big enough to see the humanity in each person, and bow just to that? Not to their mistakes, their selfishness, their crimes. Just to their humanity. What if we could all do that? What would the law look like? How about the world?

For sure I want all the goodies. And I’m pretty convinced that when I finally get them (or when I notice I already have them, if I do ever notice), then I’ll be happy.

And for sure, life doesn’t work like that. The coach passengers want business class seats, business wants first, and first wants a charter. I have no idea what people who own planes want, but you get the point: wanting, grasping for the brass ring, ending up with the goodies. The good old American dream.

But what if it’s not? What if there’s something even better than that particular American dream, available to us whenever we finally let go of the wanting? Whenever we finally stop grasping for the brass ring and make do, joyfully, with our old silver band? I’m not there yet, so there’s that. But it sure seems like a better direction.

When things go wrong in my life, I tend to think about…me. When things go well, I tend to think about…me, again. I, me, mine. As humans, we’re hardwired for that. Maybe it’s how we protect ourselves. Maybe it’s one way we teach our kids to protect themselves. Maybe it's helped our species survive (or has it?).

What if we thought of others instead, in both instances? What if, when something went well – in our practice, in the law, in our lives - we thought, oh, I have enough. I have plenty. I’m sending this good thing, this good energy, to my friends, my family, my colleagues. To people I don’t even know. To my enemies! To all the humans. All beings. What if we did that?

And what if, when things went wrong, we did less “I, me, mine-ing?” And instead, thought of everyone else going through something similar, and wished them ease and wellbeing? Or just remembered what Ram Dass said: that we’re all just walking each other home?

Happiness Without a Hangover

I would love to take credit for that title but it’s from Pema Chodron’s book, The Places That Scare You. What I think she means is, happiness that’s different from me saying, I won my case! I closed the deal! I got a new coat! Have a glass of champagne!

What I think she means is, happiness that I’m here, on the earth, breathing, writing this note. Happiness that this moment exists, and that I’m right here, paying attention, and not wishing things were different.

Which feels huge, this ability to scan not for danger but joy, and to locate joy, even though the judge is intense or someone is shouting or I’m overwhelmed. I wonder what would happen if we all practiced that kind of joy, just for one day, together…without getting the win, or the coat, or the drink.

Happiness, without a hangover. Sounds pretty sweet to me.

Mostly I’m breathing for myself. But sometimes it feels like the world could use a breath. Things feel tight, the suffering in the room or on the planet seems palpable, and I wonder if I can help.

I wonder if I can help by breathing in for everyone, taking in the intensity, the hardship, the suffering, as if they’re mine. As if all suffering is mine – and ours. And then breathing out peace in place of the suffering. Breathing in sorrow and breathing out peace, over and over again.

I wonder what would happen if everyone did that. Would anything change? Maybe. Maybe everything would change, and, as the poet Juan Jimenez once wrote, we’d be sitting in the middle of our new life.

Who are your scariest demons? Mine are the people who scare me in the courtroom, in the conference room, on the news, on the ballot.

Those are my scariest external demons, but my scariest internal demons are different. Or maybe there’s only one: fear. But not fear itself: fear of the world’s pain and suffering. Or more accurately, fear of how it might feel to step into the midst of that pain and let it touch me.

I mean, I can step in and not let it touch me. I have great defenses. But letting that pain touch me? For me, I think that’s the scariest thing.

And so, maybe it’s time to go there. Because if that’s my scariest thing, I’d better.

Are you coming?

It’s a conundrum to me when I imagine befriending everyone. How would that even work in the law? Shakespeare’s instruction notwithstanding, how is it possible to strive to the end and then call my adversary friend?

Even more challenging, how can I learn to relate to my frustration and grief with friendliness? When all I really want is for it to stop?

And yet this is the path of the warrior. What a paradox.

Sure, we’re all warriors in the law. We fight the good fight (and sometimes the bad).

But what if, in every fight, we could abandon all weapons except wisdom and compassion? Would we still win our cases? Would our clients come back for more?

This is my inquiry for a 2024 that feels just a little bit short on wisdom and compassion. What do you think? Are you willing to be patient, not know if this will work but try it, and in doing that, maybe, someday, co-create and live into a future different from the one we seem to be barreling towards now?

I’ve been thinking about how to say goodbye to 2023. It feels like bowing out of a circle to which, yes, I could definitely say good riddance. But what about all the good? By recollecting and bowing to that goodness, could the scales (of the heart? of justice?) tip just a little (more) towards kindness and wisdom, as we turn, inevitably, towards 2024?

Which is also what I've been wondering: how to turn towards, and what to aspire to in, 2024. I feel like turning and aspiring towards safety. Yet it also feels possible – and in some ways, urgent – to also aspire to step into the circle of next year, into its fire, with courage, and resolve, and equanimity.

Today on the Wake Up Call, let's consider how we want to bow out of '23, and into '24. Please join me.

These days there's at least one moment if not a thousand moments during my morning sit when I want to scratch my nose, shake the thoughts out of my head, or abandon meditation entirely. It just feels like there's so much to attend to, to be concerned about, to repair. Restlessness and worry are such faithful companions.

And yet when I do sit still, so much sweetness arises. And then, whatever wisdom I have, whatever compassion resides in this heart of mine, has a chance to emerge. And to move me forward into my day in a more loving way.

Are you able to sit still these days, or are you restless like me? Let's talk.

We all know there’s no cure for hot and cold. And still, I find myself trying to solve for just about every discomfort I encounter. It’s exhausting. And there’s a different way.

There’s a way of relating to discomfort with ease. Not with resignation, not with resentment, not with anything other than a relaxed mind and body.

When we can do that…we’ll still have hot and cold. What we won’t have is the frustration of not being able to change it. It might sound paltry or it might even sound sneaky, but it’s been a game-changer for me.

Three Things I know for sure

Three things I know for sure: everything is always changing. When something unpleasant feels like it'll never change, there it goes, being different. When something good happens and I never want it to change, there it goes, slipping right through my hands.

This includes me. That’s the second thing I know. I'm not one, well-defined, knowable, person, someone I can count on to think and speak and act in a reliably kind, wise, way. I’m a kaleidoscope, turning and changing based on a limitless number of filters. And relatively unpredictable, except when I'm completely predictable.

And the third thing I know is that impermanence, my inability to pin my “self” down, which amount to just being human - it's hard. And, it’s doable. I know that because we’re all doing it

And all of this? It’s the good news. I know that, too. So I guess I’m wrong. It’s not three things. It’s four things I know for sure.

Sometimes I just can’t get my balance. I’ve caused someone harm, been hurt by the world, lost someone I love. I’m so upset that all I can do is turn away. The ground feels unstable. I’m balancing on the head of a pin.

Sometimes, I can find my balance. It’s the same situation but I don’t turn away. I’m terrified, but still, I stand still.Surprisingly, I neither implode nor dissolve. After a while, I can breathe. After a while longer, I can feel. Sometimes I can even remember that it’s not only me. It's you, too. It's everyone.

As Ram Dass said, we're all just walking each other home.

How often do you tell the uncompromised truth, about yourself, about what you see in others, about what you see in the world? How often do I?

Not often enough, for me anyway. What gets in the way is fear. Too often, I’m afraid to look inwards, and afraid to look outwards, too. I cover for my fear – after all, I’m a lawyer – but I know it’s alive and well.

And, finally, after a million hours on the cushion and being a privileged witness to eight powerful Law Jam circles, it’s finally starting to attenuate. A little.

What’s helping is pairing uncompromising truth with unconditional love. When I can remember to do that, something alchemical happens. My breath becomes deeper, my body relaxes.

If you’re curious, try mixing truth and love. As I write this, my first thought is, you already are - everyone already was, except me. But in case your story is a little like mine, try it. See what happens. And let me know how it goes.

I don’t know how to tolerate being terrified but I know that I am terrified a lot. I’m scared that the terrible things happening in other parts of the world or to other people will visit my town, my home, my family.

I’m terrified that when that happens, despite all my training and experience as a lawyer, as a mom, as a yogi and meditator, I won’t know how to help. Or the help I'll be able to offer will not be enough. Or I won't be able to turn towards the situation fully to even see what help is needed, because the situation will strike too deeply or pierce too sharply into my own heart. Or that I’ll simply be overwhelmed.

Do you worry about any of that? If so, maybe we can learn how to be wise, and compassionate, and fierce, in the face of our fear, together.

I’m noticing that fear and confusion are obfuscating whatever wisdom I have these days. I need as much time as possible for quiet, butt on the cushion or feet on the earth. Then, some very basic wisdom can arise and when it does, it’s just this: the wisdom to be ok with not knowing.

