Introduction

Practice is a condition for developing mastery — in any area to which mastery is relevant, including the pursuit of happiness.

There is something almost strange at the core of it: here is a skill you know you cannot yet perform, and by doing it at your current, inevitably unsatisfying level — repeatedly, the same way, you somehow get better at it. However it works, to my knowledge, there is no other way. Repetition is not a path to mastery; it is the only path.

The following section presents several mental exercises that form a practice supporting the development of mastery in the pursuit of happiness. They should be approached the same way a pianist practices scales or a basketball player practices jump shots — deliberate, attentive repetition is the key.

[Sidebar: A child learning how to ride a bicycle is guaranteed to struggle with it at first. I think it’s fair to say that no one gets on a bike for the first time and securely pedals away. Everyone falls, typically multiple times, until the hang of it is gotten. What keeps most children at it despite repeated failures and the scrapes they usually entail is the knowledge that it can be done. Seeing their friends and older kids in the neighborhood effortlessly enjoying riding their bikes is ample proof that it can be done, and an incentive to keep practicing. In that sense, a mindful role model — be it someone actually present in your life or someone distant that you know of (like the Dalai Lama, for me and for many others) — can be remarkably useful and thus worth seeking out.
But it looks like a role model is not absolutely necessary. Think about the first person to ever ride a bicycle, Baron Karl von Drais, in 1817. Old Karl must have had some conviction (and perhaps unusually thick knee skin) to keep at it without evidence that it can be done.
If you don’t have a role model for mindfulness (and mastery in the pursuit of happiness), I hope you can muster a degree of similar conviction. Maybe you can take my word for it (remember, I’m a doctor!): it can be done. Granted, not everyone develops a level of mastery that qualifies for the Tour de France, but (specific physical disabilities aside) with enough practice, just about anyone can ride a bicycle. 

2. I am reminded of something the great American composer and multi-instrumentalist Mike Keneally once told me: “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.”]

Practice is more important than talent: If a child with all the innate musical talent in the world does not practice music, that child will not become an accomplished musician. On the other hand, a child with very limited innate musical talent who practices regularly can doubtlessly become a musician — perhaps not a great one, but more accomplished than a person who did not practice at all, regardless of their innate talents. The same holds true for the pursuit of happiness. Innate temperament (the equivalent of talent) is, without a doubt, important. But without practice, it is not worth much. Regular practice, on the other hand, pretty much guarantees progress toward mastery, regardless of innate temperament.

I think that insight into the underlying logic and reasoning helps sustain the required conviction for a strong practice — it is easier to commit to something when it makes sense. That is what the Theory section aspires to accomplish. But understanding alone is not sufficient to bring about positive change. Promoting change simply requires practice.

The main difference between an experienced practitioner and a beginner is not the quality of any given practice session. Both the expert and the novice aspire to move toward mastery from their respective starting points, ideally doing their best. The main difference between them is their repertoires: the experienced practitioner has more drills to choose from. In that sense, the meaningful distinction is not between the experienced practitioner and the beginner, but between both of them and the person who doesn’t realize that there is a practice at all.
A beginner in the practice of mindfulness may wonder — if I could only practice one thing, what should it be? My answer is contemplating compassion. It is essentially guaranteed not to cause harm, and, moreover, it has a real potential to calm and reorient the mind. If a second practice is added, it should be the first order of business — refraining from making matters worse (as presented in the dedicated chapter in this section).

The drills that follow fall into two types. The first type is designed for regular practice — ideally daily, though any frequency is better than none. The centerpiece of this type is meditation. (For a detailed discussion, see the Meditation chapter in this section.) Several other exercises are well-suited to a regular routine: cultivating calm, gratitude, patience, and tolerance, doing the best you can do, and cultivating inner discipline, among others.

I don’t recommend practicing all of them simultaneously. For most people (i.e., excluding those, like monks or nuns, who can devote the majority of their waking hours to mental practice), dedicating around an hour a day to mindfulness practice is a reasonable commitment. Within that hour, I suggest focusing on one area for a few months, making some progress in it, then moving to another. Cycling through the different topics over time is the recommended approach; returning to a previously practiced area after an interval, you will notice the difference between your earlier and later levels.

The second type of drill operates differently — less as a daily routine and more as a toolkit for specific situations. These drills are specific to a particular circumstance — cultivating forgiveness, making a difficult choice, managing anxiety. While these practices are likely to be beneficial whenever you engage with them, they are especially useful in difficult or challenging situations. They can also be practiced retroactively: you will benefit from working through an anger management exercise even if the triggering event happened years ago. With repetition, the interval between event and practice tends to shrink — from weeks, to days, to hours, to real-time. With enough repetition, it becomes possible to turn mindfulness on precisely when it is most needed. I am told by those further along the path than I am that there comes a point where the line between practicing mindfulness and living mindfully dissolves entirely. Something to look forward to.

One more thing worth mentioning before we begin. Committing to a mindfulness practice confers an unexpected benefit: the ability to transform any moment — any experience, however difficult — into a practice opportunity. I discovered this during one of the darkest and most powerless periods of my life (without burdening you with the dramatic details, it involved a stint in an ICU). I wasn’t able to do much, but at any moment of wakefulness, I was able to choose to make it a practice opportunity. And the moment had to comply! (Refraining from making matters worse, cultivating hope, gratitude, and acceptance were at the top of my list, if you are wondering.) All my ordinary capacities were suspended; that one remained intact. I have thought of it as a superpower ever since. I am convinced it is available to anyone willing to practice.

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1. Here’s a link to a short YouTube video about Practice. It’s cute, bordering on  cheesy, relevant, and seems harmless:
   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53cqxEOuHNI
2. And by the way, I recommend checking out Mike Keneally’s work. This is his official website: https://www.keneally.com/
   I think he deserves broader recognition.

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