If you were to ask a randomised group of people what the meaning of life is, or their life’s purpose, I suspect you would be met by a plethora of answers. Happiness, wealth, health, friendship, kindness, procreation, progress, pleasure, success, security… I’m sure there are more I haven’t considered. I think all have their merits. But how do we go about fulfilling this purpose or meaning, however we might define it? Well, we have to live skilfully. There’s no use in bashing away at our life’s potential shape with a blunt rock. A much wiser course of action would be to take a sharp chisel and tap away with precision and finesse. The resulting statue will be far finer.

To put it in less pretty and metaphorical terms, we have to find a way to navigate our lives that will lead naturally to the outcomes we desire. We have to create the correct conditions in order for a certain result to manifest. We need to put down strong roots, to have a firm foundation; a baseline of skill that will serve us as we apply our tools. And as we grow, we have to stay pliant and adaptable, like a new, green branch. Rigidity is a characteristic of death; suppleness is a mark of life.

If we want a seed to germinate and sprout, we need to ensure the ideal environment for that seed; the best soil, with the right amount of nutrients, the right amount of moisture, and so on. This seems like an obvious statement, and yet so many of us go about our day to day lives paying little attention to these conditions, while wondering why our lives are not turning out the way we had hoped. We keep trying futilely to fit through the same narrow gap, without thinking to change the angle. Or we stop trying altogether. The result can frequently be a narrative of victimhood, of unfairness, of resentment, of blaming the world when in truth it is our own behaviour that has worked against us. Our own lack of attention and flexibility. Often, we are our own worst enemies.

I believe that much of our own self-created suffering is rooted in our inability to live consciously. We think we are awake and aware, but really we are acting in a very unconscious way, and this only gets worse as we age. It is a cliché to say that the years slip by more quickly as we get older. I think in part this is because increasingly our lives become a series of repeated, unconscious habits. We find ways of dealing with things that seem to work, and we stick to them. We become rigid in our responses, set in our ways. We fall into routines, into habitual ways of thinking. We plough the same furrows, and they grow ever deeper, until we can no longer see over the sides. Our view becomes narrower, more linear. And we stop challenging ourselves, because, hey, life is hard enough as it is, right? I have to hold down this job, feed my family, fulfil my obligations… why would I seek to make life more difficult for myself? This works, more or less – why fix it? And yet, when the day is done, there is that nagging sense of dissatisfaction. Those what ifs, bubbling underneath. That feeling that life is slipping you by, and you somehow ended up in the passenger seat. You gave up. You settled. You didn’t fulfil your potential. Oh well, it’s too late now…

Is it?

There are ways to turn things around. Ways that are embedded in traditional Chinese health practices. These methods have little to do with what’s out there, with all those things you’ve been happily blaming for your mediocrity. Your external environment is important, of course. Your job, your relationships, the physical climate you live in – all these things will impact on you. But your most viable solution is to change yourself. “Yeah, I’ve tried that – didn’t work. I’m back to my old self,” you might say. But that’s probably because you only tried to change one or two things. Or you picked the wrong things to focus on. Maybe you changed your diet. Or you started going to the gym. Or both. But it fizzled out, and here you are again. Except this time round you feel even more stuck. Even more jaded. What is required is to change everything. And what I mean by that, is you have to change your whole waking experience, from moment to moment. Pull yourself out by the roots and find more fertile internal ground. In short, you have to engineer your mind to think differently – more consciously.

There are some very specific ways in which we can set about achieving this. First, let’s start with the most obvious, material component we have to work with: the body. We tend to think of ourselves, our being, in terms of our thinking minds, and treat our bodies as tools through which our minds interact with the world, vessels that contain and transport our minds. We live in our heads. “I am in here”, we say, tapping our skulls. But what if this were an incorrect model? What if our bodies were our minds?

