Sit, Walk, Don't Talk Read online

  Reader Testimonials

  “If you’ve never been to a silent retreat, you need to read this book. If you’ve been, but not for a while, you need to read this book. This is one of the most honest accounts I’ve ever read of what a silent retreat entails.”—Dianne Harman

  “A jewel of a book. Jennifer’s self-awareness, authentic voice and her willingness to be vulnerable make for a fascinating read. I laughed and cried—and even felt inspired to consider going on a silent meditation retreat myself!”—Suzanne Budd

  “Jennifer Howd leads us on a journey of raw honesty and compassion with a dose of wit that makes it ok for us to start our own perfectly imperfect, and potentially profound, mindfulness journeys.”—Alina Wilczynski

  Parallax Press

  P.O. Box 7355

  Berkeley, CA 94707

  parallax.org

  Parallax Press is the publishing division of Unified

  Buddhist Church, Inc.

  © 2017 by Jennifer Howd

  All rights reserved

  Cover and text design by Debbie Berne

  Author photograph © Erin Sacco

  Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

  Ebook ISBN 9781941529713

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on request.

  v4.1

  a

  For my father

  contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Sunday, March 10

  Deciding to Go

  Friday, May 3

  Arrival Day

  Saturday, May 4

  Day One

  Sunday, May 5

  Day Two

  Monday, May 6

  Day Three

  Tuesday, May 7

  Day Four

  Wednesday, May 8

  Day Five

  Thursday, May 9

  Day Six

  Friday, May 10

  Day Seven

  Saturday, May 11

  Day Eight

  Sunday, May 12

  Day Nine, Heading Home

  Epilogue

  Four Years Later

  Special Thanks and Gratitude

  APPENDICES

  Twelve Tips to Help You Survive a Silent Meditation Retreat

  What to Bring

  What to Do When It’s Over

  Home Retreats

  Recommended Reading

  Loving Kindness Meditation

  Body Scan

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Since ancient times, societies around the globe—representing the full spectrum of spiritual traditions—have understood the value of stepping away from the “busyness” of life to cultivate a deep inner listening. Today, in an increasingly cacophonous culture—one that prioritizes doing over being—deliberately putting one’s life on hold to focus silently inward might be considered an antiquated act. In my experience, however, it’s never been more relevant.

  If you’ve picked up this book, chances are you’re feeling the tug to attend a silent meditation retreat. Maybe you’re in need of a digital detox. Or you’re seeking a way to detach from the tyranny of your to-do list. Perhaps you’re coping with a great loss, or are looking for a new perspective on a persistent problem or pain. Or maybe you’re simply looking to deepen your mindfulness practice. Any and all reasons are valid. The important thing is this: If something inside you is calling for silence, please, dear reader, listen.

  Growing up as an only child in the woods of rural New Hampshire, much of my childhood could have been considered one long, silent retreat. My parents kept mostly to themselves. So I did, too.

  I spent most of my free time alone, exploring the thick woods behind our home: the gentle guidance of my inner compass alive in the rustling leaves; the constant call of the chick-a-dee-dee-dees; the twigs snapping underfoot; the faint trickle of the nearby brook.

  Inside our house, tensions between my parents routinely ran high. The silence between them was deafening—and I often withdrew to the safe confines of our converted basement. Immersed in my imagination, I sat for hours on the lumpy, beige pullout couch, surrounded by colored pencils and Cray-Pas, tuning out the melodramatic voices from my mom’s favorite soaps seeping down through the basement’s ceiling and the tinny blare of classical music from behind the closed door to my dad’s study. A family in retreat from one another.

  When it came time for college, I fled to New York City, eager to escape the solitude of small town life. Newly submerged in an endless stream of sensory stimulation, toughening up and numbing out became my sole strategies for survival. But they came with a price. The deep connection to the centering sounds of my inner voice—so present in my youth—soon faded, overtaken by a brutal, crescendoing inner critic. I played the part of the brash New Yorker well. Still do, at times.

