Why we all need discomfort from time-to-time

This spring, in an effort to learn more about the Dzogchen, Bon, Mahamudra, and Vajrayana practices of Tibetan Buddhist meditation, I traveled to Nepal to live in a Tibetan Buddhist monastery for one month. This experience would be as different an experience as I had ever had. It was not a retreat, nor was it a vacation. It was an immersion, and one in which I was choosing to be uncomfortable—through monastic living, meditating for the vast majority of each day, and electing to have this experience in Nepal.

Ultimately, I chose to live in a monastery in order to learn at the source and from the source. Additionally, I wanted the trappings of Western life to be removed for a period of time. The accommodations were rustic. The food served was sattvic—absent of any spice or accoutrement, by design, so as to regulate the nervous system and allow for optimal meditation. Truly, there were no distractions of any kind—no devices or comforts—nothing whatsoever to transport you outside the present moment. Also, there was no hot water in the showers which will catapult you into the present like no other.

While living there, I came to understand that in the West, we have mastered the ability to distract ourselves throughout much of our waking life. Stillness isn’t valued in the West. It’s not considered productive, lucrative, or meaningful. Mostly, people find it boring, so it is seldom made a priority. The end product of which, however, can be a restless mind.

My intention was to elevate my capacity to observe thoughts and emotions with more nuance and less attachment. The experience was a challenge. Each day involved a minimum of four, but generally seven, hours of meditation. Never before had I meditated for such extended periods of time. Initially, it proved unnerving. I would have times of feeling frustrated when focus proved elusive. However, the lengthy hours of meditation became more accessible with each passing day. That steel attachment I often form to a narrative, emotion, or thought began to diminish. And the Tibetan Buddhist truth that resonated with me most deeply was one from the Dzogchen tradition: you are not your thoughts. Your being is far greater—just as the sky is blue. The blue sky is not the clouds which may temporarily cover it.

Ultimately, I learned there is a real draw to a simpler existence. Your mind is calmer as a result of not being bombarded by relentless entertainment and consumption. But while the path of a monk or nun is certainly a noble one, it is not for everyone. Yes, it can be easier to access a more uncluttered frame of mind in a monastery when distractions are eliminated. With practice though, you can create a quiet head space—wherever you may be—through shifting your perspective to that of a witness to your thoughts as opposed to an identity defined by them.