I know it’s no substitute for action, though, and that action is also necessary. Compassion reminds me of that. It reminds me to act, fiercely and decisively, but fueled by as much love as I can muster. (“Muster” – a word of war: heart winning out over fear.)

How are you holding these times? Is fear winning out, or is love? Are you able to stay in that liminal space of not knowing - caring deeply but caring more about caring than winning?

Tumultuous doesn’t even begin to describe it. Every time it feels like there’s just too much to take in, there’s something else to take in. Point in any direction in any given moment and there’s more than enough pain and sorrow for a lifetime.

Has it always been this way and I just haven’t been paying attention? Or are these times more difficult than other times? I suspect it’s the former.

How is it for you? And how can we engage, together, in this impossible task of being human, which means – to me, anyway – keeping our hearts open, no matter what?

Sometimes my thoughts are clear and I’m firing on all cylinders, in the zone. And sometimes my thoughts are completely un-useful. I don’t really have to think about what to do about the clear, incisive moments. Those are terrific. They might even be doing some good in the world.

But the thoughts that are infused with frustration or criticism or despair? For the life of me I can’t see what use they have, even though they can be troublingly sticky.

So what to do? How to let go of those thoughts, or reorganize them, or set the mind on a different path? We can have that power, that skillset, through our mindfulness practice. It’s part of the secret sauce.

Isn’t there some universal truth that if we misstep, first, we hope no one notices. Next, we feel surprise (maybe), and shame or regret? But at the same time, we don’t necessarily see ourselves, or want to see ourselves anyway, as the one who’s caused harm?

Or is that just me?

If not, then how do we face what we’ve said or done? And how do we do that without making things worse for ourselves, and for those we’ve hurt? Maybe compassion and self-compassion are not so simple. Or maybe they’re simple but very much not so easy.

I had a moment at the airport yesterday where nothing was wrong but I was scared to death. The great Tibetan teacher Pema Chodron talks a lot about the places that scare you (she even has a book by that title). The airport is someplace that scares me. Pema's invitation, and the invitation of all of mindfulness, is to see if we can stay, in a moment when something scares us. Not turn away, not deny, not run. Not collapse. Just stay.

I’m not thinking about moments where we’re in physical danger and can protect ourselves. We should do that, when that happens and we can. I’m talking about paper tigers. Irrational fears. The time I was defending a motion for nonsuit, and lost, in front of the client: my loneliest courtroom moment. The time a senior partner made me lie to a client while he held the phone to my ear. The time I hyperventilated on the way into class because I was so afraid I didn’t understand the material I was about to teach.

What are the places that scare you? Can you be there for them and with them? Or are things more nuanced: sometimes you can stay, but sometimes you run or hide? I wish I could stay every time. But the truth is, I’m a long work in progress.

We sit and we sit and we sit. Some days there’s ease. But some days for me anyway, there’s just sorrow or anger or fear. And I really don’t want to be with it.

And yet I’ve noticed there’s a resilience that emerges when I practice turning towards difficult moments and memories, and even towards the things I’m sure will be hard in the future (tipping a hat to Mark Twain*).

But that begs the next question for me. Which is, is it possible to turn towards the really hard stuff with not only resilience? Is it possible to turn towards it also with love?

*“I’ve suffered a great many catastrophes in my life. Most of them never happened.” ~ M.T.

What is mindfulness? Is it being present to each moment? Or is there more to it than that?

What if we’re present but frequently lodging objections? What if we’re present but secretly wish things were different – in our firm, organization, relationships? What if we’re present but we’re not at peace with what we see inside?

Can mindfulness help with that?

It’s been an eventful summer. Fires, hurricanes, indictments, work...and hopefully you've also had a few cool dips in the lake or the ocean, or been able to take a few deep breaths in the forest.

Everything makes an impression, doesn’t it? The questions for me are, which impressions to keep close to my heart? What to let go of? And what to let go into?

I want to hold onto the memories of those long, cold swims in the lake. Mostly I want to let go of the front page. More than anything, I want to let go into the ease and wellbeing of the mountains, even (or especially) when I'm back at my desk, writing curriculum, offering programs, watching the clock.

What are you letting go into this fall?

Do you really want all the things you think you want? I don’t, but I think I do. So I mostly operate under that delusion, trying to accumulate more things, more self-awareness, more peace. Even though I know they won’t make me happy. Or happier. In the end, happiness is just here, in this moment. The rest is a memory, or a dream.

Is it possible to truly understand this, and let go? To catch the wanting before it turns into grasping, and before grasping turns into perfectionism? Maybe, just maybe…

The Consequences of What We Feel

Do you ever feel like life is happening fast? I do. Mindfulness invites us to slow down in a particular way, taking in our experience in small chunks, in terms of what we’re seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling, and thinking. I don’t remember to do that all the time. But when I do remember, life is more interesting. It also feel slower and often, very peaceful.

Within that invitation is also a suggestion to see how each moment feels. Is it pleasant? Is it unpleasant? Is it not much of either? When I remember to do that, I can see right away how I'm influenced - even propelled - by my likes and dislikes. And seeing that, feels spacious and hopeful. It also helps me feel more connected - to the moment, and to everyone else. Do you know what I mean?

How many times each day do you notice that seeing is happening? Or that hearing or tasting or smelling are happening? The world is such a cacophonous, fast-moving place. To me, it feels impossible to be aware of each moment of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, feeling, thinking, and emotion. It’s exhausting to even consider it.

But what if we could be that aware, or even just a little bit more aware than we are? What if we could know just a little more often when emotions (like frustration) were happening...before we entered a meeting? Or when sensations (like hunger…or satiety) were happening, before we went for that second latte? Or when seeing was happening, before we drove right past a sunrise or skyline or flock of geese, wheeling across the sky?

Do you ever feel like there’s just too much going on, or too much has happened in the past, and it’s easier to just turn away? I feel that way so many days. The world is a hard place right now.

But what happens if we turn towards instead of turning away? What happens when we face all that pain & suffering? Do we discover that there’s no remedy, and plunge into despair? Or can we discover strength we didn’t even know we had, and resilience, and love?

What I Learned on My Summer Retreat

Hi there! It’s good to be back. And, my summer retreat was amazing.

One thing I learned is how much I still don’t know about mindfulness. That part was super humbling, and also inspiring.

Another thing I learned is about the space between stimulus and response. A big part of my motivation to practice mindfulness is to create space between one moment and the next. In that space, I hope a little wisdom will arise: wisdom, as in, just a better idea of how to respond kindly and compassionately, and still get my point across. But what I learned is that wisdom isn't the only thing that's supposed to arise.

What's also supposed to arise is sorrow and pain. Or maybe it's not "supposed to" arise, but it does. Do you know what I mean?

So what do we do when we open that space, on purpose, hoping for wisdom, and, through no fault of our own, pain and suffering also (or only) arise?

Sometimes for me it's easy to get caught up in how bumpy things are. How loss is so powerful, how things go wrong, how people aren't who I think they are (or should be).

Mindfulness has been a great friend to me in these times. It's the friend that whispers in my ear to look inside for what else is present: gratitude, optimism, amazement.

And it's the friend that reminds me to look up: at the trees, the red-tailed hawk who glides by my window, the people I love.

What is mindfulness if not those two reminders: to look in, and see everything; and to look up, and see everyone?

This week I'm saying goodbye to my dad. It's been an honor, and impossible, to write about him. He was such a gentle and loving soul. He was here for 87 years but what's that, but a blink in time? Or at least that's how it seems to me.

But maybe it depends on how we measure. I guess we can measure by accomplishments, or by our health, or by the rewards we believe are our due (whether we get them or not). But dad didn’t measure by any of those standards.

Dad measured by how well he listened. He taught me that, or I should say, he did his best. It might have begun to stick...about 50 years in.

He measured by how much he laughed. I tried to learn that from him, too. I'm definitely still studying.

And he measured by how well he loved all of us: without question, or judgment, or criticism. This was, for me, his most powerful teaching. He showed me how to do it, he modeled it, but of everything he taught me, this one is the hardest. This one is the teaching of a lifetime, the one I'm still learning. The one I'll remember about him the most: how well he loved, and taught me to love, without question.

Happy 400th Wake Up Call! Whether you’ve been here for four weeks or 400, thank you so much for being here, and for your support.

In some ways it feels like we’re just getting started, but that’s how mindfulness is. We walk down the path, paying attention with courage, with grace. Not flinching or wishing the moment was different, but also, being realistic: seeing the pain and suffering and working tirelessly so that the law, and the world, are a little bit better because of our efforts, our practice.