This isn’t as crazy as it might at first appear. There has already been some fascinating scientific research that suggests the heart possesses its own rudimentary (or perhaps not so crude?) sort of consciousness, as does the lower abdomens, which has been termed our second brain. Both these regions house large portions of our autonomic nervous system, crucial to operating our fundamental, automatic operations, such as organ function and hormone release. This is a striking parallel to the Chinese model, which identifies three significant fields of energy in the body: the Xia Dan Tian, Zhong Dan Tian, and Shang Dan Tian, or lower, middle, and upper elixir fields. One characteristic technique of Daoist meditation is to move our awareness from one field to another, or indeed spread it through the entire body, so that we no longer feel we are trapped in our heads.

Anyway, whether this parallel holds up or not, we all know instinctively that our bodies, and not just our facial expressions, betray our emotional states. Think of a cartoon, or even a stick figure. You could show someone a simple figure in a particular posture, and that person would be able to say with confidence what state of mind that figure was in. Standing tall, chest thrust out? Confident. Self-assured. Hunched over, head dropped forward? Depressed. Anxious. Perhaps grieving, or nervous. If the artist was good, you could probably identify which of these options was the most accurate.

We have a whole metaphorical language of mind based in our bodies. Courage is guts. So is instinct. We are sick with envy, or filled with bile. Much of it goes beyond metaphor. We actually, viscerally feel it. We feel love in our hearts. Fear in the pit of the stomach. Nerves in the belly, like butterflies. Sadness is a lump in the throat. In Europe, the humoral system of medicine, based upon bodily fluids, has existed in various forms since ancient times, and was the prevalent medical model in the Medieval period. In Chinese medicine, Five Element (or Five Phase, Wu Xing) theory ties aspects of mind inextricably to energetic organ networks in the body. If you are suffering from anxiety or insomnia, there are acupuncture points on your wrist, along your Heart channel, that can be stimulated to help bring this aspect of mind back into harmony.

“You are only as old as your spine” paraphrases a quotation of Joseph Pilates’, which may also have its roots in an old, Chinese proverb. But suppleness is not just a physical quality. Children are immensely flexible. For most, a wheel asana, or a crab pose, bending over backwards to form an arch, is no big deal. And it’s no coincidence that children are immensely flexible mentally, too. Their capacity for learning, for connecting new neural pathways, is something we should all endeavour to maintain. But we don’t. We become rigid. And we become stuck. We cling on to ideas and notions. We get lazy. We dissociate from our bodies. We slump. We sit. We crane into our screens. Then we get back pain. Our breathing becomes shallow. Our anxiety levels creep up. Why? Because our hearts are closed off by sunken chests and rounded shoulders. Or our chests sink and shoulders round to protect our vulnerable, assailed hearts. Our spines lose their natural shape through repeated, bad postural habits. And these start when we’re very young and are forced to sit at desks for prolonged periods at school. Is it any wonder we live in an age where back pain and anxiety are epidemic?

In Qi Gong and Yogic practices, there is a great deal of emphasis placed on postural alignments. On planting the feet and spreading our weight evenly. Letting the pelvis rotate posteriorly and drop from the ribcage. Neither expanding nor sinking the chest. Finding an easy, upright, neutral position. When our spines are stacked correctly, our over-used and abused large muscle groups can switch off. We can engage our core, deep muscles, and rely on our skeleton to hold us in place. Without the toll of poor posture, we conserve energy. Energy that can be instead diverted into alertness, awareness, cognition, empathy. Our resources are finite; if we devote all our energies to holding our bodies in weird, unconstructive positions, it follows that we will have less to feed our minds.

This is a two-way street. Our minds follow our bodies, and our bodies follow our minds. If you feel depressed, your body will look depressed. You can imagine the stick figure. Equally, if you adjust your body to be more upright, your mind will follow. Most meditation traditions suggest a seated posture that is upright, not slumped. Why? Because it promotes awareness and alertness. Try meditating with a rounded back and you will most likely find yourself nodding off. Spend your life in a slumped, defeated position, and guess what? You sleep. You lose.

