I Feel Good

by Jay Paul

On about June 14, 2020 this schizoaffective man changed for the better. It was a long time coming. The story begins over a year earlier.

            One night in February of 2019 I was having trouble sleeping. I decided to meditate. I hadn’t done it in a long time. Until 2011, I was active at a Soto Zen center and meditated regularly. But severe difficulties intervened (see the July 16, 2020 post) and I got away from it. That night, the meditation got me back to sleep, and when I awakened, I realized how much I missed doing it. I did it again. I have meditated almost every day since then. I started regularly attending the Zen center. By the fall, I was meditating twice a day for 40 minutes each time. I also attended a two-day sesshin at the Zen center, which is essentially a meditation retreat.

            The type of meditation I do is quite simple. I sit in a chair with my back straight. When a thought appears, I notice it, acknowledge it, and let it go. Then I just sit until another thought comes and repeat the process. The mind gradually settles on its own. That’s all there is to it. (I should note that if you try this technique, you may very well find yourself flooded with thoughts. It’s surprising how busy our minds are. If this happens, I would encourage you to just keep at it. Eventually, the thoughts won’t be so intrusive.)

            I also started walking after several years off. In April of 2019, I went for long walks while on vacation in another city. I was tired, but I realized how much I missed walking. When I came back to Minneapolis, I continued walking. By the end of the summer I was going on five-mile hikes on state park trails. I slowed down during the icy winter in Minneapolis, but not entirely. I still consistently went on about 45-50 minute walks.

            I can do this meditation and exercise because I have the luxury of time. I live alone, my kids are grown up, and I only work part time. I am quite aware that not everyone would be in a position to do what I have done. I have had a lot of bad luck in my life. But I’ve been lucky in some ways, too.

            It goes without saying that 2020 has been an awful year: the COVID pandemic, economic dislocation, and civil unrest. I had my troubles in March and April and May. I was sitting home during lockdown drinking too many beers and eating too many pizzas. I kept up the walking and the meditation, but I was distressed at not seeing my friends and not going to the places I frequented.

            On June 13 I read in a book that an occupied mind was not a problem for Zen; the problem was being emotionally attached to the thoughts of the occupied mind. Something was released in me. I realized that I was attached to an idealized notion of “the Zen student” and was judging myself on the basis of this imagined and unreal person. Nobody lived up to this ideal. Yet I was, subconsciously, expecting myself to. I realized how many of my most cherished ideals and assumptions were vague and barely conceived feelings that I had grown quite attached to.

            Because the Zen center was closed for COVID, I decided to do a solo meditation retreat in my apartment on June 14 and 15. Each day, I would sit nine times for 40 minutes with walking meditation, outdoor walks, journal writing, reading, and cooking in between. It was a struggle, but I made it. In my journal on June 16, I noted that I was perceiving things differently. Some strange angst was gone.

            In the next few days I came to notice, through meditation, how I talked to myself. This self-talk is not peculiar to me or other schizoaffectives. We all do it, including neurotypicals. Some are more conscious of it than others. Some talk about themselves most of the time. Some talk about others. Some judge others. Some talk about what practical things need to get done.

            I found I spent a lot of energy judging myself, not only about Zen practice, but about the tiniest things such as not doing the dishes or forgetting to call my daughter or saying something less than perfect to a friend. Then, I noticed that I would soothe myself. I would tell myself to relax, that it wasn’t that big a deal, that everything was o.k. I realized that I had been carrying on this running dialogue about my life probably for decades. 

            Noticing the dialogue caused it to lessen. I still find myself judging myself, and then soothing myself, but it happens less often. I feel a certain clarity about my life that I’ve never felt before.

            I attribute this good feeling to the meditation and the exercise. Indeed, many mental health professionals believe that these two activities do the most for our well-being. However, I didn’t start doing them for the sake of my health. I did them because I enjoyed them and found I wanted even more of them. I don’t feel as if I need to motivate myself to do either. I just do them, almost every day. (For anyone out there thinking of trying to help their mental well-being, I would not advise you to try to do what I did. Instead, find an exercise you enjoy. It may be a game such as tennis. And find an absorbing activity, whether it be meditation or crocheting or something else.)

            Since June 14, other things have fallen into place. I am eating healthier. I almost stopped drinking alcohol entirely. I stopped spending too much time watching cable news. I am also more sensitive to trees and shadows and birds and people. I might be more attentive to my family and friends; I am not entirely sure.

            It took a year of pretty intensive, two-a-day meditations plus exercise to get here. Currently, I meditate twice a day for 50 minutes, followed by ten minutes of yoga poses and calisthenics. I walk between 45 minutes and three hours a day. In all, I spend three to six hours a day on meditation and exercise. This is a lot, but I enjoy it.

While my regimen has paid dividends, strangely enough, Zen would not see it as progress in an Absolute sense. From that perspective, there is no progress. Things just are as they are, a part of the Whole in which everything participates. But Zen also recognizes the relative perspective, and from this point of view—one based on our constructed beliefs and ideas and feelings—I am doing much better. A little bit of joy has crept into my life. It’s so new, it’s unsettling. But there it is.   

Will it last? Of course not. I could start getting psychiatric symptoms again. I could just get fed up with all of it and quit. There may be a crisis in my family. Life changes. This good feeling won’t last. But I hope I have developed some habits that will help me to manage those crises when they inevitably occur.

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I wrote the above about a week ago. I am writing this afterward on Aug. 6, just a couple hours before this post goes public. A crisis has appeared. While I am on the same medication at the same dose, I was switched from one manufacturer's version of my antipsychotic to another. I have been lightheaded and woozy for almost a week, now. Based on my past experience with this medication, I am experiencing withdrawal from some compound that was in the first manufacturer's version. It's annoying. And the feeling is at its worst while I meditate and walk. I've had to cut back both activities a little. I hope this is over soon. That said, I think all the meditation has helped me weather this crisis better than I would have otherwise. I am staying very steady through it all.