There’s definitely a suggested path in mindfulness practice. And, sometimes it’s good to take a step back and see that we’re really just doing three things, or three baskets of things: calming, settling, and focusing our minds; developing a solid, ethical foundation; and witnessing our own wisdom emerge.

Three things, but no small thing: it's impossible to measure the power of 400 or even four weeks of practice - of training, of ethics, of wisdom. To quote a graduate of our very first Mindfulness in Law Teacher Training, back in 2016, even one person in the courtroom or conference room, practicing mindfulness, can change everything.

It feels to me like we’re seeing that change, and being that change. Thank you for being part of this remarkable project.

Is it possible to be a good lawyer and not scheme, persuade, or only hint at the truth?

Is it possible to not belittle anyone, and still be a passionate advocate?

Are we in it just for the money, the gain, plowing our profits back into our firms, ourselves? Or are we in it at least in part, to serve, to make the world just a little bit better, with our good works, our good hearts, and our good profits?

There are moments when I know I’m

aligned with whatever wisdom I have;

when I know that nothing I’m doing is supporting

a more weaponized, harmful, poisonous world.

And, there are moments when

I’m concerned I may not be aligned.

Do you ever have that concern?

The world is so complicated.

How do we untangle the interests, loyalties, and values

of our clients and the organizations we support,

so that we know whether our work

falls on the side of wisdom,

or wades into the territory,

however tangentially,

of dealing in weapons, humans, or poisons?

Isn't it always good to come back to basics once in a while? The most basic questions on my mind these days are, is there love in my heart, and how can I bring it into the room?

You could say it's not always appropriate, in our (very) adversarial profession, to have love in your heart, or to bring love into the room. But I’m beginning to see fewer and fewer places where that’s true.

How is it not appropriate to bring a little more love into our relationships with colleagues and even adversaries? We can still be passionate advocates. We just get to do that with a sense of humor, an understanding of the tiny drop of time we occupy, and the recollection that we belong to one another.

And how is it not better to bring a little more love into our families, communities, and relationship to the earth? I can only see good coming from this, too.

Love may not be all we need (or it may be - who am I to argue with one of the greatest sages of our time?) but it's definitely something we need. Come practice some love, on today's Wake Up Call.

As lawyers, how can we commit to the wisdom of not taking anything not freely offered to us? Or not taking more than we need?

How can we commit to not being biased against one another? To not continuing to perpetuate power imbalances, especially if we benefit from them?

Theoretically it seems possible. But in practice?

Maybe if we make the commitment and then practice mindfully,
we can do it. I’d like to think we can. It gives me joy, and hope.

Are there clients and projects that are so compelling that you’re willing to turn away from that quiet voice that says, “maybe not. This might not be right.”

No judgment!

It's just good to explore. It's interesting to see what tempts us, not into the deep weeds but just ever so slightly astray. And then it's also good, once we've seen, to forgive ourselves, and turn back, onto the path.

How much do you pay attention to your spidey-sense? When you’re about to say something, or send that email, or post that shot: that quiet (or loud) voice that says, saying, ruh row, don’t do it.

That feeling of shame, or dread?

I’m listening...sometimes. But sometimes, I definitely override. And then things don’t necessarily and so well.

I wish I could remember to pay attention to that voice always. I wish I could catch myself always, before I cause harm. The good news is, there's a way to practice. That deep listening, that we practice so often with others? We can practice that with ourselves, too. And maybe, end up getting the best advice of all… from ourselves.

Equanimity isn’t so mysterious….All we have to do, to be more equanimous, is give up our preferences, biases, and prejudices; our resignation and cynicism.

Simple! And as usual, not easy. But at least we know what we’re working with: this challenging human mind. And the challenging lawyer’s mind. As always.

And as always, its brilliance, its malleability, and its compassion.

All the years of practicing law at a pace that makes light years seem slow? What if equanimity was always available, there for the dropping into, even in the most staggering moments?

**I think it is, if only we can remember it. Can you remember a moment of equanimity? Any will do. Try right now.

When I remember a past moment of equanimity - true peace with a long, wise view, in the midst of a lot - then equanimity shows up in the present, too. That's all it takes: a recollection of peace.**

And peace shows up, right in the moment, as teacher and refuge and blessing.

Concentration: it's such a gift. To be able to sit down at my screen in an undistracted way, to get something done without finding my mind sliding off into email or Amazon or some seemingly "urgent" spreadsheet.

Mindfulness is a training and for me, concentration is one of its big benefits. But it does raise the question of what: what's the best thing to concentrate on? Sometimes it's whatever's in front of me: that memo, that witness, that student.

But sometimes what's in front of me isn't something I want to concentrate on, or isn't something that would necessarily be good for anyone to concentrate on, like a terrible tragedy, or a terrible politician. In that case, it's also good to remember: mindfulness is a training, and yes,

concentration is one of its gifts. But having the choice about what to concentrate on, and making that choice, for our own benefit and for the benefit of everyone: that might be the biggest mindfulness gift of all.

Tranquility isn’t the first thing I think of when I think of practicing law. The intensity of practice, the issue-spotting mind, perfectionism, living surrounded by conflict? The “Four Perils” of the law don’t seem like they make a lot of space for tranquility.

But think of that moment in the courtroom or conference room or classroom when you feel mindful, when things are in flow; when you're absolutely focused on what's in front of you.

Think of the energy – the, “I’ve got this!” sensation. Think of the joy of that.

Now, look for tranquility. Along with the mindfulness, focus, energy, and joy, is there also a sense of ease, of being just where you need to be? Is there a sense of turning towards, with an open mind, open heart, and open hands, steadily, easily, peacefully? Call it flow. Or call it tranquility. Whatever you call it, I hope you take a moment, if you can, to enjoy it.

Joy.

In those midnight hours, staring at a screen, it can feel so illusive. There might be a sweet FB pic of a friend or a kid, or the moon might be rising right outside the window, but how to import those moments of sweetness, of joy, into the everyday (or every night) grind of the law?

It really is possible but - you might have noticed - it's not our default mode. In fact, being a pessimist, seeing the glass half empty,can be a real asset in our profession. Just not so much in our lives. So even though the stakes are high and the consequences of not taking everything seriously are even higher, I'm still going to say that a little more joy in the law would do us all good.

But the question remains, how can we be passionate advocates, and still import a generous dose of happiness and joy into the law?

With everything expected of us as practicing lawyers; and as teachers, parents, children, siblings, partners, and citizens of the world...with everything we take on, how can we have enough energy for mindfulness? How can we reasonably expect to have energy left for anything else at all?

I don't know. But what I do know, or notice, is that the energy I put into mindfulness, if it’s joyful,comes back to me in abundance. Somehow, paying attention moment to moment with courage, with grace, investigating each moment without wishing it were different than it is, all with irrepressible joy? That kind of practice gives me the energy to get up the next morning and do it all over again, even with a ridiculous to-do list hanging over my head.

I can't really explain why energy for mindfulness begets more energy for mindfulness, but can you relate? Do you know what I mean?

These amazing legal minds. What if we spent some time investigating them? Taking the next step: mindfulness, then investigation. What could we discover?

We could discover unwholesome qualities:anger, or jealousy; laziness, or resentment. Simple enough, if we do – we just abandon those wholesome qualities. (Simple but not easy?)

Or we could discover a cache of wholesomeness: That there’s so much love there, So much generosity, so much care. Simple enough then, too – we just fan those flames and in doing that,

increase our own happiness and everyone else's, too. And in doing that, go about our humble business of changing the world.

What does it look like, to be mindful of our own minds?

What if we have no idea what we're thinking, or even that we're thinking? Or no idea what emotion we're experiencing, or even that we're experiencing one?

It's interesting, because whether or not we're mindful, our thoughts and emotions are informing our words and actions ("informing," or infusing or downright governing them).

If we're mindful, we have a chance: Awakening to what's happening in our own beautiful minds, we can decide whether or not our thoughts or emotions are pointing us in the direction of being useful and kind...before we speak or act or post. Before we cause harm.

If we're not mindful, not awake, we're at the mercy of those beautiful minds. Maybe our words will be kind. Maybe not. Maybe the choices we make will be wise. Maybe not.

It's a risk. Is it a risk worth taking?

Here's an interesting mindfulness note: when we're awake, whatever we're doing, whether it's seeing or hearing or thinking or feeling, on subtle and not-so-subtle levels we're either enjoying the moment, not enjoying it, or not caring.

Generally, if we're enjoying the moment we want it to last (I'm thinking of a delicious meal or a moment of triumph). If we're not enjoying the moment, we can’t wait to get out of it. Being barraged by opposing counsel or a boss comes to mind, as do things like being caught in traffic or in a lie.