  These days, I live in what feels like the middle ground between stimulation and serenity: the sprawling suburb known as Los Angeles. A dedicated mindfulness practice now firmly in place, I no longer find myself unconsciously retreating to escape. Now I retreat—consciously—to get back closer to myself.

  For me, silent meditation retreats act like metaphysical “tune-ups,” providing the perfect conditions to help me realign and reconnect. On a more practical level, they also offer the opportunity to learn from and interact with expert meditation teachers from all over the world, while in the company of other retreatants walking similar, but still diverse, life paths.

  With the many styles of meditation retreats being offered around the world today, it’s important to note this book focuses specifically on “Vipassana,” also known as “Insight” meditation retreats. While this style of retreat is rooted in Buddhism, one needn’t identify as Buddhist in order to attend. Anyone of any religion or spiritual identification (including none at all) is welcome.

  At the heart of Insight meditation is the practice of mindfulness—the cultivation of clear, stable, and nonjudgmental awareness. Scientific research has shown the practice of mindfulness helps to lower blood pressure and boost the immune system. It has also been shown to increase attention and focus; help with difficult mental states such as anxiety and depression; foster well-being and lessen emotional reactivity; and thicken the brain in areas in charge of decision-making, emotional flexibility, and empathy.

  For those newer to mindfulness and/or those who are interested in delving deeper into the subject, I’ve included several appendices that include in-depth information about the practices mentioned within the book, as well as other helpful resources that will come in handy when preparing for a silent meditation retreat. Please refer to my website, www.JenniferHowd.com, for additional resources and regular updates.

  Lastly, for the uninitiated, it’s imperative to note that (SPOILER ALERT) silent meditation retreats are not relaxing “vacations.” They’re intentionally created containers for coming face-to-face with yourself. And because of this, they can often be life-changing—and quite challenging—experiences.

  Attending a silent meditation retreat is kind of like attending a boot camp for your soul. It’s rigorous. It’s demanding. It’s (sometimes) painful. But it’s worth it. And if nothing else, dear reader, I hope this book gives you the confidence to know that if I can survive a silent meditation retreat—so can you.

  Sunday, March 10

  Deciding to Go

  I was sitting on the edge of my thirty-dollar thrift store couch in my modestly appointed Hollywood bungalow, nervously nibbling my nails down to their nubs. It was T-minus two months until my fortieth birthday, and I had no idea what I wanted
to do to celebrate. I had managed to stave off the gentle—yet persistent—inquiries from my girlfriend, Kate. But internal pressures were mounting.

  OK, seriously. I’m running out of time here. How should I celebrate my fortieth? This is a big one.

  My brow furrowed.

  Do I want a big party? Hell no. I hate big parties—all those people. The pressure to talk to everyone. All that noise. Maybe a more intimate dinner with friends? Nope, that doesn’t feel right, either.

  My shoulders started inching up toward my ears. My breath became shallow. I felt a sharp tightness gripping my chest.

  UGH! I SOOOOO DON’T WANT TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW. BIRTHDAYS ARE ASININE. DO I HAVE ANY DARK CHOCOLATE?

  Welcome to the inside of my mind.

  Like the inside of most people’s minds, mine is often filled with an incessant stream of inner banter. Some of it helpful, most of it not.

  I sprang up from the couch to make a beeline for the kitchen—and the secret stash of dark chocolate I keep in the freezer door. But just then, my eye caught a glimpse of the Spirit Rock Meditation Center brochure perched atop the mile-high pile of unread (yet meticulously stacked) magazines on my desk. Staring down at the majestic-looking meditation hall pictured on the brochure’s cover, I suddenly paused. My mind redirected.

  Maybe I could go on a silent meditation retreat for my fortieth?

