How to Sit

You've probably heard a dozen different definitions of meditation — from a therapist, an app, a friend who went on retreat. No two sound quite the same. That's because the word means different things in different contexts. Before we go further, let's be precise:

Most of these use attention in service of the self — reduce its stress, improve its focus, heal its wounds. But the deeper traditions don't stop at the self. They train attention to see itself.

This project goes there. As that attention deepens, the insubstantiality of self becomes visible — not because you looked for it, but because the noise cleared. What Buddhism calls awakening is simply waking from the dream of a world that revolves around a separate self. In that seeing, you are free.

Before we start, a few misconceptions worth clearing up.

Meditation is to get rid of thoughts — The most pervasive one. "I can't make the thoughts go away." You've said it too, I imagine. But that craving for a blank mind — that's exactly what you're here to examine. You meditate not to push thoughts away, but to let go of trying to control them. Sometimes no thoughts appear. That is fine. Other times, thoughts storm the mind. That too, is fine. What matters is how you meet them — and how you meet their absence.

Meditation disconnects you from the world — Meditation is connection: to yourself, to others, to the world around you. It's our prejudices and ideas that disconnect us — separate us — from the world: a world reduced to how we want to see it, rather than how it actually is. Meditation allows you to see those projections firsthand.

Meditation will make you into an apathetic zombie — With a settled mind, you feel emotions in their rawest form. You no longer feel sadness about your sadness, but sadness as it is. So cry baby cry, but don't cry about your crying.

Meditation is supernatural — Meditation is being fully human. You have this body. Pain and pleasure are normal. Just don't get caught up in the stories — even the mystical ones — that attach themselves to those raw experiences.

True peace can only be found by living in a cave — Yet another story the mind creates: a realization only possible for monks, cave dwellers and renunciates. It is extremely helpful to take a break from the modern routine of the 9 to 5: if you have the chance to go on a meditation retreat, take it. But peace isn't found in a monastery or a cave. It's found right here.

You will be confronted by past trauma — There is no escaping it. All of the trauma we have buried deep in our minds will surface. Don't be scared. These traumas are what anchor us in despair. In facing them, the anchor breaks.

In the silence, you see the faces of the people you've hurt. For me, a sadness flushes my body: I made someone feel less than. That's real. Nothing changes it. But this moment is different: I can decide who I am right now.

Important: I highly recommend you talk to a qualified therapist while practicing meditation. Some trauma runs deep.

Life will get harder before it gets easier — With a focused mind, you will see the space between thoughts. You will also see how restless you have made your mind. You have a choice: keep distracting yourself, or do the work. It won't be easy, but if you are patient, kind, and honest, happiness follows.

This is a very personal practice. We all seek the same freedom, but we arrive with different histories. Find what motivates you. I meditated because I suffered and wanted peace. Your reason will be different.

Some arrive here wanting to be happy. To know who they are. To know what love is.

Dig deep and write a sentence on why you want to meditate: the closer this motivation is to your truth, the more inspired you will be to meditate.

This motivation will evolve as the practice deepens — let it.

What I value most about this practice is that it asks nothing of your phone. Headspace helps many people — I'm grateful for that — but it still has you relying on something outside yourself. Feel anger? Your first instinct will be to reach for your phone. Instead, give your full attention to the breath. That calm space becomes your breath — always with you. Feel anger? Breathe. Feel confused? Breathe.

Emotions — Before practice, emotions ran me like I was riding a bull. Anger would flood the body — clenched fists, tight chest, no space between the trigger and the reaction. With a settled mind, something shifted. I could see the anger arriving. And in that seeing, the body released. Not because I controlled it — because I saw it. Emotions still come. But they no longer decide.

Processing — The practice becomes a space to meet what you have been carrying. Not to fix it. Not to escape it. But to see it — fully, honestly, in plain sight. I had bulimia. I would stand at the mirror and see myself as too fat. Every meal was a negotiation: am I allowed this? And if I crossed that line, there was a debt to pay: a purge, a run, a cry — a prison built entirely from my own thoughts. Sitting still, those thoughts surfaced. I came to know them — their texture, their shape, where they came from. And in seeing trauma for what it is, it loses its power.

Relationships — I was more concerned with having an answer than understanding where someone was coming from. In conversation, I was already responding to a version of them I'd invented. With a settled mind, that fell away. I began to actually listen. I saw: this person wants the same things I do. Happiness. Love. To be understood. The distance closes when you stop performing and start seeing.

Work — You know the feeling. The day ends but the mind doesn't. The next project, the next deadline, the quiet fear that you're not doing enough. The work hat never comes off because somewhere along the way you forgot it was a hat. With a settled mind, you begin to see these roles for what they are — identities you wear, not who you are. When the work ends, the hat comes off too.

Sleep — Most nights I couldn't sleep. At times I was so frustrated I'd punch my pillow in anger. The sleeplessness became its own suffering — a self that needed to be fixed. With a settled mind, that war softened. Now when sleep won't come, I get curious instead. Did I exercise? Am I on my phone too late? Do I need a warm shower? A short sit? Awakening doesn't make you superhuman. You still have this body, with all its needs. You just stop fighting it.

You'll know the practice is working when those mindful moments arise on their own — in conversation, on a commute, over a meal.

