That’s what I teach now — practices that are flexible, pragmatic, and sturdy enough to meet real human lives. Including mine!
I learned how to notice what my mind was doing while it was doing it.
I learned how to stay present with discomfort without immediately trying to fix it.
I learned how to interrupt the spin-cycle long enough to make a different choice.
That learning came from a mix of places: long retreats, daily screw-ups, neuroscience, Buddhism, therapy, somatic practices, conversations with teachers I trust, and a lot of trial-and-error inside my own life.
Over time, I realized something important:
The most helpful thing I could offer wasn’t a single technique or tradition.
It was a way of relating to practice itself.
Meditation did not come easily to me. I was — and still am — very good at thinking about practice instead of doing it. I can imagine every possible outcome of a meditation session without ever sitting down. I can worry creatively, at length, with footnotes.
Slowly — and not in a straight line — I learned something more useful than calm.
I arrived as an overthinking, impulsive, neurodivergent human who wanted his mind to stop eating him alive.
I didn’t arrive at meditation as a naturally calm person looking to optimize my bliss.
How I came to teach this way:
