I’m going to try to convince you not to be a jerk. I mean, you’re probably already not a jerk. I’m sure you’re usually basically a very nice human. But if you’re anything like me, you’re usually a nice human who flips out sometimes, says things he doesn’t mean, or maybe even says things he does mean and then encounters the rippling layers of consequences of those things down the line. My goal is to persuade you to do less of the jerk-like stuff you might be doing in your everyday life, and more of the prosocial, happy-making stuff you’re probably also already doing.

Please take a minute and think of a real jerk. This could be a stupid terrible jerk from your present life. It could be an awful disgusting jerk from your past. Maybe even a historical jerk or a bigtime political jerk. Whoever this jerk is, just make sure they really embody jerkiness for you.  

Got your jerk? Good. Now, I’d like you to start to catalog this person’s badness. In other words, what makes them such a jerk? Please think of all the qualities that make this individual particularly unbearable. What makes them terrible? What is it about them that makes you want to ring their neck or flee the building?

Let’s look together at that compendium of jerkdom you just assembled. What exactly was on that list of unforgivable attributes this particular jerk personifies? My guess is there are all kinds of things. This person talks behind your back. Or they threw sand in your eyes when you were ten. Or they’re racist. Or just plain damned ignorant. Or a horrible bore who won’t let you get a word in at parties. Or they’ve done something truly terrible to you or someone you love.

A jerk, put simply, is someone who causes harm. They cut you off in traffic or talk on the phone really loud in coffee shops or threaten the democratic norms you’ve always believed were intrinsic to the functioning of a civilized society. That’s why we don’t like jerks. Because they trigger avalanches of chaos everywhere they go.

But here’s the kicker, a time-honored semi-Buddhist insight: all of us have a little jerk living inside us. The part of us that wants what it wants, that doesn’t care about others’ feelings, that’s totally going to snag that parking spot outside the grocery store even though the mom with two kids so obviously got there first. If we want to be happy long term, with flourishing friendships and a more-or-less stable sense of purpose, we’ll need to stay alert to that self-sabotaging part of ourselves, and choose something different.

I lived in a Zen monastery for six years. When I tell people I lived in a Zen monastery in the remote mountains of Colorado—when I show them pictures of the Japanese tea house and the black meditation cushions all in a row—they usually say something like “That must have been so peaceful.”

Yeah, no. It wasn’t. A monastery is a training ground. You’re up at 3:30 in the morning. You’re meditating for hours every day. There’s no personal space. You don’t get days off. All of you are stuck together in your black robes and your weird habits for months at a time. 

Enter Anthony. Anthony owned a bookstore in the Mission in San Francisco. He was a longtime Zen student, in his fifties, with a crew cut, a bag full of government conspiracy theories, and an excessively short fuse.

When Anthony came to the monastery, he had the misfortune of being under my auspices. I was the work leader—a position that entailed me, at twenty-five, telling everyone else what to do. Not that I was particularly dictatorial. But busy, for sure. And a little visionary sometimes. There was stuff to get done and I had a plan and I wanted people to step to the vision.

So I ran my meetings like clockwork. I admit it, there were spreadsheets. There were timelines. There was building frustration on my part, since the actual world was, very often, not conforming to my spreadsheets and my timelines.

It all came to a head on a crystalline February day. Thirty strapping volunteers from a local college were on their way to campus. We were going to do fire mitigation—a pressing concern for the monastery, since our surrounding desert mountains were a tinderbox of brush and low branches, just waiting to go up in flames.

I’d arranged for three professionals to arrive with their chainsaws and for each available member of the monastic community to lead a work group of five college kids. I was in the middle of downloading the vision, psyching up the troops, clarifying the details, when Anthony raised his hand.

“Yes, Anthony,” I said.

“What time is lunch?” he said.

I was flummoxed. Lunch? We were about to move mountains! 

“Who cares?” I said.

Then I went back to explicating the hauling routes and assigning the responsibilities.

After the meeting, I was walking into the kitchen when Anthony came from behind, spun me around by the shoulder, and threw me up against the wall.

