A volcanic explosion of frenetic energy, a thumping heartbeat, suffocating terror, dizzying tunnel vision, jelly-kneed paralysis, no room, struggling to breathe. Regardless of the cause, experiencing a panic attack is deeply unsettling, and hard to shake off. Consequently, fear of experiencing another attack can become chronic.
One summer’s evening in Budapest, I shared my battle with depression and anxiety with a close friend. “There’s always a choice,” he responded, his matter-of-fact assurance a thin veil covering his brotherly concern. These words stuck with me, enough for me to recollect seven years later, not least because I respect his guidance.
My sternum reverberates from train-track palpitations. I desperately search an escape route. I avoid eyes. Can they hear the thud? Can they see? This can’t be happening. Not now. I’m not ready. Soon it’s my turn to talk and I’m paralysed: I’ll choke; I’ll be exposed. This is too much to hide.
I’ve always loved making people laugh. Accompanied by a smile family photos suggest was equally chubby and charming, from a young age I also knew how to milk a joke for all its worth. Over the years my dad, who is equally fond of making people laugh and milking jokes (sorry dad!), has passed on some of his favourite quips. Imagine my delight upon inheriting this gem:
If you notice this notice, you’ll notice this notice isn’t worth noticing.
Wide-eyed and loose-tongued, the other evening I was excitedly telling my partner, Ellen, of the myriad of ideas running through my mind. It was late, time for bed, but here I was hovering and conversing en route to the bathroom, anchored by my stream of consciousness. Ellen — who I was now depriving of sleep — listened attentively, her assuring smile a sign of her enduring patience. As one idea sprang to the next, and the next, and the next, I stopped myself. Equally amused and supportive of my late-night ramblings, Ellen astutely bookended our conversation: “But first, brush your teeth.”
There’s immense power in living mindfully. Though mindfulness has become a buzzword in recent years, the basic practice of being completely, utterly focused on the present moment produces huge benefits. The mind — and all the belief systems and thoughts that come with it — clouds our experience. It likes to label things, to transform experience into concepts. Work. Play. Boring. Fun. Like. Don’t like.
This article is split into two sections on meditation: how it changed my life and its scientific benefits. The first is a deeply personal explanation of my particular experience. I want to start with this because I’m hoping by sharing, it’ll give further insight than the dozens of other articles online that tell you why meditation is beneficial, without the necessary anecdotal explanation in support. After all, it’s useful knowing what studies have discovered, but it can be difficult to relate. If you have a thirst for science, you’ll be catered for; the second section summarises key findings.