  Since moving to Los Angeles from New York City four years ago, I’d been on a mission to get to know myself better, chipping away through hardened layers of anxiety, depression, and stoicism in an effort to excavate the softer, more vulnerable voice at my core. A daily meditation practice was at the heart of this process, and I had recently started participating in a ten-month-long intensive practice program at UCLA’s Mindful Awareness Research Center. One of the curriculum requirements was to attend a five-day or longer Vipassana, or Insight, meditation retreat during the course of the program—which I had yet to do.

  This could be a great way to fulfill my retreat requirement AND celebrate my birthday.

  I started leafing through the brochure, and my eyes landed on the Spring Insight Retreat in Yucca Valley from May 3 through May 12 with Jack Kornfield, Trudy Goodman, Noah Levine, and several other renowned teachers.

  It’s happening during my birthday, AND it’s only a two-hour drive from Los Angeles? This is perfect!

  Standing there, staring down at the retreat brochure now in my hands, I knew exactly what I wanted to do for my fortieth.

  I wanted to be by myself, to give myself the freedom to celebrate the way I enjoyed being most in the world: in silent contemplation and introspection. Everything about it just felt “right.”

  Opening my laptop, I hopped online to register, the rush of excitement pulsing through my body. But after I hit “send” on the application form, my heart sank.

  The confirmation message revealed the retreat was full—very full.

  I was number thirty-six on the wait list.

  SHIT! WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THIS EARLIER? I ALWAYS TAKE WAY TOO LONG TO DECIDE WHAT I WANT! I’M NEVER GOING TO GET IN NOW!

  Feeling defeated, I could see what I’ve affectionately dubbed my “Shit” starting to spin out of control. Not one particular inner voice per se, my Shit is, essentially, a buildup of emotional debris, the byproduct of previously wounded, unhealed parts of myself that feel uncomfortable being vulnerable (thus often lashing out, complaining, catastrophizing, bitching, whining, moaning, blaming, judging and/or criticizing both myself and others in an effort to avoid it). I wasn’t even aware I had any Shit until I started meditating.

  But, in this moment, I could feel it bubbling up. Strong. Which meant it was time to cue a kinder, gentler tone.

  OK, I don’t really know what’s going to happen, so I just need to “let it be.” It’s out of my hands now. There’s a chance I might get in—and if I don’t, I’ll deal with it. It won’t be the end of the world. I’m sure I can figure something else out.

  —

  The next six weeks passed quickly. There was no word from the retreat center, so I convinced myself that it wasn’t going to happen. I was trying to figure out what else I might want to do for my birthday—now only two and a half weeks away—when I noticed a missed call and message from Spirit Rock on my cell phone.

  Oh my God—did I get in?

  My heart started pounding with excitement as I pressed play on my voicemail:

  “Hi, Jennifer. I’m calling about the upcoming Spring Insight retreat in Yucca Valley. We have an opening for you. Please call us back and let us know if you’d like to take it.”

  Friday, May 3

  Arrival Day

  It’s 3:30 p.m., and I’m driving to Joshua Tree in my beat-up ’95 Honda Civic. My Best of Carly Simon CD is blasting on the CD player. Los Angeles is in the middle of a hundred-degree heat wave. The air-conditioning doesn’t work. I’m sticky and hot. The GPS on my iPhone told me to take some circuitous route that I’ve chosen to follow, even though my gut’s telling me there’s a more direct way to go. I’m trapped on a desert highway amidst a trickle of twenty mph traffic. And I’m starting to notice the familiar pang of anxiety grabbing hold of my stomach.

  Within moments, I’m completely consumed by the exhaust fumes from the traffic and the critical thoughts racing through my mind.

  THIS TRAFFIC’S INSANE! I’M DRIVING TOTALLY OUT OF THE WAY. I SHOULD HAVE STAYED ON THE MAIN ROAD AND NOT LISTENED TO THE GPS. I’M GOING TO BE LATE! REGISTRATION’S ONLY OPEN UNTIL 5:30 PM. I’M GOING TO MISS OUT ON THE RETREAT BECAUSE I WASN’T PREPARED. I SHOULD HAVE PLANNED THIS BETTER. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I DON’T MAKE SCHEDULES!