And if nothing in particular is happening and we're neither enjoying nor not-enjoying the moment, I don't know about you, but that's when I scroll, or space out, or disconnect.

To paraphrase Carl Jung, being mindful of this function of mind, of the way we (otherwise unconsciously) filter our experience? That's when we get to choose how to live. That's when our unconscious is no longer running our lives, and we're no longer calling it fate.

We’re all aware of a beautiful sunset when we’re out at the beach, watching. We may even know that our eyes are seeing, as the sun dips below the horizon, that our ears are hearing, as the waves crash on the shore, that the sand in our hands is cold, or warm, or damp.

But are we aware of the deeper dimensions of mind? Are we aware of that small voice that says, “I should do this more often. I should rent a place at the beach. I should move to the beach.” Or of the voice that says, “The oceans are rising. The beach will be gone soon.

It’s so unfair that my grandchildren may never sit here.”

Are we aware of the filters of love turning to yearning, of fear turning to anger, of mind, running our lives?

This world, or my world anyway, is full of messages about how I can become a better person.

In a way, mindfulness has fallen into that trap, too. But what if we don’t need to become better people? What if everything we need to live joyfully and safely, in peace, and free, is already embedded deep in our consciousness, just waiting to be noticed and breathed to life?

In a world filled with so much wonder and so much pain all at the same time, what if we already have everything we need?

There are so many “good” reasons why I keep my distance. Some of them have to do with being professional. Some have to do with not wanting to be tainted. Some are just about being lazy.

In my experience, it takes effort to get in close. To see people in all of their distress and wholeness, sorrow and joy, grief and celebration. It takes effort but it’s effort that’s worthy

and wholesome and probably necessary in a world that pulls so hard for separation, and rewards us for not seeing one another, for not even taking a look.

Another shooting. Another war.

Another moment of sorrow and grief. Another moment of wondering why. And another moment of us – the lawyers - advising, representing, prosecuting. Doing our jobs.

Is there room for sorrow? Is there room for grief? Is it even useful? How can we live with it, and how can we live without it?

What if the perfection of wisdom is bigger than clarity and insight and interconnection? What if it’s bigger than not causing harm? What if the perfection of wisdom is understanding that not only are we – lawyers, clients, opponents, and all – impossibly and irrevocably linked by some great invisible chain, but also, or more so, worthy of each other’s care, and empathy, and love?

As Hafiz says, “Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.”

One of the easiest commitments to agree to, and hardest for me to keep, Is to do no harm.

Somehow, built into this lawyer-persona, is this drive to be clear and concise, to be right, and to win. Which unfortunately, too often, ends up doing the opposite, or nearly, of not causing harm. It raises the question, for me: can lawyers practice (or live) with a commitment to doing no harm? Would it put our clients in jeopardy? What about our reputations?

Or could it work? And if so, could it - would it - be in service of a different, maybe deeper, kind of justice, and fairness, and love?

When I think of wisdom, I tend to think of the things I’ve learned and know. But wisdom from a mindfulness perspective is different. Mindfulness says that wisdom is about realizing we’re going to hit bumps in the road and that’s ok, hard times (and good times) aren’t forever and that's ok, too,and even though we keep turning our hearts and minds towards kindness, generosity, patience, and compassion, in the end nothing is personal and that's ok, too.

We’re all just doing our best, together, in this unfathomable world. That’s my best shot at a synopsis of the Three Characteristics.

Intention determines cause and effect (karma): whatever we intend, whether we know our intention or not, determines what we say and do. Which in turn determines whether we create suffering or peace in each moment.

In this way, the ancient texts say, we are the authors and heirs of our karma. What if we could pay attention closely enough to see, before we said or did anything, just what our intention was? Even better, what if our intention could be (mostly) generous and loving and kind?

Paying attention to intention, and cultivating kind intention: what about an intention for 2023, to do that?

What is sacred about the law? I think there’s a tendency – and I’m as guilty of it as anyone – to point out the flaws in the legal system, especially in the U.S. And even to say that it’s broken, maybe irrevocably.

But what if we imagine the law as sacred? What if we recollect, maybe not in our memory but in our bones, how many generations – how many millennia – humans have been puzzling out how to govern as a sacred obligation, asking: what is just, what is fair, what is right? Not getting it "right" but still, doing our best?

And what if we see ourselves as part of that lineage, that sacred trust: imperfect, to be sure – ut still, always doing our best. It feels like there's sacredness in that – maybe even something holy, in our hallowed profession.

Nearing the winter solstice,the shortest day of the year, the invitation is to settle the mind & body. When we do that, we can attend to the deep wisdom that resides in our own hearts, and remember that we practice like this – and experience all the difficulties of life as well – not as individuals, but together.

Not different, not separate.

Do we really have to sit for six or twelve or twenty or thirty minutes a day, in silence, paying attention to our breath? Can’t we just pay attention while we’re doing something else, too, like riding a bike or cooking a meal - something a little more fun?

Why can’t we be multi-tasking meditators?

When all is said & done, and we’ve sat with the 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows so many times that the commentary has run its course, what can we do but be grateful?

Grateful for the law, and that our democracy held up one more time. Grateful for whatever bounty we have. Grateful for whatever peace we have.

And, grateful for seeing, over and over, that this being human isn’t easy; that all difficult things will pass, one way or another.

Sometimes I think, if only I could say more, do more, work harder, then I could really be helpful.

Then I could offer whatever I have in the way of wisdom, compassion, and maybe actually make a difference.

It’s not always easy to remember that all this work we do – supporting clients, students, colleagues, family, friends: if we're doing that work with joy, with irrepressibility, as Norman Fischer invites us to do, then what we're doing is enough. And, anyway, we aren’t ever going to finish the job.

I'm not sure that's the bad news. In fact, I think it might even be the good news.

What time do you get up to meditate? Maybe not 5am, but I do remember, maybe 25 years ago, a teacher saying to me, “the decision to meditate happens the night before, when you set your alarm thirty minutes early to get up and sit.”

I feel like that’s still so true for me, today. But not as if it’s an obligation! Because what can we really accomplish when we approach our practice with reluctance or resignation? Not the difficult, inspirational, transformational, work of mindfulness. Also not the difficult, rewarding, satisfying work of the law.

When we approach both these with a sense of joy, and energy, though? Or both: joyful energy? Then I’d say, so much is possible. In fact, maybe anything’s possible.

Patience is great, in principle, but what happens when things are fast & furious (literally)? Mindfulness helps. When I’m paying attention and not judging myself, I remember to watch for anger, frustration, rage. I remember to turn towards them and get interested, While keeping my fingers off of the keys. Sometimes, I even remember I don’t need to win every point.

I have no idea what would happen if I could do all of that every time I got mad, even a little. Something good, though, I’m sure. What about you - what would happen for you?

Sometimes it feels like the perfect storm, clouds opening up, rain drenching me to my bones, and me, shaking my fist at the sky…or at some sarcastic colleague or maniacal politician.

Every once in a while, though, I have the patience to simply observe. Not at my own risk and not risking anyone else’s safety or case, but just because there’s enough patience to be with whatever is happening, and not react, not get angry, not hide.

I feel like we need this kind of patience now, in our world. And like we’re going to need a whole lot more of it in days to come. What about you - do you agree?

What place does patience have in a busy world? And in a busy profession? Do lawyers even have time for patience?

Maybe, if we think about patience differently.

Patience, not as in waiting for your associate to complete a project or your assistant to return from vacation, but patience as in turning towards anger, frustration, dismay.

Patience, not in the sense of waiting at all, but in the sense of of walking right through the fire.

Even in an ordinary moment: patience gives us the ability to be there, and learn. It's challenging, for me. But it’s such an alive path to choose.

Scary times, if you’re paying attention. Easy to give up on kindness, easy to prefer a good show, a good beach, a nice rock to hide under.

Meanwhile we lawyers – we have a lot of power: The power to influence others, the power to create big shifts in society. And mindful lawyers, those of us practicing the cultivation of wisdom and compassion? We have even more influence, when we connect with others with kindness.

Dogen said, “Kind speech has the power to turn the destiny of the nation.” We need that to happen. Let's talk about one way we get there.

Ethics Are Impossible Where There's No Justice

If you ask yourself the question, “How shall I live?”, what do you hear in response? And whom do you hear it from? It’s a powerful question, maybe the most powerful. A question as old as time.

Zen Master Suzuki Roshi answered it by saying, “Wake up! Life is transient, swiftly passing. Be aware the great matters. Don’t waste time.” How about Suzuki Roshi's admonition as an answer for how to have a generous, ethical, life? Or as a theme for how to live a joyful life in the law?