Try going about your day with your shoulders rolled back and down, seated properly in the shoulder girdle, and your spine erect, with the back of your neck gently extended, and your gaze level. You will feel different. Your breathing will be full and natural, without constriction. There will be space for your organs. Space for your mind to permeate through and settle. You will speak and act with more confidence, steadiness and vitality. You will be more connected to others. More astute and vital. Your heart will be open, both figuratively and literally. What’s more, people will pick up on these cues subconsciously, and they will respond to you differently. They will judge you differently. New paths will open. New possibilities. One small adjustment, and your whole experience of life can begin to alter profoundly.

A mistake many of us make is to think in a way that values quantity over quality. When we go to the gym, we think about how much we’re lifting, or how many reps. When we go running, we try to run faster or further. But how many of us really pay attention to how we are doing something? We might consider our overall “form”, but that’s as far as it goes. And enjoyment is often the first thing to get thrown out the window. What we want is results! A better time on the stopwatch, or a less insulting number on the weighing scales.

So try this instead. The next time you go running, or swimming, or cycling, or even just walk to your local shop, ditch the apps and timers, and pay close attention to how you are moving. The buzzword is mindfulness. But whatever you call it, just pay attention. How are your feet hitting the ground? Is your movement even? Is it fluid? How fluid? Can you be more fluid? Can you walk more softly, with less impact? Can you let your body be heavy, while keeping your steps light? Can you run with more rebound, with less effort? Can you identify any areas of tension? Can you let that tension go? Then what happens? Do other tensions appear? Do you uncover deeper tensions? What adjustments can you make? What are you really feeling when you move? What is your state of mind? How does your breathing change? How does your breath move? How does your body move as you breathe? What moves? What doesn’t? Be inquiring. Be playful. Don’t just walk how you always do. Don’t let your mind wander into reverie. Stay present. Don’t fall into the furrow of habit.

The next time you exercise, take off your headphones and really place your mind inside your body. This is very much the emphasis of the Chinese “internal” martial arts, such as Taijiquan, Baguazhang, and Xingyiquan. They ask you to turn your awareness inside. To release internally. To know yourself. To explore and play. To find your centre in a sense that includes yet goes beyond simply finding your centre of gravity.

Let’s take a simple example: turning from the waist. Just stand symmetrically and turn your waist. Turn slowly. Turn quickly. How are you doing it? Are there other ways? Which muscles are working? Are any overworking, or underworking? Is your waist loose, or are you turning with some resistance? Are you leading with your arms or your shoulders, or are your arms swinging like dead weights and following the waist? Are your hips stable, or are they working with the movement? What about your knees and ankles? Try isolating them. Try integrating them. Synchronise your breathing. Desynchronise it. Feel how your weight shifts and your feet pedal. Feel how the motion massages your internal organs. Feel how your fascia pulls and twists. Feel the substance of your body. Feel its spaces. What do you feel like inside? A spinning top? A flapping flag? A twisted wet towel? A spring under torsion? Play with it. Enjoy it. Immerse yourself in it. Just don’t count the reps.

When you look at parts of the world where people are staying healthy and mobile for longer, what you tend to find are not dietary fads, obsessive or extreme exercising, and endless bottles of proteins and supplements. No – you find balanced, seasonal, local, whole food diets, gentle and moderate exercise, and an emphasis on social connection. On family, friends, laughter. I suspect any negative health effects of the bottles of red wine at a rustic Italian table are vastly outweighed by the benefits of the convivial atmosphere – by the stories, jokes, songs and sense of belonging. Another way is to eat in silence, unhurriedly, with your undivided attention upon your meal. Compare these to a takeout TV dinner in an inner city bachelor pad. Isolated. Chewing mindlessly. Eating too quickly. Eating too late. Your attention on the television instead of the food. Can’t even remember what you had for tea yesterday. There is probably a difference in quantity, too, for sure, in terms of nutritional value, but the real difference is one of quality.

The same goes for sleep. We “manage” our sleep like it’s something to be contained. A necessary evil that really just gets in the way of our busy lives. We make it fit into our schedule. We ignore our dreams. We sever our sleep with jarring, demanding alarms. We curtail it with brutal efficiency. Seven hours. Six hours. Five and a half. “A siesta? Are you mad? I don’t have time!” We don’t listen to our bodies. We don’t give them time to recoup and repair. We don’t even know how properly to rest. We entrance our senses with music, films, podcasts, video games, and social media. Always looking outwards. Seeking stimulation.