Suddenly, everything went very slowly. I noticed that his face was a startling shade of red, almost purple. There was a single bead of sweat on his forehead. And his breath smelled like coffee and milk.

Anthony shook me and slammed me, saying things like “If you ever talk to me that way again, I will cut your throat.” 

Already my mind was tracking back over the last several minutes. Clearly, I had done something that really pissed Anthony off. At first I was a little too dumb to know what it was. I soon realized it was that moment I’d blown off his question about lunch.

Simultaneously, I saw there existed a whole range of options before me, almost like radio stations. Except instead of choosing between NPR and classic rock, my mind started flipping through disparate cultural scripts, little memes that might be appropriate for just such an occasion. I’m from New York, and the New York radio station was enticing me to throw a punch. Thankfully, the Buddhist radio station also clicked on even stronger. I saw how I had come into the meeting all jazzed up, a little manic. I saw how my empathy in the meeting was low. I saw how I had needlessly insulted Anthony, made him feel small. I saw my low empathy and subsequent belittling as the cause of the present death threat.

So I relaxed. “Anthony,” I said. “I messed up. Sorry. Just one of those days.”

He looked confused for a moment. Then I watched his face cycle through its own range of emotions—watched him try to remain angry, then confused again, then sad, then just tired. He dropped my shirt and walked away.

I wish I could say I always have that level of insight. The truth, though, is that spiritual progress is a bumpy road. Not so much an ever-upward line of transcendent growth. More like a series of peaks and valleys. In which you fall flat on your face in the valley. In a swamp. With mosquitoes. And no bug spray. Then dust yourself off and keep working at it.

Kindness Meditation

You can do this meditation in five minutes, if you’d like. I definitely recommend this meditation to anybody who could use a little more kindness in their life. And that’s pretty much all of us.

Let’s start by finding a comfortable posture, either sitting or lying down. Obviously if you’re reading this on a computer or your phone it’ll be hard to close your eyes. So you can keep them open. Or read a few sentences and then close your eyes. Don’t worry too much about whether you’re doing it right. Don’t worry too much about being a great meditator. In fact, just don’t worry too much.

Now let’s bring a warm awareness to your body. Just feel your body. With a sense of friendliness, a sort of grassroots kindness. Feel your hands. Feel your feet.

Bring that warm awareness to the area of your heart. Notice any sensations in the heart area—throbbing, humming, tingling, numb, whatever. Start to notice any emotions that might be here, in the heart. Just kind of take the temperature. Get a sense of things. 

You don’t need to get rid of anything, don’t need to feel differently or better. If you’re numb, you’re numb. No problem. If you’re sad, that’s how it is. Angry? That’s okay, too. Often we’re a whole bunch of things all at once. Which is also not a problem.

Now from this sense of the heart—of just being with your heart—let’s call up an image of a good friend. Someone you like. They’ve got your back. Sure, they tick you off every once in a while. But essentially it’s a good relationship—all in all, you want them to be happy.

Now let’s lean a little into this sense that your friend wants to be happy. Just like you, just like everybody, he or she or they really want to be happy. They want to be safe. They want to be healthy. They’d like some peace. 

And now let’s just begin to wish them well, using some traditional phrases.

May you be safe.

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be peaceful and at ease.

Just continue thinking about your friend, repeating these phrases silently to yourself. Maybe after some time, you can imagine your friend filling up with happiness. Imagine your friend getting lighter. Imagine your friend getting happier. Imagine them smiling. Filled with joy.

It’s great to start with a friend when you do this at first, somebody who’s pretty easy for you. Once you get the hang of that, though, it can be really helpful to bring this same kindness, this wishing well, to yourself. May I be safe, may I be happy, etc. Then you can extend that general caring out to people you don’t know so well, and even to people you don’t like so much, and then to everyone, everywhere, without exception. 

♦

This article was originally published online in April 2020. Check out Devon and Nico Hase’s newly released paperback version of How Not to Be a Hot Mess: A Survival Guide for Modern Life here. 

Adapted from How Not to Be a Hot Mess: A Survival Guide for Modern Life by Nico Hase and Devon Hase © 2020 by Nico Hase and Devon Hase. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc. Boulder, CO.