Do the rules of ethics apply to everyone? Do they apply to everyone in the same way, and to the same degree? Should they?

**How can we contemplate the perfection of ethical conduct or even generosity, when our bellies or hearts are empty?

And what responsibility do those of us have,whose hearts and bellies are full?**

Is it possible to be a fierce advocate, and at the same time not lie or be unkind, harsh, or derogatory? Not simply because of a set of rules, however compelling, but because of a commitment to the greater good?

What if we could practice a level of ethics that serves that highest possible good, and at the same time not compromise our advocacy or ferocity?

Without mindfulness, it’s easy to lose my way.
I don’t pay attention to my underlying intentions, (or I kid myself that they don’t exist – but who am I kidding?). And then consequences happen and still I proclaim my innocence.
With mindfulness, I’ve got a chance. And so does everyone I bump into. I can use mindfulness to slow down and check my intentions before I open my mouth.
Or, if I blow by that opportunity, which I definitely do, At least I can take a non-judgmental, courageous, graceful look at the results of my own hidden (from me, until then) intentions. And then re-set, in the direction of kindness. (And also, probably apologize.)
The key to doing either, or both? Mindfulness practice (naturally).

when I first asked my teacher whether it was ok to talk about ethics and mindfulness, he laughed and said, all of mindfulness is ethics!

Fair.

And, it’s interesting to look at the five biggies, or precepts: not causing harm, not stealing, not misusing sexuality, not communicating unwisely, not using intoxicants to cloud the mind.

These can feel like big asks to me anyway, when I take a really close look. And yet aren't the lawyers the standard-bearers? Don’t folks rely on us to lift up the ethics of society?

Maybe there’s too much cynicism in the world right now to think about it that way, but it seems to me that fundamentally, the answer is “yes.”

And so what about practicing law with these five precepts in mind? Let's dissect, but I do think it has the potential to change our own lives, and maybe even our world.

Ordinarily, when I think of ethics they either feels legalistic, like the rules of professional conduct, or else I think of the rules I learned in Sunday school.

Mindfulness offers an invitation to consider ethics in a different way: not so much as rules but more as a way of life that feels right and has better all-around consequences.

For me, the motivation to discover that life is more motivating than the Model Rules or the Ten Commandments.

It also feels more optimistic.

The last thing I want to say about generosity, for now, is that one of the most important acts of generosity that I know I can take, is to stand up for, and stand beside, anyone and everyone who could use my support.

To do this, I know I have to not “other” anyone. Instead, I have to remember that we are not separate. And then, I have to see my very life as a courageous, political act,

The act of intentionally, courageously, standing up for, and standing beside.

This is not easy for me. I admire you if this is easy for you. I want to do better with the generosity of courage, political action, and interconnection.

Here’s a radical question:

What if we all stopped rushing, stressing, and being so grumpy, And made it a point instead just to be nice to everyone, all the time?

What if we offered a kind hello every morning, and a connected goodbye each night?

What if, as Pablo Neruda said, we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing?

Nothing but be nice to each other? Even though we're lawyers?

It feels like that could be the most generous thing of all…

Too many times I let the chance go by to recognize someone for who they are,

or something they’ve done. Or to appreciate them. Can you relate?

I want to be better at that.

What if we didn't let any chances go by? What if we recognized everyone, as often as possible,

seeing, and saying (if that’s welcome), that we see their amazingness, or their pain?

And appreciating them?

It feels like our profession, maybe our world, could be better if we tried to do that.

And also, helped people laugh, or at least smile: I don’t do that enough, either.

Sure, most of our work is too serious to laugh about. But there are moments of levity, aren’t there? What if we highlighted those moments?

And on that note, how many lawyer jokes are there? Only three. The rest are true stories.

It seems to me that the most generous thing we can do for one another is to create safer, braver, spaces.

I’m not sure exactly how, but what about a formula that looks like letting go of as much greediness as possible, letting go of as much aversiveness as possible, and remembering we belong to one another, even in our very adversarial profession?

All those days you wake up a few minutes early to meditate?

All those times you stop, take a breath, decide on an appropriate response, and then act out of love, compassion?

I feel like every one of those moments is an offering, a teaching.

As we practice – as we sit, as we offer our wisdom and love to our colleagues, our staff, our communities, our friends, our families – we are all, generously, offering the teachings of mindfulness.

Doesn't it feel nice to think about practice like that?

If generosity builds character, then what is true generosity?

And can generosity heal some of the harmful elements of the law?

Maybe that depends on what we offer. Maybe it depends on how much we offer.

Maybe it depends on the practice of generosity, more than the "what" or the "how much."

Maybe it's a completely personal inquiry and we just know generosity when we see it.

Sometimes I think, how is it even appropriate to talk about optimism?

Every day there's another shooting, tragedy, political or legal debacle.

And yet I feel like we can't give up. Or at least I can't. Maybe you feel the same way.

Studying generosity, like studying any wholesome quality of mind, is the opposite of giving up. It's a study in being optimistic.

For one thing, it's a study of character-building and that's an optimistic activity: imagine if we could re-form our own character in the most positive direction possible.

For another thing, it might make someone's day just a tiny bit better. Imagine if we could do that, all day long. And if we do, then they might just pay it forward. Imagine what could happen with a love like that. It could light up the whole world.

In such a difficult moment can generosity help?

Not philosophically, but the practice of generosity?

Let's start with ourselves and see if it does. It might require some suspension of disbelief.

It might require letting go of old, even cherished attitudes. It might mean we have to let in the good and the bad.

But at this point, what do we have to lose?

To aspire to the unattainable, and imagine the impossible, in a sense we're making a deal with ourselves.

We're agreeing that no matter how dedicated we are to cultivating wholesome qualities of mind and heart, no matter how committed we are to saving the world, or at least our own small corner of the world, in our lifetime we will not succeed.

And yet we still do it.

We still dedicate ourselves to being generous, ethical, and patient. We still muster as much joy as we can in the endeavor. We still sit, day in and day out, attaining whatever wisdom might arise.

We know we will not succeed. We know we cannot succeed.

And yet.

Imagination.

It's not the first world that comes to mind when I think of the law. But what if it were?

What if we could reimagine ourselves and in doing that, reimagine the law?

And what if, in reimagining the law, we could reimagine our world?

**Maybe our failure to solve the intractable, systemic issues of our times is less about political will and more about a failure of imagination. If it is, what happens when we shift our perspective, aspire to the unattainable, imagine the impossible?

And how do we even do that?**

I've told this story so often, about how, after I'd stopped practicing law for quite a while, my partner, seeing how frantically I was working, said, "Really? I didn't know you'd given it up."

I was one of those lawyers who worked all the time, at all hours, squeezing stuff in late at night, early in the morning, on weekends. And I still do it, teaching mindfulness. Old habits die hard.

So I'm exploring turning over a new leaf.

I've decided to consider - just consider - the practice of letting go. Of course letting go is one of the main tenets of mindfulness and I've talked about it a lot. But have I done it? I realized recently, not so much.

Today let's talk a little about letting go, then practice it.

Also, this is Wake Up Call 350. !! It's hard to believe, but that's where we are. And it feels like a good time to take a short break. I'm headed to the UK on Monday, so today will be the last live Wake Up Call until June 16th. I'll miss you! And, I'll see you in just over a month.

Is it my imagination or is there a general sense in the law that if we're kind, to ourselves or anyone else, we'll be perceived as weak? Or not just perceived, but that we'll actually be weak?

In terms of how we treat ourselves, I hear it from my students in the form of, "I had to be hard on myself to get as far as I have." I hear it from my colleagues, too - the supposed power of anger turned inwards.

And I'm all too familiar with it personally, but I'm not longer convinced it's such a good idea.

I guess I'm wondering what would happen if we re-envisioned the way we relate to ourselves: less task-mastering, and a whole lot more kindness. Does just reading that seem Pollyannaish Or does it come as a relief, even if you're not quite willing to say?

Mindful lawyering: it's not complicated but it's also not easy. Because it's not easy to pay attention with intention, to be kind and friendly all the time, to show restraint and not conceit, to be insightful.

It is a good aspiration, though - not a better one than becoming skillful at litigation or drafting or negotiating, but a complimentary one: the aspiration to cultivating the intention to pay attention; kindness and friendliness towards even the "other" side; insight.

And what could be better for our clients (and the world), than to add that aspiration to the law? What could be better for our own wellbeing as well?