That’s not rest. Slouching isn’t rest – it’s a stretch for a few moments, and then it’s just a stress on your spine. True rest is sitting quietly upright. Moving inwards. Moving toward stillness. Rest is doing nothing. Not interfering with your thoughts, neither feeding nor suppressing. Rest is letting go. Deeply letting go. What we colloquially term relaxation is really just distraction. A way to fill our time so we don’t have to face ourselves. So we don’t have to face our discontent. Instead, we force ourselves into these unnatural patterns of productivity or distraction and then wonder why we are developing chronic stress or worsening health problems. The answer is often chronic fatigue. Chronic inflammation. Suppressed immunity. Not exercising right. Not resting right. Not eating right. Not sleeping right. Feeling like shit.

How can we start to remedy this? How can we start to live more skilfully? We all know, for the most part, where we’re going wrong. Yet we are apparently incapable of change. Our habits are too strong. Part of the answer lies in training our awareness. Another buzz-phrase is “living in the moment”. Well, we can’t do anything other than live in the moment, in the present. But we can be more present. An easy way in is to slow down. Listen to your breath. Attend to your posture, to your inner environment; be upright, expansive. Own your own space… and then own your own time, too. Move more slowly and deliberately, while maintaining a potential for swiftness and timeliness. Allow yourself to be entranced by your own somatic feedback. Pay attention to how you are moving. To how you are breathing. To how you are talking.

Are you breathing into your shoulders? Your upper chest? Your belly? Your back? Are you using your abdominals? Your diaphragm? Can you feel it moving? How about your breathing pattern? Is your breath a continuous loop, or is there a pause before you inhale? What happens if you prolong your exhalation? (Answer: Your heart rate slows down, and you relax more deeply.) Now, what about your voice? Is it harsh, or loud? Are your words rushed? What is your tone? Your inflection? Your timbre? Are your words constructive or destructive? Are they communicating effectively what you want to communicate? What is it you are communicating, really? What is your intention? And do your words match your intention? Take a moment to consider. Soften. Slow down. Give yourself a little space. Don’t take it to an extreme, either. Don’t turn into a sloth, or a saint. Be appropriate. Make subtle changes. The key is to train yourself into a certain state of mind.

And it takes practice. There is a reason people refer to Yoga practice, Taiji practice, or meditation practice. It takes time to develop. Time to deepen and become a part of you. To become habitual. You have to keep guiding yourself towards it. You have to set aside time to practice. Time to sit and do nothing but attend patiently to what is within. It’s not a state you can just get. Not without psychoactive drugs, sudden satori, or a nervous breakthrough (as opposed to a breakdown). No, to find a lasting, stable, and equanimous peacefulness, you have to practice. Twenty minutes at least, to activate the parasympathetic branch of your autonomic nervous system. Or, more simply, to get out of your persistently heightened, habitual mode of “fight or flight”, and into a state of deep, healing relaxation.

In one sense it’s a nebulous state, in that it’s hard to define because it’s not a “thing” – it’s a “way” of being. But in another sense it’s very clear. It’s clarity itself. A relaxed alertness. A state of readiness, focus, calmness and adaptability. It’s acceptance and responsiveness. Responding to what is actually here, and not to what you think is here, or what you’d like to be here. In Zen traditions there is a metaphor of the mind like a mirror. The mind reflects whatever is before it, without adding distorting lenses of desire, aversion, or judgement. Without layering in the delusions of self. Nothing mysterious, esoteric, or divine. Very mundane, in fact, but utterly liberating.