The post How Not to Be a Jerk (Plus, a Kindness Meditation) appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

I’m going to try to convince you not to be a jerk. I mean, you’re probably already not a jerk. I’m sure you’re usually basically a very nice human. But if you’re anything like me, you’re usually a nice human who flips out sometimes, says things he doesn’t mean, or maybe even says things he does mean and then encounters the rippling layers of consequences of those things down the line. My goal is to persuade you to do less of the jerk-like stuff you might be doing in your everyday life, and more of the prosocial, happy-making stuff you’re probably also already doing.

Please take a minute and think of a real jerk. This could be a stupid terrible jerk from your present life. It could be an awful disgusting jerk from your past. Maybe even a historical jerk or a bigtime political jerk. Whoever this jerk is, just make sure they really embody jerkiness for you.  

Got your jerk? Good. Now, I’d like you to start to catalog this person’s badness. In other words, what makes them such a jerk? Please think of all the qualities that make this individual particularly unbearable. What makes them terrible? What is it about them that makes you want to ring their neck or flee the building?

Let’s look together at that compendium of jerkdom you just assembled. What exactly was on that list of unforgivable attributes this particular jerk personifies? My guess is there are all kinds of things. This person talks behind your back. Or they threw sand in your eyes when you were ten. Or they’re racist. Or just plain damned ignorant. Or a horrible bore who won’t let you get a word in at parties. Or they’ve done something truly terrible to you or someone you love.

A jerk, put simply, is someone who causes harm. They cut you off in traffic or talk on the phone really loud in coffee shops or threaten the democratic norms you’ve always believed were intrinsic to the functioning of a civilized society. That’s why we don’t like jerks. Because they trigger avalanches of chaos everywhere they go.

But here’s the kicker, a time-honored semi-Buddhist insight: all of us have a little jerk living inside us. The part of us that wants what it wants, that doesn’t care about others’ feelings, that’s totally going to snag that parking spot outside the grocery store even though the mom with two kids so obviously got there first. If we want to be happy long term, with flourishing friendships and a more-or-less stable sense of purpose, we’ll need to stay alert to that self-sabotaging part of ourselves, and choose something different.

I lived in a Zen monastery for six years. When I tell people I lived in a Zen monastery in the remote mountains of Colorado—when I show them pictures of the Japanese tea house and the black meditation cushions all in a row—they usually say something like “That must have been so peaceful.”

Yeah, no. It wasn’t. A monastery is a training ground. You’re up at 3:30 in the morning. You’re meditating for hours every day. There’s no personal space. You don’t get days off. All of you are stuck together in your black robes and your weird habits for months at a time. 

Enter Anthony. Anthony owned a bookstore in the Mission in San Francisco. He was a longtime Zen student, in his fifties, with a crew cut, a bag full of government conspiracy theories, and an excessively short fuse.

When Anthony came to the monastery, he had the misfortune of being under my auspices. I was the work leader—a position that entailed me, at twenty-five, telling everyone else what to do. Not that I was particularly dictatorial. But busy, for sure. And a little visionary sometimes. There was stuff to get done and I had a plan and I wanted people to step to the vision.

So I ran my meetings like clockwork. I admit it, there were spreadsheets. There were timelines. There was building frustration on my part, since the actual world was, very often, not conforming to my spreadsheets and my timelines.

It all came to a head on a crystalline February day. Thirty strapping volunteers from a local college were on their way to campus. We were going to do fire mitigation—a pressing concern for the monastery, since our surrounding desert mountains were a tinderbox of brush and low branches, just waiting to go up in flames.

I’d arranged for three professionals to arrive with their chainsaws and for each available member of the monastic community to lead a work group of five college kids. I was in the middle of downloading the vision, psyching up the troops, clarifying the details, when Anthony raised his hand.

“Yes, Anthony,” I said.

“What time is lunch?” he said.

I was flummoxed. Lunch? We were about to move mountains! 

“Who cares?” I said.

Then I went back to explicating the hauling routes and assigning the responsibilities.

After the meeting, I was walking into the kitchen when Anthony came from behind, spun me around by the shoulder, and threw me up against the wall.