I'm about as American as it gets - 4th generation San Franciscan on one side and on the other, descended from Jews who fled Europe to Canada first, then quietly made their way down into Nebraska with what they could carry, which our family is pretty sure didn't include anything fancy or legal, like immigration papers.

I was raised to believe in the pursuit of happiness and that when the going gets tough, the tough get going: those characteristically American endeavors. I see the wisdom in both. I've done both, most of my life.

I can also feel the stress in in both - in the constant pursuit, and in being tough and getting going, again and again and again.

It's possible that this strategy is not altogether a bad one, especially for lawyers who are ambitious or deeply committed or both. But at the very least it's missing a component: peace. And I'm not convinced peace is available in the pursuit.

But I do know it's available right here and now, in teach moment, each breath.

When I'm attacked, my impulse is to attack back.

I know it's my legal training, and maybe it's also my nature. At the very least it's a lifelong habit.

Can you relate, or are you in the "flight" more than "fight" camp?

Either way, what if the more effective thing to do is to learn to endure the attack? Not to give anything up or fail to be zealous, but also not to go straight for the jugular, or the exit door, at the first sign of trouble?

Training the mind to be less reactive: that's today's topic. See you soon.

I have a mind that tends to run away with me. Not in a romantic way like taking a beautiful drive down the coast, but in a way where it spins out of control and suddenly I'm stuck in a skipping record of worry, fear, anger, or something worse.

In mindfulness parlance this is a "hell realm." It's a place I know all too well. Maybe you do, too.

The antidotes are remembering it's just a runaway mind (the most usual thing in the world), taking responsibility for any harm done (ug - the most uncomfortable thing in the world), and continuing to diligently train the mind (not the easiest thing in the world).

Fun times. See you soon.

How much mindfulness is enough? Is moment-to-moment attention (the classical definition of secular mindfulness) just a suggestion for when we decide to give it a try?

Or does it mean, moment-to-moment attention all day long?

I'm not saying we can do it (or I can do it), but I think it might mean "all day long."

It's a big aspiration. But then again, it's a feedback loop.

It's the middle of the first MLTT 2022 Intensive and another intense moment in the world.

It feels like a good time to bring in G.R.O.U.N.D., a practice I began working with last year.

Please join me to practice and to contemplate President Zelensky's invitation to be a leader of peace.

Maybe he was talking to all of us. I hope so.

If you were heading down the street and someone tried to mug you, what would you do?

Maybe instinct would kick in and you'd run, or turn and try to fight them off.

Maybe you'd have an instantaneous mindfulness check-in and think, "non-harming, non-harming" - I shouldn't go after them.

Maybe - just maybe - you'd whack them over the head with your umbrella. From a mindful lawyering perspective, is there a time and a place for that, too?

The world seems to be coming together around Ukraine. It did that to manufacture a Covid vaccine as well. What if it's a trend?

Don't be silly, right? There's not enough mindfulness in the world just yet, is there? There's not enough insight. Not enough of us vowing to save all beings, to take the biggest, most compassionate approach. Is there?

I'm not saying we're seeing a sea change, or even that we'll see one in my lifetime, or yours. But I am starting to wonder if we're at least trending in the right direction. And if maybe, just maybe, the (mindful) lawyers are helping...

I used to think if I sat on my meditation cushion, did some yoga, and generally paid attention, I was doing my part. That still feels important. But now, for me anyway, it also feels like it's not enough.

The ancient texts say we should practice as if our hair is on fire or there's a snake in our lap. And I guess that's what feels important for me these days: to remember my hair is on fire - or at least the planet is on fire, and that there really is a snake in my lap - the snake of hatred and separateness.

It's got me interested in the Eightfold Path of mindfulness from a new, maybe bigger, maybe more urgent perspective. It's got me asking what it could look like to walk that Path like a firefighter doing what I can to quench the flames, or like some kind of fearless human (which I'm not!), willing to tame the snake or, if that's not possible, cut off its head.

This question of identity: what does it mean to "be" a lawyer? Is it something to earn, like a degree? Or something to pass into, or be sworn into, after taking the bar?

And what does it mean to "be" a mindfulness practitioner? Is there some right of passage?Some number of hours of silence to cultivate, or endure? Some tap on the shoulder by elders, or teachers?

Or are these not identities at all, but aspirations? And if so, what sustainable forces can we bring to the moment to moment practice of law, and of mindfulness, so that someday we can feel we have truly earned the sacred title of lawyer, and mindfulness practitioner?

So many questions! And not many answers. But maybe some ideas...

Corruption is one of those scary words to me because it conjures intentional dishonesty for personal gain, which goes into the category of never, ever, ever.

At the same time, practicing law can be so intense that it can feel corrosive in & of itself.

Which started me wondering if practicing law is, in some way, corrupting us. And maybe not in such a small way. And that got me wondering whether mindfulness practice could be an antidote.

Now I'm thinking yes, but see what you think.

My habitual reaction to qualities of heart and mind I don't like, like anger, fear, and wickedness, is to try to fix them. I suppose that can be a good thing.

Another good thing can be to meet them with kindness and goodness, in a kind of dance of opposites. But what is the use of taking the hand of fear, or letting the liar whisper sweet nothings in your ear?

Maybe it's a paradox that works.

Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh died last Friday, at the age of 95, in the temple in Vietnam where he first became a monk at the age of 16. In a long, mindful life, Thay, as his students lovingly called him, touched the hearts and minds of millions.

Thay also changed the mindfulness conversation to one that focused on justice and peace for all. He believed - and lived into the belief - that engagement in the world, and healing the world, were the truest callings of all serious mindfulness practitioners.

Thay left us with many powerful teachings. In my favorite, he asserted that in the vast, possibly imaginal, lineage and continuum of buddhas - those ordinary humans who achieve perfect enlightenment and a lineage stretching back thousands of years and forward just as many more, the next Buddha would not be one human being at all.

According to Thich Nhat Hanh, the next Buddha will be the "sangha": that growing, worldwide community of mindfulness practitioners of which all of us are a part.

Now we just need to prove Thay correct. And there's never been a better, more urgent, moment to do that. Let's see what that conversation, and work, look like.

Today's talk is about strawberry ice cream and all those other ideas we get in our heads, and then can't let go of. Like keeping our clients out of jail or from being deported, or like getting our deals done.

It's our job, so we do need to do it. But is there a way to do it without so much longing? And without so much affection for our no doubt stellar abilities, and infatuation with our own success?

Because if not, it's a bit of a setup, isn't it? Aren't we going to live in a state of concern (will I win?) and at least occasionally, grief (I lost!).

Maybe there's another path. It's worth a look.

What could be more natural than that exultant feeling of victory? I love it, even if I've learned to hide my triumph.

Athletes do that really well. Mostly baseball players don't pump their fists when they hit a home run, they just jog the bases and pretend it's all nothing.

I always wonder what they're really thinking. Or what we're all really thinking. Because another way of thinking about victory is to wonder what it does to the mind.

Does it really create happiness? Or could it be doing the opposite?

Mindfulness is terrific at paradox, so here's one: what if victory leads to hate? That's actually what the teachings say. Can that be right? And if so, how?

Who knows what 2022 will bring? Today is the anniversary of the January 6th assault on the U.S. capital. Last year, who could have predicted that?

Sometimes I'm so sad or exhausted or afraid. I just want to take refuge. Do you ever feel that? There's just always so much going on.

But what if refuge is right here, right now? What if the Wizard was right, and all we have to remember to do, to get home - to find refuge - is close our eyes, tap our ruby slippers together, and be present?

What's your most audacious intention for 2022? Think big. Think even bigger.

Zen students chant, "Beings are numberless. I vow to save them all." What's your chant?

What if your chant - your intention - is to end greed, hatred, and delusion? What if your intention is to save our beautiful planet? What if it's both? What if it's bigger than both?

Let's see how big it is. Let's see where this goes.

This time of year - the end of the calendar year - always feels quiet, and sacred, to me. Maybe the holidays, maybe being with family, and this year, like the last two, also feels sacred and precious because things are once again, precarious.

Last week I was wondering about all of that in terms of inter-connection. This week I'm wondering about it in terms of connection to self.

Is it possible to tap into our own inner connection? Is it possible to get a little more connected not only to each other, but also to ourselves? As we do this with one another, seeing each other as beloved, can we also see ourselves the same way?

As we inch towards the end of 2021 without any idea what's next, in terms of the pandemic, the climate, or the political situation, I've been thinking about the importance of our practice.

It feels like there's a big part about wellbeing - that's crucial. And, there's a lot more.

Because we have the potential, as practitioners, to set an example, and even share directly, with those we work with, and with everyone we love, how to stay compassionate and open-hearted right in the middle of...everything.