In truth, there is no “self” that perceives. There is only perception itself. Of course, there is an exchange through our senses; and there is awareness, which experiences our perceptions. But they are not our perceptions. It is not our awareness. It is what is – only thus. The ongoing self is a construct, a narrative we create to make sense of things. And all too often it leads us astray. Only when we achieve certain states of flow, or of profound meditation, do we experience life as it really is. And that is when we drop the we, drop the me. So long as “I” am experiencing “that”, I am deluded. I have imposed a false relationship of subject and object on to reality. The whole concept of self is just that – a concept. It is irrelevant. An illusion. Reality is just… this, here and now. It is ineffable. So words fail.

Okay. So we have grounded ourselves in our bodies. We have found a more efficient and beneficial way of organising our posture and our movement. We have paid attention to how we are moving, breathing, and speaking. To how we eat, sleep, rest, and exercise. We’ve slowed down, we’ve looked inwards, and we’ve established a practice of silent sitting or mindful movement to start wearing a new groove in our habitual minds – one which helps to facilitate this nebulous state of clarity, and to make it more familiar to us. What now?

It’s time to work on our interactivity. It’s time to start moving outwards. Maintain that inner peace, that internal attentiveness, and move gently outwards. How do you respond to stimuli? Are you in control of that response? Think back to the last time you saw someone get angry in traffic. Maybe it was you. They cut you up, and before you know it you respond. Did you choose your anger, or did it choose you? What are you angry at, anyway? First, you’re frustrated, because you need to be somewhere. Second, that person is an idiot. They don’t know how to drive. They’re careless. They’re not paying attention. They’re selfish. Now, look again. But drop your self. Drop their self. And drop your knowing.

You came into this world unknowing, you’ll go out unknowing. Why now do you act as though you know something? You cannot know the intricacies of the situation. Whatever led them to behave in that way was a series of conditions and causes over which they have little or no control. Maybe they have poor motor control or poor spatial awareness. Maybe they’re stressed out, preoccupied, upset. Maybe they’ve had a really shit day. Maybe they need to be somewhere. You don’t know. You just don’t know. When you open your mind to a wider perspective, to more possibilities, and empty a situation of intrinsic self-nature, suddenly there is no problem. You simply respond to the situation. You act appropriately. You yield, or you claim your space, but there is no need for anger or judgement. Because, well, your judgement is probably wrong, anyway. We have to maintain a certain emptiness of mind, a certain mental distance, and comprehend that a situation emerges from whatever preceded and formed it.

Suddenly, we find ourselves in a very different mindset. We are patient and forgiving. We feel sorry that this person is suffering right now, in their closed-down, selfish mindset. We see them as a human being, with a life beyond this unfortunate moment. We wish we could help. We are thankful for the insight they have provided us. That anger you’re feeling – it’s impotent, futile. If it arises, just examine it closely and it will recede. It’s not something of solidity; it’s just a neurochemical process. You don’t need to express it, or suppress it. You certainly don’t need to feel guilty, or feel like you’ve failed. You’re human, too. Be kind to yourself. Lead yourself gently in the direction you wish to go. There’s no use in berating yourself; just be patient and forgiving, and get back on course. Examine the situation. You’re empty, too. Just a product of causes and conditions. Intervene with this understanding, and harmful emotions, like this uncontrolled and unconscious anger, will naturally subside.

Understanding is a valuable tool. It’s useful to spend some time contemplating the interconnectedness of things. How everything is entwined and, in a sense, part of one abiding whole. The whole goes on, but it is in a state of permanent flux. We talk of impermanence, and we think of something distinct that lasts for a while and then changes into something else. But the reality of impermanence is more profound than that. Nothing stays the same for even a moment. Everything is constantly changing, so nothing can really be said to ever exist in its own right. Nothing exists by itself. Everything is in flow. Nothing can be held on to. Yet one of our greatest mistakes is to try to hold on. To ourselves, to others. To the things and people we love. To things we want to stay the same. But when we isolate things like that, when we try to separate them out and keep them the way they are, we kill them. And we ourselves inevitably suffer, because our attempts are doomed to failure. They contradict truth. They contravene the natural way.

