I have never once gone to bed thinking, there — my list is finished, there’s nothing left to do. Not once. Maybe you haven’t either. Our lists are long these days, and they don’t end.
So when everything on the list feels important, we do what everyone does: we leap from the problem straight to the solution, and we skip the one step that actually helps. That step is the pause — the moment we stop, drop into the body, and listen within before we act. It sounds small. It changes everything. Because equanimity’s real question was never how do I finish it all? It’s something quieter and far more useful: what does this moment actually need from me?
That was the heart of our second equanimity gathering. Here’s what we explored:
Why equanimity is the skill that holds all the others
The move most of us skip: from the hook, to the default, to the skill
“Everything feels important” — what to do when you can’t prioritize
Equanimity in relationships (the hardest and most freeing practice)
The meditation we did together — loving someone and letting go
What came up: people-pleasing, responsibility, and the seduction of comfort
1. The skill that holds all the others
Equanimity — upekkha in Pali — is the last of the eight mindfulness skills we’ve been practicing together, and there’s a reason it comes last. It’s the one that balances all the others. It’s the discernment that asks, in any given moment: which quality of mind do I actually need right now? More awareness? More compassion? More energy, more joy, more calm, more focus?
That’s why strengthening equanimity strengthens everything. It’s the inner steadiness from which we can see clearly enough to choose. Joseph Goldstein calls it the unshakeable quality of mind. I also love the image one of my teachers offers: equanimity is being strong and grounded like a mountain, and flexible like bamboo. Stable as a mountain, vast as the sky, flowing like a river — all at once. Since so many of us are nature lovers, those images become doorways back to a quality that’s already in us.
2. The move most of us skip
Here’s where it gets practical — and where I shared what’s been alive for me. With Sama Life launching in a week (a year in the making, maybe a lifetime in the making), there’s real pressure, real hope that it lands and serves people the way I intend, and yes, a little fear underneath: what if it doesn’t? When I’m not paying attention, those hopes and fears run the show from below the surface, quietly pulling me down.
So the practice is to bring it up into the light, in this order:
First, return to the body. Not cognitively — I should feel equanimous — but actually. Where’s the heaviness in my chest, the tightness? Breathe into it. Make a little space. The body is the first foundation of mindfulness.
Then, name the hook. Underneath the sensation, what’s here? A hope I’m grasping. A fear. An expectation.
Then — and this is the step we skip — find the default. What’s my automatic reaction to this hook? Do I resist? Avoid? React? Get overwhelmed? Procrastinate by doing something pleasant but unnecessary? Our defaults are old patterns, and they run on autopilot until we see them.
Only then do we choose the skill. Once the default is visible, the right medicine becomes obvious. Self-doubt underneath? I need self-compassion. The lonely “I’ve been working so hard” story? Appreciative joy — there’s so much to rejoice in, too. Stuck and resisting? Curiosity: what exactly am I resisting? (Curiosity and awareness are the foundational ones — in the Buddhist teachings, investigation, vichaya, was considered one of the most important qualities of mind.)
We already have all these qualities within us. We’re just learning to activate the right one at the right time. And no — you can’t figure it out in advance, because every moment is different. That’s exactly why we pause daily. It’s why I do Daily Sama every morning, as much for me as for you: I can go, go, go and work very late, but even doing what I love will burn me up if I don’t stop and connect with what’s actually needed — rest, nature, hydration, help.
3. When everything feels important
One practitioner named something so many of us live: I stop and ask what’s the next most important thing — but everything seems important, and even when I get some clarity, the anxiety doesn’t release.
Here’s what I offered. We tend to leap straight from problem to solution — the second we name the problem, we want to fix it. But there’s an in-between space worth protecting, even if it’s only a minute, even if it’s only three breaths. First, calm the nervous system: three breaths, a hand on the chest, a minute looking at the sky. Then ask what’s most important. And if it’s swirling in your head, write it down — the mind likes to keep us spinning in “there’s so much and it’s overwhelming,” but on paper, you’ll know. Trust yourself; your intuition holds more data points than your conscious mind can.
And one reframe that matters: overwhelm isn’t the enemy. Overwhelm is your internal radar telling you to pay attention to something. Stress, overwhelm, none of these emotions are bad — they’re information. You just have to stop and listen.
4. Equanimity in relationships
This is where equanimity gets brave. Beyond steadiness with our own challenges, it’s the unshakeable, caring quality of mind we bring to people — and it asks us to be unbiased toward those we love and those we find difficult alike.
This matters so much in our communities right now, because it’s so easy to open our hearts to people who think like us — yes, look at them, we love them, we promote them — and quietly shut down toward people who think differently. Equanimity is the practice of keeping our hearts and minds open toward those who blame us and those who care for us.
It also applies to the people we love most. We want the best for them — and in wanting it, we can become controlling, demanding, hooked on them being a certain way. A balanced heart holds the truth that as much as we love someone, they are their own being, here to learn and grow in their own way. We can hold our hopes for them lightly, without letting those hopes color how we show up.
I read the lines from Mary Oliver’s In Blackwater Woods — that we must learn to love what is mortal, to hold it against our bones knowing our lives depend on it, and, when the time comes, to let it go. To love that intimately and to let go. That’s equanimity. With one practitioner navigating a family member’s hard season, and for me with my own son, this is the practice: love fully, and release the grip of needing it to look a certain way.
5. The meditation: loving someone, and letting go