Suddenly, everything went very slowly. I noticed that his face was a startling shade of red, almost purple. There was a single bead of sweat on his forehead. And his breath smelled like coffee and milk.

Anthony shook me and slammed me, saying things like “If you ever talk to me that way again, I will cut your throat.” 

Already my mind was tracking back over the last several minutes. Clearly, I had done something that really pissed Anthony off. At first I was a little too dumb to know what it was. I soon realized it was that moment I’d blown off his question about lunch.

Simultaneously, I saw there existed a whole range of options before me, almost like radio stations. Except instead of choosing between NPR and classic rock, my mind started flipping through disparate cultural scripts, little memes that might be appropriate for just such an occasion. I’m from New York, and the New York radio station was enticing me to throw a punch. Thankfully, the Buddhist radio station also clicked on even stronger. I saw how I had come into the meeting all jazzed up, a little manic. I saw how my empathy in the meeting was low. I saw how I had needlessly insulted Anthony, made him feel small. I saw my low empathy and subsequent belittling as the cause of the present death threat.

So I relaxed. “Anthony,” I said. “I messed up. Sorry. Just one of those days.”

He looked confused for a moment. Then I watched his face cycle through its own range of emotions—watched him try to remain angry, then confused again, then sad, then just tired. He dropped my shirt and walked away.

I wish I could say I always have that level of insight. The truth, though, is that spiritual progress is a bumpy road. Not so much an ever-upward line of transcendent growth. More like a series of peaks and valleys. In which you fall flat on your face in the valley. In a swamp. With mosquitoes. And no bug spray. Then dust yourself off and keep working at it.

Kindness Meditation

You can do this meditation in five minutes, if you’d like. I definitely recommend this meditation to anybody who could use a little more kindness in their life. And that’s pretty much all of us.

Let’s start by finding a comfortable posture, either sitting or lying down. Obviously if you’re reading this on a computer or your phone it’ll be hard to close your eyes. So you can keep them open. Or read a few sentences and then close your eyes. Don’t worry too much about whether you’re doing it right. Don’t worry too much about being a great meditator. In fact, just don’t worry too much.

Now let’s bring a warm awareness to your body. Just feel your body. With a sense of friendliness, a sort of grassroots kindness. Feel your hands. Feel your feet.

Bring that warm awareness to the area of your heart. Notice any sensations in the heart area—throbbing, humming, tingling, numb, whatever. Start to notice any emotions that might be here, in the heart. Just kind of take the temperature. Get a sense of things. 

You don’t need to get rid of anything, don’t need to feel differently or better. If you’re numb, you’re numb. No problem. If you’re sad, that’s how it is. Angry? That’s okay, too. Often we’re a whole bunch of things all at once. Which is also not a problem.

Now from this sense of the heart—of just being with your heart—let’s call up an image of a good friend. Someone you like. They’ve got your back. Sure, they tick you off every once in a while. But essentially it’s a good relationship—all in all, you want them to be happy.

Now let’s lean a little into this sense that your friend wants to be happy. Just like you, just like everybody, he or she or they really want to be happy. They want to be safe. They want to be healthy. They’d like some peace. 

And now let’s just begin to wish them well, using some traditional phrases.

May you be safe.

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be peaceful and at ease.

Just continue thinking about your friend, repeating these phrases silently to yourself. Maybe after some time, you can imagine your friend filling up with happiness. Imagine your friend getting lighter. Imagine your friend getting happier. Imagine them smiling. Filled with joy.

It’s great to start with a friend when you do this at first, somebody who’s pretty easy for you. Once you get the hang of that, though, it can be really helpful to bring this same kindness, this wishing well, to yourself. May I be safe, may I be happy, etc. Then you can extend that general caring out to people you don’t know so well, and even to people you don’t like so much, and then to everyone, everywhere, without exception. 

♦

Adapted from How Not to Be a Hot Mess: A Survival Guide for Modern Life by Craig Hase and Devon Hase © 2020 by Craig Hase and Devon Hase. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc. Boulder, CO.