This is another way to comprehend the non-existence of self. Where is your abiding self, if all is change, if all is flow? This is very much a central tenet of Buddhism, and Daoism too. The Daoist Yin Yang symbol represents this flow. Everything is interdependent, constantly transforming in an endless dance of consumption and creation. Yes, we exist. Things exist. But they, and we, are a construct of mind. What we perceive is merely appearance, and to directly perceive the reality behind this illusion is liberation, bliss, and fearlessness. This isn’t an intellectual understanding. You can’t arrive at it through reading these words. They might seem quite mad. No, it is a direct experience, through which all concepts – even death – just fall away like dust. But if we have this intellectual understanding as our framework, it certainly helps us to find the path.

Still, we did not set out here to become enlightened sages. We just want to live a little more skilfully. But there are more religious practices we can steal to help realise our goal. One is giving. Generosity. That means giving yourself, not material things. Being open and honest. Giving people your full attention. Giving yourself fully, without holding back or expecting something in return. Giving selflessly. (Can you see the theme here?) In fact, it doesn’t just apply to other people. Whatever you’re doing, give yourself fully to it. Immerse yourself in it. Forget yourself. A few ideas begin to melt together here: immersion, flow states, attentiveness, generosity… they’re all ways of getting at the same mind-state, just from slightly different angles. We’re looking into the same house through different windows.

What else, then? Gratitude. Most religions have some kind of gratitude practice. Thanksgiving. Meditation techniques that focus on vividly recalling the somatic feeling of gratitude. Current research even suggests that we don’t even have to contemplate our own gratitude. Just witnessing or reading about somebody else’s gratitude can be equally beneficial. The point is not the specific expression of gratitude, but the neurological change it induces within us. Both generosity and gratitude engender a certain kind of brain function, and even heart function, that contributes to our health and wellbeing. Inflammation and anxiety are reduced. We produce more serotonin and more oxytocin, and so we inhabit a mind and personal reality that is both more content and more empathic. More connected. More at ease. Less anxious, less serious. More playful and humorous. Humour, too, of course, is a powerful tool for internal change. So please don’t take all of this too earnestly. Be humble and acknowledge your own ignorance and absurdity. Laugh at yourself as much as possible. You can be a master of your own brain chemistry. And your nervous system and internal organs will thank you for it.

But wait! There is an enemy lurking out there, or rather in there, that we have yet to consider. He goes by the name of Laziness. Procrastination. Stubbornness. He’s cunning. He’s devious. He urges you to return to your old habits. Your old thought patterns. Your old behaviours – the ones that got you into this mess in the first place. He wants you to go back to sleep. How can we fight him? The answer is, on multiple fronts. And fighting – in the outward expression of martial arts – may be one ideal approach. Anything that brings us to life, that brings us to this moment. Not intellectually, but physically. Our bodies are always here, but our minds rarely join in. They’re off somewhere else, wandering. We have to shake ourselves awake. We have to climb out of our holes and subject ourselves to some level of healthy, that is, non-chronic, stress. We need to raise our levels of alertness and focus, incite some adrenaline release, some sense of managed urgency – just not a neurotic urgency. It needs to be contained. We need to be skilful. In this way we can stimulate our minds to change, to reconnect our neural pathways, fill in those habitual unconscious ditches, those mindless neural loops, and dig some new ones, some channels that actually serve us.

How else can we get our fires blazing? We can ponder transience. The preciousness of time. Not to induce in ourselves a kind of manic activity – that would be counter-productive. But we need to realise with no uncertainty that time wasted is gone forever. Project yourself forwards in time. Tomorrow, next year, in a decade, at the end of your life. What have you achieved? What have you to regret? Death is our greatest blind spot. We carry on as if it isn’t going to happen. But it’s here right now. Each moment is death, and each moment is creation. Each instant is a celebration of Shiva, the Creator and the Destroyer. We die and are reborn with every breath. We presume, generally, that death is something dark and scary, something to be feared. The Grim Reaper. But that’s just pessimistic guesswork. Maybe death will be the best thing that ever happened to you? A release. A return. An immersion in something greater. In Chinese medical philosophy, the immortal spirit is a very real thing. A highly refined state of material reality. It can be touched. It can be worked with. But, whatever your beliefs, a little consideration of your own mortality is a great motivator. And here we are, back at the notion of impermanence.

