In search of being more grounded while I work, I’ve been trying out a mind-body approach called Somatic Learning. During a daylong workshop on the process, I felt as though years of habitual tension had melted away and areas of chronic pain were finally starting to ease. How long would that newfound ease last, I wondered, back at the keyboard or at the wheel of the car—back in everyday life?

The instructor and developer of the method, Risa Kaparo, addressed this concern toward the end of the workshop. The goal was not, she said, to “get it” the first time and hang on to the experience forever. “You’ll lose it. That’s OK. You know how to find it,” she reassured us. “Losing, and finding, and losing and finding again—that’s how mastery happens.”

As the glow of New Year’s resolutions begins to fade, this seems like a helpful thing to keep in mind.

I assisted at a weekend workshop recently. I’m a learning junkie, and part of the fun of assisting is the opportunity to jump into class activities when someone needs a partner for peer coaching.

When there’s more than one assistant, you can’t jump in every time. So the assistants agree ahead of time who will participate during which exercise.

Somehow I didn’t realize that the afternoon activity I’d opted out of would last an hour and a half. Gah! You can’t pass the time by reading a book or a blog or by checking email—it’s important for assistants to be mentally as well as physically present, aware of the mood in the room, and available in case the workshop leaders need anything.

An hour and a half! Of not getting to coach while others are having all the fun. Of not having anything to do, really, except be present (sigh) and wait for the time to pass.

Sounds like some mindfulness might be in order. C’mon, I’ve been on retreats where I spent whole days without reading or talking. I got through that OK.

So I tuned in to what I was experiencing, inside and out. Not to fix it, just to observe. Turmoil! Crushing disappointment! Fear of unending boredom! Envy at the people getting to play!

I rode the waves of emotion. I heard the rumble of the air conditioner and felt the cold air on my skin. I became aware of the pleasant buzz of people interacting. I felt a rush of delight at the intensity of their focus. Disappointment burst back, co-mingling with appreciation for the spirit of the students in the room.

It took a lot of energy to be mindful for 90 minutes! Afterward, I felt encouraged and open and grounded. I keep hearing about the value of bringing attention to my moment-to-moment experience, and I keep not quite knowing how I’m “supposed” to practice it in daily life. I guess that’s how.

It’s interesting to note how hard I work to avoid being bored…or disappointed. It’s useful to know that those feelings don’t have to demolish me.

Last week, on a mild evening, I was riding my bike toward the waterfront. A few blocks ahead, I saw the light at a busy intersection turn green. As an optimizer who’s often in a rush, I know that particular light stays green for about thirty seconds, and once it turns red, it stays red for long, long minutes.

I noticed my urge to race toward the intersection and make the green light. I chose not to be the jerk on the bike speeding through stop signs. The light turned red just before I reached the intersection. I’d done the right thing, but I was annoyed.

Earlier in the afternoon, I’d been reading Stress Free for Good, about simple, practical, research-based ways to reduce stress. The chapter I’d just read talked about the power of appreciation, so gratitude was on my mind. I got a crazy idea: What if I were grateful for the red light? It’s a long light (did I mention that?), so I had plenty of time to think. I thought about how traffic lights keep me, and others on the road, from getting injured. (There’s been a lot of press lately about the harm done by light-ignoring cyclists, but that’s not the fault of the lights.) I thought about how, despite the recklessness of some drivers and bikers, most of the time the system works pretty well. Looking at the rush-hour traffic, I felt a surge of affection for the people heading home, and a sense of wonder at the engineering that keeps traffic flowing.

The light changed back to green, and I rode the rest of the way on a gratitude high.

Hm. If a traffic light can prompt appreciation, what else might, if I keep my eyes open?

Jellyfish drifting upward, undulating

Leafy seadragon’s dorsal fin fluttering, gently, almost imperceptibly

Sole covering itself with sand

Jellyfish drifting, drifting

I continue to be puzzled by my reluctance to take breaks, even though working straight through makes my neck pain worse. I’ve been more consistent about setting a chime to go off every 15 to 25 minutes—that’s progress. But I keep ignoring it when it rings.

What I’m noticing:

I get impatient.  A sense of urgency strikes when I hear the bell. “Let me just finish this thought.” “Let me just finish reading this post.” “Let me just finish going through this latest batch of emails. Then “Let me just” turns into a bunch more things and the break doesn’t happen.

There’s a belief in there—a fear?—that I’ll lose focus or momentum if I stop. While this is true for some tasks, I suspect it’s less of an issue than I think, at least if the break is a brief, physical one—away from the computer, no reading. I’m even wondering whether, far from delaying my progress, a break would restore perspective. I’m vulnerable to hyperfocus, which can turn into gear-grinding.

Some guesses about what might help:

I need something inviting to draw me into breaks. The break-reminder chime hits me as a negative thing, something I’m not in the mood for. How can I shift to thinking of it as something I want to do?

I could use impatience as a tipoff. That buzz of annoyance is a clue that I’m hyperfocused, rather than in flow. When the chime goes off, my reaction might help me distinguish between the two. “Impatient? Hmm—remember, that’s hyperfocus—which means you really will work better after a pause.”

I need variety. This may be why I keep skipping the three sighs technique, despite its simplicity. Simple is good, but always doing the same thing is boring.

So my experiment is to…

• Alternate among stretching; self-massaging; walking down the hall for a glass of water; tossing Muse Cubes; taking a few deep breaths; rolling on the floor…whatever seems easiest and called-for in the moment. Is this too many options? Nah, it’s manageable. I’m keeping a list of simple stretches and acupressure points at my work area so that I don’t have to think about this.

• Observe whether my beliefs and assumptions about breaks are true. Do breaks pull me off task? Do they do the opposite and restore perspective? Does my neck improve when I pause more? Does my mood? As I get more data, I can adjust the plan.