The post How Not to Be a Jerk (Plus, a Kindness Meditation) appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

When it comes to dating apps, I suspect that most users tend to swipe through potential friends and lovers in a mostly mindless trance, swelling with hopefulness that can sink into hopelessness, often at the first instance of ghosting. As we dodge the aggressive come-ons of asuras [wrathful demigods] and cultivate the six perfections of profile pictures, we rarely pause to rest our thumbs and check in with what’s going on for us mentally.

I wanted to find out if there was a better way to use dating apps, so I reached out to Devon and Nico Hase, a Buddhist couple and co-authors of the upcoming book How Not to Be a Hot Mess: A Survival Guide for Modern Life (Shambhala; April 21, 2020). They are both meditation teachers who have trained extensively with teachers like Joseph Goldstein, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, and Tara Brach. To celebrate Valentine’s Day, Nico and Devon devised some guidelines for falling and staying in love that stem from their ecumenical approach to the dharma, their commitment to each other, and their vow to be good people in a sometimes hell realm-y world. 

How can we use dating apps mindfully or skillfully when it seems like these apps naturally lead to patterns of clinging and avoidance that can undermine our wisest intentions?

Nico Hase (NH): Well, with this exact question in mind, we came up with three approaches to dating based on Buddhist teachings: stay cool, know what you’re about, and know what you want. The first one is basically shorthand for using the breath and body to stay anchored to whatever is going on relationally and in your own mind and heart—because it gets crazy in there. It’s a reminder that you can always come back to the breath again, and again, no matter what’s going on. 

Devon Hase (DH): The next one, know what you’re about, like a lot of what’s in our book, is an idea from the Buddhist precepts disguised in cool language [laughs]. These apps can really mess with our best intentions, so it’s essential to know who you are and what your values are. Know what you care about. When we put ourselves out there, especially in the app world, it might be really enticing to try to be somebody you’re not. Creating a facade around your true self tends to throw off center both you and the person you’re interested in, because it’s not honest. Knowing the ethical foundation you stand on is important, too. 

Dating apps tend to lift appearances and good looks above all else, which probably doesn’t reflect most of our core values. How do we stay true to ourselves in that kind of situation? Should we even use them?

DH: That’s a really legitimate question. The third principle we mentioned before is know what you want. Is it really through an app that we want to try dating? Why? Are there other methods? I’m taking a conservative position here, but I personally wouldn’t use an app like that because it isn’t aligned with the kind of life I want to lead—one that involves a willingness to let go and try to meet people in different ways. 

NH: I’m going to take the opposite position, just to keep things interesting. I think we should use what’s available. So if that means Tinder, and we feel like it aligns more or less with our values, then we should use it and make ourselves look as good as we possibly can. You know, put a good picture up—why not? That said, it’s probably wise to put your actual height and present yourself in a way that won’t be shocking to the person when they sit down for coffee with you. 

It’s important to stay in tune with your ultimate goal by continually asking yourself what you’re looking for. Perhaps the goal is to build a relationship, and the entry point is a dating app. If you’re violating your values in some way, it’s much less likely that you’re going to have your preferred outcome in the long run. 

DH: I think it relates to right intention, which is the second fold on the eightfold path. We have to be willing to have compassion for the suffering that our world brings, especially the dating world. Neither of us have dated for a decade, and we’re kind of happy about that. Dating is dukkha, it’s suffering. You need a lot of compassion—for yourself and others—in order to stay grounded.

Is it ever OK to ghost people? 

NH: I don’t think there’s a hard and fast answer, whether you should or should not ghost somebody. It all comes down to the second principle of know what you’re about. If you really value clear and open communication, you might decide against ghosting, and instead send a simple message, like, “Hey, it was great seeing you. You have so much to offer the world, but I don’t think it’s a match. I wish you the best.” But there might be another situation where the person seems unsafe to you, or they’re being really difficult or sticky in some way. You might feel that it’s in your best interest to ghost them. Just try to stay away from unconscious reflexive habits. You want to be awake to what’s happening and make decisions based on your values. 

