From Checklist to Presence: Permission To Pause
Do you ever catch yourself turning your spiritual practice into a to-do list?
I know I do.
Did I sit today? Work out? Should I do qigong, journal, breathe, eat mindfully?
And then that voice… Did I do it right?
It’s sneaky, how fast practice can become another self-improvement project. Another box to tick off before bed.
The deeper I go, the more I see: it’s not about perfect attendance. It’s about presence. About being willing to turn toward what’s here, rather than trying to fix it or outrun it.
Sometimes that starts with something ridiculously simple…. just settling in.
Feeling the weight of your body on the chair or the ground. Letting your breath show up however it’s showing up. Giving yourself permission to be supported.
When’s the last time you really arrived in your own body?
I used to think the “right” practice was about doing more. Adding more tools. Stacking techniques like I was building the ultimate “inner peace” machine.
But the Buddha didn’t hand out a checklist. He offered reflections on what it means to be human: how we all crave, fear, avoid, and cling. And how freedom comes not from avoiding pain, but from meeting it.
And here’s something I’ve learned over time: curiosity is the doorway.
What if, instead of trying to get rid of our discomfort, we got curious about it? Not to analyze it to death, but to really see it. Curiosity opens space. Space lets the pain breathe. And sometimes, that space is enough to feel a little more free.
When’s the last time you let yourself just feel something, without trying to fix it?
Mindfulness gives us a way back to safety. Not by pushing discomfort away, but by noticing it.
Our nervous systems are wired for survival. We get triggered, and our bodies react before we’ve even had a thought about it. Our minds can get stuck looping on painful experiences, telling our brains, “This isn’t safe, fix it.” But if we pause and notice, “Actually, it’s okay right now,” we start to rewire that loop.
Animals do this naturally… a deer runs from danger, then grazes again once it’s safe. A dog shakes after a scare, then settles back into rest. We can learn to do the same.
Breath. Sounds. Sensations. These are little signals to the body: You’re safe enough to soften now.
And from there, thoughts and emotions start to look less like hard facts and more like weather: passing, shifting, human.
One thing I love about the Four Foundations of Mindfulness is how ordinary they are:
The body, right here – Shifting awareness/focus to the feet, to the seat, the sounds. Taking a breath and looking around.
The feeling-tone – Pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. What is the attitude of the mind in this moment? Is it grasping or pushing away experience? Creating more suffering?
The mind – All its moods and patterns, noticed with curiosity not judgment.
The dharma – What supports us, what trips us up, the stories we keep telling ourselves. Reflect on your practice: what feels supportive right now? Let it sink into who you are, not just what you do.
You don’t have to dig to the root every time. Sometimes naming it is enough:
“Oh, this is sadness.”
“Oh, this is fear.”
Just naming it can help tame it.
Over the years, I’ve found that my own practice keeps circling back to three things: curiosity, community, and consistency.
Curiosity keeps it alive. The community of folks on the path of inner healing, reminds me I’m not alone. And consistency… even on days when practice feels clunky or “unproductive”… builds the ground I stand on.
And through all of it, I try to meet myself where I am. Some days I feel like exploring. Some days I just need rest. Both are welcome. Meeting yourself where you are is the practice.
Sometimes I’ll even drop in a gentle phrase, like, May I be at ease. Not as a magic spell, but as a reminder that ease is possible, even if it’s just a little more than before.
The Buddha used the image of a raft… something to help us cross a river. We’re not meant to drag the raft on our back after we’ve landed.
Practice is the same. It’s not here to live only on the cushion. It’s meant to show up in the way we speak to people we love, in how we handle stress, in the middle of traffic, or when we’re standing in the kitchen late at night wondering what’s next.
Taking our practice “from the seat to the street.”
We embody the practice. It becomes just the way we are… not something we do to become something. And we begin to see that… who we want to become… we already are.
The Buddha didn’t want followers. He wanted people to try it for themselves.
So maybe that’s the real invitation: to sit, to feel, and through that, to begin to heal.
Whether your practice feels steady or scattered, soft or gritty… you’re not doing it wrong.
You’re already on the path.
Let the healing begin, and discover you are already whole.
Keep going.
Joe