Find a quiet room — no music, no background noise. Just an intimate meeting of you and your mind.

Your spot — Sit in the same spot every day. At the start, it is your anchor to stillness. Then one day: the world becomes your anchor.

On the floor — If you can, sit on a meditation cushion. What matters is that your hips are slightly above your knees. The cushion achieves this naturally. Three common positions:

On a chair — If sitting on the floor is difficult, use a chair. Plant both feet flat on the floor and sit toward the middle of the seat — not against the back. Your hips should still be slightly above your knees.

Back — In either case, you should be engaging your back muscles: not leaning against a wall or the back of the chair. Drive your tailbone into the seat as if gravity is pulling it down — your spine will follow its natural curvature: upright, but not rigid.

Hands — Find what works for you. Personally, I place my hands in what's called the dhyana mudra — both hands resting in the lap, palms up, one cradled in the other, thumbs lightly touching. If placing your hands on your knees is more comfortable, do that.

Eyes — Keep them slightly open, gaze dropping naturally to the floor. Closed eyes tend to pull the mind into thoughts and dreams. Half-open eyes ground you to observable, physical reality.

Don't control the breath. Let it move on its own. Find where it's most vivid — air at the nostrils, belly rising and falling — and give yourself to it.

Not the thought of the breath. The breath itself. The actual sensation: air moving across the upper lip, the belly pressing out, the chest lifting. But you are not here to name them. You are here to be them.

The mind will wander. A thought about work, a memory, a plan, a worry.

No problem, you've trained the mind to endlessly think. And now, we are here to train the mind to focus. When the mind wanders, just come back to giving all of yourself to the breath. The scattered energy — the million open tabs of the mind — bring it all into one single focus. Not because someone is doing the collecting. Close that tab too. Just give all of yourself to the breath.

Meditate for however long you can sustain daily — 10 minutes if that's honest, 5 if it isn't. Start where you are, not where you think you should be. Then do it.

Progression — After two weeks of consistency, add five minutes. Work toward one to two hours a day — broken up if needed. The depth of insight mirrors the time you give to this practice. How deeply you want to see is up to you.

Time of day — Morning works for most — before the identities start piling up. But the best time is the one you'll actually keep.

Timer — Use whatever you have. Once you start, don't check the time again until the alarm sounds. Those urges to look — notice them, and come back to the breath.

If you miss a day — no problem. Just sit tomorrow.

On boredom — No doubt, you will get bored. But only because you've been avoiding your own company for so long. You must see into the nature of boredom.

On restlessness — Sometimes your body just wants to move and avoid sitting. Go do some exercise and come back. If your body is still restless, then sit with it.

On pain — Some discomfort is normal: the body is not used to sitting still with an engaged, upright posture. Try your best to be with it — not push through it, but actually be with it. That said, if the pain is sharp or worsening: move, adjust, use a chair. Take care of your body.

On itching — Notice and come back to the breath. If the mind won't let go, lean in. Where is it, exactly? What is its texture? Watch it closely. It will change. It will pass. Impermanence — not as a concept, but right there on your skin.

On drowsiness — Splash some cold water on your face. Drink some coffee or tea. This practice requires the same focus as any serious endeavor.

On sticky thoughts — Some thoughts just don't want to leave you. An annoying echo in the mind. This is the practice. Keep coming back to the breath. In time, it will drop off.

On sound — Many of us live in busy places: the noise of traffic, babies, a TV through the wall. Just allow it to be. Sound is as much a part of the practice as the breath. If you find yourself judging a sound — great: notice it, and return to the breath.

As you give yourself to the practice, your usual mental patterns come undone. What once gripped you — a pattern that wouldn't go away — reveals itself as a construction that's been seen through. You see it arise. You see it disappear.

As you progress, deeper patterns come undone — the patterns built around identity begin to loosen. It can feel like losing ground. Good. You don't have to be anyone — even the meditator.

Look deeply into all these appearances — the itch, the identity, the meditator himself. What do you see?

The breath can take you all the way to freedom. But the way is not always smooth.

As the practice deepens, you will encounter destabilization. The very framework from which you operate cracks open. The self wasn't just how you felt. It was how you organized reality: what's true, what matters, who people are to you, what you owe the world. When that loosens, everything it was holding loses its footing too. Old wounds may surface in this cracking. Once again, a therapist is very valuable on this path.

Know that this destabilization is the practice working. It's what contemplatives call the Dark Night of the Soul. It will come. Some sit through it alone. What matters is that you don't turn back. And if you need someone — a teacher, a sangha, someone who knows the terrain — find them.

1. Repeat motivation
2. Adjust posture
3. Start timer
4. Attend to the breath
5. Mind wanders
6. Notice
7. Return to the breath

Optional: After noticing, acknowledge it — a small nod, a smile. Kindness is part of this practice.

Repeat until the timer ends

And when you stand, make sure the practice stands too.

The thinking mind is always deciding: what the world means, who you are. But sit long enough and the space between thoughts opens — the illusion is seen through.

And when it does, what are you left with? Some call it freedom. Others call it peace. But to name it is to lose it — the mind has made it into another thing to seek.

See it through.

You now have everything you need.
Stop reading. Set a timer for five minutes. And sit.