Now, again to attention. One great weapon against laziness is your ability to maintain conscious awareness, and not to slip into unconscious behaviours. You have to live in witness to yourself. Know yourself. Wake up. Compulsiveness is a symptom of inattentiveness. Suddenly a cigarette has appeared in your hand! How did it get there? You weren’t paying attention. Those words popped out of your mouth, unintended. You just lost the last hour to scrolling through rubbish. You were acting habitually, unconsciously. What you need is a kind of Dojo mindset. Alert, but calm – not agitated. Calm, but alert – not docile. You’re not in danger on the Aikido mat. No need for fear or stress. Your partner is not out to kill you. They are looking after you. But you have to be fully engaged, fully present. Take the mat with you into your daily life. Give yourself entirely to the moment. Give yourself. Generosity. There we go again. It’s almost as if these ideas are connected somehow…

If we can keep good posture, too, be upright, open, and engaged, and conserve our energy, then our motivation will be stronger. We will be more active, more Yang. It is exhaustion and indifference that makes us say, “I’ll get to that later. I’ll put it on my To Do list.” Hey! Burn that To Do list. If it’s a priority, do it now! And if it’s not a priority, be skilful in your approach. Write it on your calendar and do it when it needs doing. But that list is just you lying to yourself. And making yourself feel bad when it only ever gets longer. Of course, it’s good to have intention. It starts with intention. But if your vision stops there, and gets relegated to the To Do list, then it’s as good as dead. When the intention is stirred, you need to act. Enact it. Realise it. Then bask in the dopamine release afterwards. That’s better than regret and hopelessness, isn’t it? Just do it. (No, I’m not trying to sell you trainers.)

The more you practice this kind of discipline, the easier self-discipline gets. It becomes a habit. Once again, it’s about ploughing furrows that lead towards your goal. Towards good, conscious habits, instead of destructive, unconscious ones. And the momentum will build. Everything will snowball if you can establish good, consistent routines. Meditate. Find some hypnotic movement practice like Yoga, Qi Gong, or Taiji. Eat mindfully, breathe mindfully, and infuse your body with awareness. Get sufficient, deep, restorative sleep, and find periods of high arousal and focus. Yin and Yang, interchanging. Nourish your will and your intent. Balance exercise with rest. Foster good qualities – generosity, gratitude, playfulness, humility, selflessness. Observe your speech, and contemplate emptiness, impermanence, and interdependence to broaden your acceptance and deepen your understanding. If you make excuses, leave it until tomorrow, decide you’re not in the right mood, or you have something more important to do, then your routines will collapse, and you will get precisely nowhere. Nowhere except frustration and defeat.

Make small steps. Be realistic. Be skilful. But keep going. You have to engage with the process. A process of neuroplastic evolution. Of self-realisation. And like any process, it’s hard to get moving. We have to overcome inertia. But once we build momentum, it becomes a joyful thing. Tending skilfully to your own seed becomes an artistic project, an endeavour of boundless depth and expanse. It gives us meaning. Living skilfully doesn’t just facilitate meaning in our lives; it is meaning. It makes every waking moment a creative act, an expressive act, a conscious act. And if we keep watering this seed and giving it our attention, it will grow into a beautiful expression of life. Of our lives.

We’re not looking to find balance here, or at least, it’s not a static balance. It’s a dynamic interplay, in synchrony with the flow of reality. We have to be fluid and present. Flowing with the changes. We need to throw out our rules, our morals, our self-narrative, and our fixed positions. We have to be constantly changing and adjusting. Oh, and sometimes we need to be fixed. Like I say, there are no rules here. We have to be like water, as Bruce Lee said. Be relentless. Be torrential. Be still. Be nourishing. Be gentle. Be soft. Be violent. Be yielding. Be shapeless. Seep through the cracks. Pour from the heavens. Whatever is appropriate. Whatever is required.

This is the way of plasticity.

This is Dao.