This Wake Up Call and the next two explore that question, which will take us to the end of this fraught, and strange, and challenging 2021 year.

There are so many times I've said something tinged with meanness, hostility, even violence. It's hard for me to write those words, but I know they're true.

Do you see that in yourself?

If you do, let's talk about how to say things differently, without judging or retaliating against ourselves. If you don't, maybe listen anyway.

One way to think about evil thoughts is to corral the mind and not let them in. Good luck with that. Or I should say, I haven't had good luck with that.

My own mind is capable of conjuring up evil thoughts without much provocation at all, then blithely letting them go forth and multiply.

Here's another idea. What about literally crowding out the evil with the good? What if, instead of trying to corral our minds, we filled them with so many wholesome thoughts that there was no room for anything else?

I can't say what happens because I'm definitely still working on it. On today's podcast I've shared a story about my own "evil" thoughts, and unpacked the practice of crowding them out as best I can. Enjoy.

It's always easier for me to be grateful to someone else than to be grateful for my own good heart. And yet we all have such good hearts.

On today's Wake Up Call, which is prerecorded, I want to offer space and time for you to be grateful for your good and beautiful heart. I hope you give yourself that time and space.

You can listen to today's recorded Wake Up Call here, and wherever you get your podcasts.

Gratitude again, this time with a few ideas.

Because again, it's easy to be grateful for the good stuff.

Or is it?

Yes, and. And: it's also easy for me, anyway, to miss the good stuff. To take it for granted - to take people for granted - and to forget that we're just here for a minute.

And to forget that because of that, now is the best time to say thank you. Today is the best day to be grateful. And out loud is the best way to do it.

Plus there's good research on gratitude. And the bottom line is, it's good for us.

I learned some new gratitude strategies and am trying them out. Sharing those in today's podcast. Enjoy.

Gratitude, that old topic. Really, I was thinking, there must be a new take.

I could talk about how grateful I am for the people I love, the land that supports us, my mini-labradoodle, Bleue, who just turned 14..., but it's the hard stuff that makes gratitude more interesting.

It's so much easier and in some ways, more natural, to complain about the hard stuff. Because it's hard.

But then again, maybe that's a missed opportunity. Maybe the big shift looks something like finding ways to be grateful for the difficult people, the hopeless institutions, our own tangled, impossible minds.

Maybe that's how the light gets through.

The ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi is all about the beauty of brokenness. When a vessel is cracked, or even smashed to bits, Kintsugi is about piecing it back together with gold. Far from being perceived as flawed, the vessel, in its brokenness, is then considered better than before, even luminous.

What if mindfulness could help us to approach our own brokenness in this way? Just imagine the light...

Anne Lamott says, "My mind is like a bad neighborhood - I try not to go there alone." I sometimes feel that way about the law.

There's almost nothing about practicing law that I can recall, that's about creating good neighborhoods or safe neighborhoods, or safety in general.

What if that changed? Could mindfulness support the creation of an adversary system, or could it work within the current system, in a way that allowed everyone to feel safe?

It's at least worth exploring.

Are there people at your firm, organization, school, or courthouse, who deserve your respect?If so, are you expressing it as freely and frequently as you'd like? Mindfulness invites us to do that - to focus our energies more on showing respect to others than on burnishing our own reputations. Counterintuitive, or does it make sense?

All day long, as lawyers, we strategize, plan, scheme.How do we win this one? How do we show that DA/PD to the door? Whom do we need to step on, to climb just a little bit higher?(Is that an exaggeration? Maybe, maybe not.) What about a strange idea: that "greater in combat than a person who conquers a thousand times a thousand people, is the person who conquers herself." Yes? No? Maybe? See what you think.

Podcasting from New York City, where there are countless humans, bumping into one another, day in & day out, creating their own realities. I wonder if any of it is real. To me it looks like countless worlds colliding into being, then dissolving, right before my eyes. It looks like the three characteristics of mindfulness, alive and well on the streets of New York: an object lesson in impermanence, stress, and emptiness. Sound interesting? If so, please listen.

Does your mind move as fast as mine, when you’re in conversation with someone?

Often, I think I know what the other person is going to say. I’m impatient, waiting from them to just get it out.

What if we could be more patient with one another? What if we could slow down and simply listen when someone was talking? What if we could not be so sure we knew what they were about to say? We might be offering the unexpected, and even find it ourselves: a little more peace.

Let’s unpack this a little bit today.

How diligently are you practicing? How steady is your mind? Are these questions useful? And why do we even ask them?

I was asking myself these questions all the time. Kind of relentlessly. Then a teacher asked me why I was putting myself on trial.

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That's exactly what I was doing.

We do want to be diligent and we do want to steady our minds. But let's not put ourselves on trial. Or at least let's talk about that, on this episode.

I don't doubt for a minute that your practice and mine bring us at least a little peace, sometimes. We're fortunate in that way.

And also, here at the Wake Up Call we're sharing tools & strategies to help others find peace, and maybe you're doing that, too, in your office, at home, maybe a lot of places in your life.

But what if, not "in addition" (because: that endless to-do list), but instead, just your presence could provide peace? What if you could be a sanctuary?

What if sanctuary is right there, where you are?

Playing with that one, on this podcast. See what you think.

Just when I think I'm saturated, something else happens. Is it possible to be with whatever is going on in the world, and in our lives, without getting overwhelmed?

Because even when we learn how to do that, there's still so much work to be done: work that to me sometimes feels empowering, but sometimes, endless.

Or maybe it's both. Has it always been both? Or is it just that from now on, it always will be both? And if so, how do we practice with that? Some ideas, on today's podcast.

There is so. much. smoke. The air is unbreathable in the Sierras, and only just ok down in the San Francisco Bay Area.

My heart is broken. Equanimity feels like a tall order. I've eaten far too many peanut butter cookies, as solace.

On the other hand, where there's smoke, there's fire. How do equanimity and motivation work together? What if we could find a balance between the two, taking good care of ourselves and also saving the planet? Don't we owe it to ourselves, and the seven generations to come, to give it a try?

This mind! Left unattended, mine does such strange things. When I've done something well, I'm self-congratulatory. When I haven't, disapproval and self-blame are right there. Is there a way to tame the mind so it's less reactive? A way to be "unmoved" by praise or blame? Is that even the goal? That's what today's Wake Up Call is all about. Enjoy.

Have you noticed how sometimes friends help you celebrate your triumphs, drown your sorrows, and rail against the small injustices of the day: the traffic, someone else's rudeness, the latest mask mandates?

And then, how there are true best friends? Who do all that, but also remind you that things are just as they are, that drowning your sorrows isn't always as helpful as letting the tears flow, and that it's not a great idea to insult or disparage people because it only burns a hole in your own heart?

For me, in one way deciding which friends are true "bests" isn't always easy. In another way, it's simple: best friends tell me the truth. In this podcast, let's talk about truth-telling best friends (in a nice way).

Last week the Fool, this week the Sage. What is the Sage, or maybe, Who is the Sage? And can we make it easier for ourselves to listen to them? And what are we listening for? No answers but hopefully some good questions, on today's podcast.

The Fool is an ancient symbol. Some people say it's the image of innocence and openness. Others say it's the image of delirium. From a mindfulness perspective, when we get caught up in wealth and pride, we're all delirious Fools, ignorant rather than innocent. When we remember our last pair of pants have no pockets, we're free. Check out whether or not that's true, on today's podcast.

Should lawyers try to master the world? Yes! Or, in a way.

But not in a "Tom Wolfe, Bonfire of the Vanities," Master of the Universe, kind of way. In a way that's about becoming aware of the perfectly ordinary, grasping, anxious, need-to-be-right, mind.

And then in a way that's about cultivating counterweights like generosity, kindness, patience, and compassion.

As we do that, maybe we will master the world, in a positive way. Maybe we will become true servant leaders, using our enormous influence to be abundantly kind, generous, and patient. True servant leaders, listening for and responding to the cries of our clients, our colleagues, our friends, our families, and the world.

Explore, on today's podcast.

Yesterday I spent the morning in a virtual probate courtroom. What an interesting experience. In thirty years of practicing law in person, I don't think I ever saw the nooks & crannies of people's courtroom faces as clearly as I did yesterday.

It was interesting that immediately, I started to judge. Do you do that? I decided which lawyers were comfortable and which ones weren't prepared. I determined who was smart and who wasn't. I even judged a whole bunch of things about the judge.

Mindfulness is an invitation to see what we see, but not decide, determine, or judge. The question that comes up for me is, is this useful in the courtroom, or not? I checked that out on today's podcast. Enjoy.