DH: It’s also good to be aware of all of our conditioning around communication based on gender. In my experience as a woman, I’ve been conditioned toward the need to respond, like it’s a responsibility that I have. I’ve probably never ghosted anyone in my life. But there’s a power—I’m now learning—in realizing, “Wait, actually I don’t have to respond to this person.” If someone is acting like a jerk, I can decide how and when to engage with them, or whether to have any contact with them at all. But I must have clarity about what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, checking in with myself to make sure that it is not out of aversion or spite. 

Buddhism doesn’t have a lot of good things to say about dwelling in fantasies. Are we not supposed to indulge in any playful mythology about the other person when we first meet someone we like? 

DH: When you’re first meeting someone, there’s a lot of mystery—and a lot of projections and stories. This is all actually good material for the practice. I find it so interesting how separate my projection is from the actual individual. If I’m working with my mind, I can parse out what is my own idealization, hopes, and fears and what is their reality—this person is a whole world that I don’t know yet and that’s probably totally different from what I’m thinking. 

NH: I think it goes back to that principle, stay cool. Ask yourself if there’s a way of noticing these thoughts about the other person, and then come back. It’s the same in meditation—you drift away into all kinds of thoughts, fantasies, and memories, and then you come back. Your mind may be tripping ahead of itself, talking about the three kids you’re going to have or the house you’re going to live in, or the horrible shitshow the relationship is going to become. Is there a way to just come back into your physical body, and come back to the person you’re actually seeing with your eyes? Without rejecting the thoughts and getting rid of them, just recognize, Oh, this is just the thinking mind doing its thing, then you can stay cool. 

But when we come back to reality, is there still space to, say, let the butterflies flutter? 

DH: Yes. As Pema Chödrön says, it’s all about getting comfortable with uncertainty. Projections reflect our wanting to know things about the future and yearning for solid ground to stand on. Yet, as we train and open up to the ultimate uncertainty of reality, we realize that there’s a kind of excitement in not knowing what’s going to happen next. Ideally, our partner stays a mystery our whole lives.

Let’s fast forward. You’re dating someone, but they don’t share your enthusiasm for Buddhist practice. 

NH: At the end of the day, it’s definitely easiest if you share the practice and are equally balanced in that commitment. It’s great if you and your partner both like to sit ten minutes a day, or go to dharma talks together, or—like us—enter into retreat for months at a time. But that’s also, I think, pretty unusual. (Oren Jay Sofer’s book Say What You Mean contains some great tips on how to talk across these kinds of differences.) It’s not essential that both partners are equally committed to meditation or a spiritual practice, but it is essential that both partners are equally committed to talking it out. 

DH: I might be all about Buddhism, but maybe my partner is all about cooking or Tai Chi or surfing as a spiritual path. It’s important to support them in the same way that I would want to be supported in my practice. Partnership is all about supporting whatever path you’re on.

Sometimes Buddhist practice can be a solitary endeavor, such as during retreat. How does a romantic relationship fit with that aspect of the practice? 

NH: For me, solitary retreat is really powerful and extremely joyful. I’ve had some hellish retreats, but at this point in my practice, having nothing to do except dharma practice is the pinnacle of pleasure. 

But the big problem with retreat is that there’s nobody around to point out your shortcomings and to show you when you’re lost. The crucible of romantic partnership is kind of unparalleled in this regard. Even if it’s just the expression that is crossing her face, Devon can give me moment-to-moment feedback on where I’m at. I can use that as a vehicle for awakening—it can also be a vehicle for incredible frustration! But if I can stay in the mindset of development and practice, there’s no mirror like a romantic relationship.

DH: I want to add one more thing: we’re talking about partnership because we’re in one, but I think it’s totally OK not to have a partner. The point of practice is learning to navigate the world in a way that aligns with our own heart and mind. Our culture is beautiful in that it offers a wide range of ways to be in our sexuality. Partnership can be an added benefit on the path, but it doesn’t have to be. 

♦

Further Reading: Buddhist couples share their love stories in “Love at First Sit” in our Spring 2020 issue, and author Sara Eckel explains how Buddhist teachings helped her embrace the single life.

The post Hungry Ghosting, or the Hell Realm of the Dating World appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.