Your Practice Needs Practice
Don’t Try To Quick-Fix It
“I can’t meditate, it’s just not for me.”
Have you heard this sentence before? Or maybe even said it yourself?
Trust me, it’s the one sentence I hear the most.
Whenever I get the inevitable “So, what do you do?” (which I never really know how to answer because… what do I actually do? I’m still figuring that out), I sometimes go for the simple reply: “I teach meditation.” And almost instantly, 99% of the time, I get back:
“I can’t meditate, it’s just not for me.”
And I can’t help but wonder: Have you even tried? Like… really tried?
Don’t get me wrong — meditation isn’t easy. It can bring up uncomfortable feelings, thoughts, and emotions instead of the blissful moments the internet loves to advertise. (We’ve talked about that here.)
It also takes time to find a style or technique that works for you. (We’ve talked about that here too.)
But the main point I want to make today is:
Meditation is a practice.
And what does a practice need? Practice.
Yup, that’s it. Done. Byeee. (Kidding.)
A Handstand Lesson in Patience
When I was 36, I decided I wanted to learn how to do a handstand.
At the time, I was part of this cute little gym group, and most of the boys (well, technically men, but let’s call them boys for the sake of it) could already do them. My trainer always called it the perfect party trick — and he was right!
It looked fun, and I love giving my body new challenges every now and then. Plus, I thought, as a woman, I want to be able to do a handstand too. (Later on more women in the group got into handstands as well, but in the beginning, it was mostly the boys.)
Of course, there were the people who thought I was “crazy” — wanting to learn a handstand at 36, without having been a gymnast as a kid or having any experience with it at all. But I was determined. I knew that with the right technique and enough practice, I could get there.
Luckily, my trainer got it. He knows exactly how to prepare someone, so when I told him my goal, he was all for it. It took six month (I practiced 3 x a week, roughly, in the beginning not even doing anything that looked remotely like a handstand) but I trusted the process. I showed up. I was invested. Dare I say… committed.
And then it happened — just for a single second, but still: I was standing on my hands. It felt amazing!
From there, I kept practicing for many more months, slowly increasing the time I could hold it. Progress was slow — sometimes it even felt like I was moving backwards — but I was still building. Compounding, even.
That whole experience taught me the simplest truth: practice needs practice.
Even on the days when it feels like nothing’s happening, something is.
Meditation as a State of Being
Meditation is sometimes described as thoughtless awareness.
In Patañjali’s Yoga Sutras, it’s the eighth limb — samādhi — the final state.
Yoga Sutra 1.2
yogaś citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ
“Yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind.”
Yoga Sutra 1.3
tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe ’vasthānam
“Then, the seer rests in its own true nature.”
This resting in your true nature — without identification with thoughts — is essentially samādhi.
Yoga Sutra 3.3 gives the direct definition:
tad eva artha-mātra-nirbhāsaṁ svarūpa-śūnyam iva samādhiḥ
“When only the object of meditation shines forth, as if the self is absent, that is samādhi.”
It’s a state of being — pure awareness — something you can’t do or force.
Personally, I think Sutras 1.2 and 1.3 make it crystal clear: we’re talking about a state of being — a state of consciousness that isn’t active, and that you can’t practice in the usual sense. Because really, how would you “practice” something that just is!?
The Paradox
So yes, you can’t practice a state of being.
What you can practice is everything that prepares you for it.
Practice is the process of learning to observe the fluctuations of your mind.
It’s understanding that you have thoughts but are not your thoughts.
It’s noticing the space between one thought and the next, and realizing that in that space lies your choice, your freedom.
It’s not easy.
It takes time.
It takes feeling into it.
It takes patience to notice your patterns, and courage to change them.
And you’ll do it over and over and over again.
You are not doing it to get good at it, or to be the best at it.
No — that’s not the point.
You are doing it to get to know you, to understand yourself better, to live your life better. To know that even if you have solved one pattern, the next one is just waiting around the corner for you to explore, to get to know, to change.
Because you are ever-changing,
ever-evolving,
ever-practicing life.
And one day we will all understand that life is exactly that — a playground for us to practice.
There is a lot to gain, but even more to lose (if we skip that practicing part).
If we keep thinking things need to be perfect, or we need to be perfect, or we have to know everything and be able to do it all on the first try.
The whole game is in the practicing,
trying things out again and again,
failing,
adjusting,
practicing again,
failing,
adjusting,
staying curious,
open,
honest.
That’s it!
That’s life! (and meditation, for that matter)
So, practice.
Allow yourself to practice,
and to grow with your practice —
because you will.
And yes, I know we all love a good five-step process. But not today.
Still, I’ll leave you with something tangible—three things to reflect on when you think about your own practice:
Three Things to Remember About Your Practice
1. Stop Expecting Instant Calm
Meditation is training, not a quick-fix spa treatment.
Like learning a language or an instrument, the early days can feel clumsy or noisy — that’s normal.
Your “bad” meditation days are just as valuable as the “good” ones.
2. Make It Regular Before You Make It Long
Five minutes every day beats forty minutes once a week.
Consistency helps the mind arrive with less resistance.
Over time, the state of meditation becomes more accessible — but only if you keep showing up.
3. See Thoughts as Training Material, Not Obstacles
You’re not failing when your mind wanders — you’re doing it.
Each return to your anchor is a repetition for your awareness “muscle.”
The wandering isn’t separate from the practice — it is the practice.
Just something to mull over until next week.
Thanks for being here.
If you want to share your own reflections, I’m all ears — always.