The truth is, for so many years I loved my restless mind. Whenever things were about as busy as they could get, and then got a little crazier, I loved it. I felt like I was in top form, saving the world. Do you ever have that feeling?

From a mindfulness perspective, the problem with that "save the day!" state of mind is that it can obscure things. As often as it feels laser sharp, it can also be moving too fast for nuance, too fast for insight and wisdom to arise.

Let's look at both ways, on today's episode.

Here we are in the U.S., about to celebrate another Independence Day, celebrating our freedom from the tyranny of a king. But we all know there are other tyrannies afoot.

Definitely, let's celebrate, but let's celebrate something even more hopeful: our ability to cultivate our own hearts and minds so that we can remember that we're not so much independent as inter-dependent, and that when we remember to pay attention, we really might be able to find some way through this mess we're in, to liberty and freedom for all.

Do you ever notice there's a stickiness to the unkind things you say or do? How they stay with you, a kind of grief or remorse following you throughout the day, or through life? And how the same thing's true for the kind things: a moment later, and even years later, there's a kind of rejoicing and gladness that comes right back up, when you remember having been kind. On this episode of Wake Up Call, to grieve, or rejoice - that is the question. Enjoy.

“Where Quarrels End” is the topic for today’s episode, which seems odd since in the law, quarrels never really end and I don't even know if they’re supposed to end. And yet.

What if we thought about ending our quarrels? In an adversary system, is that a contradiction in terms, or is there a way to be a fierce advocate and also not quarrel so much with one another? Or with life in general?

I'd like to think I can get away with being careless every so often, but the truth is, I can see how the slightest edge in my voice, the tiniest amount of anger or ill will, is obvious to everyone and just leads to more of the same. It's nice that the opposite is also true: kindness leads to kindness. I notice I can even topple my anger, with love. In this episode, what does any of that have to do with the law? Plenty.

Usually we're very much in the middle of things, which makes it hard to step back for a broader perspective. Yet without that step back, our work can suffer, the people around us can suffer, and we can, too. Stepping back is a way of noticing what's happening in the present moment from a clearer, less personal, perspective. It feels essential, self-compassionate, and full of wisdom. On this episode, hear a little about how it works, and practice. Enjoy.

There's a certain clarity that can arise when equanimity is present and we drop our objections to the present moment, and our doubts about our own good hearts. From there it's possible to drop into life in the fullest and most powerful way, looking inside and remembering the intentions to be present and do no harm, and then looking up, rolling up our sleeves, and getting to the work of saving our small corner of the world. It's a lot to explore in ten minutes, but that's what this episode is about. Enjoy.

This moment, with its seemingly endless dangers and sorrows, calls for practices that can support equanimity like the G.R.O.U.N.D. practice we've been unpacking. Today's episode looks at the "N" of G.R.O.U.N.D. "N" is an invitation to "notice" that when you're G - grounded, R-, at rest, O-open, and U-unclenched, there's an innate peace of mind that's available, even in the midst of so much. Enjoy.

There's a way in which we can find ourselves fighting with our own experience: knowing we're frustrated or anxious, yet wanting to feel something different: more calm, safer, and free. When this fighting stance spills over into everyday life, difficult moments can feel even worse.

This episode explores the question, what if we could relax just a little bit more, even with the hard stuff? Could we be happier and more content? Check it out, on today's episode, which is the 300th Wake Up Call (happy anniversary to us!).

In this practice of G.R.O.U.N.D., we've explored G, connecting to the earth and to each other and becoming more grounded in place and in community; and R, resting in the present moment (plus some strategies for that). On this episode of the Wake Up Call, the inquiry is about O, opening to whatever is here.

Opening to whatever is here, to what's in front of us, around us, inside us, is a fundamental mindfulness practice. And, for me anyway, it's rarely as easy as it sounds. Or if it doesn't sound easy at all, then yep, sometimes it's just as hard as it sounds.

Still, there are ways to open to what's here and still keep in mind what's most important: taking good care of ourselves in the process, so that we can also take good care of others. Listen and see if any of the ideas about that on this episode, are helpful.

Does it seem like there's still/always somuchgoing on? It does to me. What if we could rest in the middle of it all? What if we had a "practice" of resting, throughout the day, and we still got everything done? That's the inquiry on this episode of the Wake Up Call. Enjoy.

Another big week and this time some good news, with the Chauvin verdict and the Minnesota Attorney General's powerful speech. Keith Ellison invited us to create transformation in the law: "empathetic, compassionate, and affirming" were his words.

Can mindfulness move us closer to that transformation? I think so. Listen to this episode of the Wake Up Call. See if you agree.

Last week we looked at a classic portable mindfulness practice, S.T.O.P. This week, let's take it back to the cushion.

With so much happening, plus life beginning to open up, things can feel confusing, even conflicted. How can we explore the experience of confusion and conflict on the cushion, in solitary practice, and then turn that exploration into something we can rely on as we venture out into the world?

This episode examines the practice of G.R.O.U.N.D.ing in the here & now. Hopefully it will support you right now.

By the time of this Wake Up Call, we'd all be so careful for so long. It had been exhausting but also, safe. The question was, how were people feeling about venturing out? Some days I had the balance, the equilibrium, to do it. Sometimes not. Equanimity helped.

Equanimity can support openness to experience: the experience of connecting and of retreat; the experience of suffering, and of joy. But equanimity is a practice. On this Wake Up Call, take a look at an old, trusted tool, S.T.O.P., and see how it can support equanimity practice, and help us all to re-learn how to stand together, in the fire of things.

The intention was to start unpacking equanimity slowly, from the beginning, starting with today's Wake Up Call. However, that's not what happened. Instead, events overtook me and I ended up writing about what I learned from my mom about equanimity at the end of a life. It's a stretch to share but it's what I've got. And who knows? Maybe it'll end up being an interesting beginning to equanimity after all. Happy listening.

Today's Wake Up Call fell on the official one-year anniversary of the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. The questions that were alive were, what can we do to mark this incredibly sad moment? And how can we do that and retain, or locate, our sense of balance, poise, equanimity?

Equanimity is the fourth of the four most treasured qualities of mind. What does equanimity look like right now when there's still so much sorrow, uncertainty, and fear? Is this one of those (many?) moments when, as the poet, Rilke, suggests, maybe the best we can do is "be patient towards all that is unsolved in our own hearts?"

This Wake Up Call asks, "is that equanimity right now?" It is dedicated to the memory of all the lives lost in the twin pandemics of COVID 19 and racism in the U.S.

What would it be like to be happy for the difficult people in our lives? It's almost too strange to contemplate. Yet if we do contemplate it, and practice it, not only does it liberate us from feelings of anger, jealousy, and ill will. It also creates safety for those "others" to experience and express their joy - safety that might not otherwise be available.

Which still begs the question of how to do that. On today's Wake Up Call, let's look at one "how to" : forgiveness. And let's start with the question, how does forgiveness work? (And spoiler alert: it starts with forgiving ourselves.)

The law (and the world) divides us: good & bad, our side & theirs, friends & enemies. Hopefully it's not difficult to be happy for our friends, and to wish them well. But, what about the other side, or the enemy? Today's Wake Up Call explores whether it's even possible to have goodwill for the "bad guys" and for those we just flat out don't like. Plus, why would we want to? What gets in the way? What makes it possible? Happy listening.

This Wake Up Call is about comparing mind. Comparing gets in the way of joy. Yet comparing is ubiquitous in the law. Plus it's one or the other - we can be joyful or we can cultivate (or default to) a comparing mind. But we can't do both. So the question for this episode is, how do we let joy win?

In this episode of the Wake Up Call, let's look at how to be happy when the other side wins, and other interesting conundrums. Happy listening.

We're exploring joy. Sure, we have mountains of work to do, in our practices and also in the country and world. And, we're legal professionals - we're trained to be leaders, expected to lead. Yet, suddenly, here in the U.S., there's someone in charge. Let's explore the joy of trusting someone else to lead for a while.

Our new President, Joe Biden, called for unity in his inaugural address. How can we understand unity from a mindfulness perspective? This Wake Up Call explores that. Happy listening.

Mindfulness is many things but it's definitely not about hiding out. One thing mindfulness can help us to do is to cultivate greater wisdom and compassion - fierce compassion. This Wake Up Call explores what that means right now. Happy listening.

This opening Wake Up Call of 2021 was recorded live on January 7th, 2021, the day after the insurrection at the Capital. It seemed like a good day to ask, why practice mindfulness, when the world is on fire? Not saying the question got answered, but hopefully some of the ideas on Wake Up Call #283 will resonate with you. Happy listening.