  Up until recently, I had spent the past fifteen years working in the entertainment industry—first as a publicist, then a producer—where planning had been a key component of my career. Time is money, honey! But somewhere along the line, planning became more than a job, and took over as a lifestyle. Obsessing over every possible way things could go wrong and having at least two backup plans became a way I could feel some semblance of control over my otherwise chaotic life.

  But then I started meditating. And, subsequently, I started seeing how planning everything all the time had only ever given me the illusion of control. I also started seeing how, by constantly trying to control the future, I had been, instead, creating an endless loop of anxiety for myself in the present. If I wanted to help lessen this anxiety—which I most certainly did—one thing I needed to do was to start easing off the incessant over-planning and try (GASP!) going with the flow. I was still in the midst of figuring out how to do this.

  So when it came time to start getting ready for the retreat, I made the conscious choice to loosen up and not prepare any in-depth travel dossiers. I remember looking at Google maps before I left and thinking, It’s a straight shot on the freeway. No need to over-plan this. I’ll be fine.

  But now it felt like this new, more relaxed approach was backfiring. And I was on the verge of speeding head-first into Shit Land. Thankfully, however, I was aware this was happening—which meant I still had a shot at diverting it.

  This hasn’t always been the case.

  Before I started meditating daily, my Shit got triggered more often than not, recklessly hijacking my thoughts and turning me into an overreactive maniac. I believed and fed into its stories of doom and gloom. And whenever the slightest thing went “wrong,” a speeding train of catastrophic thoughts would barrel through my mind, gaining momentum until the inevitable crash forced everything to a halt.

  The Big Kahuna crash happened when I was thirty-six years old. Never-ending strings of screaming matches with my then-girlfriend, daily panic attacks, crippling anxiety, and consistent bouts of debilitating depression were my “normal.”

  I honestly didn’t believe things could get much worse.

  But then, of course, they did.

  Everything came to a head one afternoon when my girlfriend crossed a physical line during an otherwise inane argu
ment. In a Shit-at-full-tilt moment, I’d made a passive aggressive remark that sent her over the edge, and she lunged at me in a rage, grabbing my neck and clamping down tight. We’d been in similar situations before, but I’d always refused to see things as they were, hoping they’d just get better, magically, over time.

  But, of course, they never did.

  Standing there in the middle of our front yard, tears streaming down my face, gently pressing my fingers against my skin, feeling the newly forming bruises on my throat—blue and red lights flashing as the cop cars pulled up to the curb—I felt like I was in the middle of a Lifetime movie of the week. But as surreal as the moment seemed, the reality of my situation was impossible to ignore.

  HOW THE HELL DID I END UP HERE?

  I woke up the next morning, and the answer was clear: I hadn’t been paying attention to my life.

  Ever since my mom passed away (shortly after my twenty-eighth birthday), I’d been too dazed and confused by the endless slew of antidepressants and antianxiety medications, additional self-medication, and self-denial to truly be aware of the choices I’d been making and how they were affecting me and those around me. And in this moment, despite feeling terrified, I knew it was time I took an honest look at my life—or I might not end up having one for much longer.

  With the loving support of my family and a few close friends, I embarked on the process of observing, examining, and then attempting to clean up my life. I left the relationship, got myself into a domestic violence support group, started attending Refuge Recovery meetings at Against the Stream Meditation Society, as well as mindfulness classes at UCLA, and committed myself to a regular meditation practice.

  For the next two years I lived like a virtual hermit, holed up in my tiny bungalow with little to no distractions from myself. My days consisted of long bouts of intentional introspection and solitude, heavy doses of crying, yoga, journaling, self-help books, meditation—and zero alcohol, recreational, or prescription drugs.