A couple of days ago, our service organizer asked if I could lead this morning’s program for our Unitarian Universalist fellowship. After a moment’s thought, I said yes. I genuinely enjoy putting together programs, whether I am the featured speaker or more of a facilitator. The theme I chose was stillness.

Preparing the program made me realize that, although I have written quite a bit about the meditation challenges I have undertaken, I have written less about what meditation actually is.
What Meditation Is
People come to meditation for many reasons: spiritual discipline, self-improvement, physical health, self-knowledge, or a desire for deeper connection with the Divine. These motivations can all be meaningful, but I think it helps to begin with a simple definition:
Meditation is the practice of intentionally cultivating awareness. That’s it. How we cultivate awareness, and what we eventually do with it, are certainly important, but they are not the essence of meditation itself.
Meditation is different from mindfulness, which is a broader way of living. Jon Kabat-Zinn famously defines mindfulness as paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally. You cannot practice meditation without mindfulness, but you can absolutely practice mindfulness without formally meditating.
Over the past couple of years, something fundamental has changed in my own meditation practice. For years, I approached meditation primarily as a means to an end. I hoped it would make me calmer, healthier, more focused, or even more spiritually mature. Although worthy aspirations, they shifted meditation from a practice of awareness to a vehicle for improvement.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped evaluating meditation by the quality of each session. What mattered was simply showing up to practice. Everything else—health, focus, emotional balance, spiritual development, or a sense of connection with the Divine—became secondary. When I sit down to meditate, my only expectation is to practice. That is enough.
Stillness Is an Activity
At first, that sounds contradictory. We often think of stillness as doing nothing. Yet genuine stillness asks something of us. It requires us to observe, to notice, to return whenever the mind wanders, and to remain present. Like listening deeply to another person, stillness is not passive. It is something we practice.
For many people, the idea is:
Be still so that…
Be still so that you will be less stressed.
Be still so that you will become enlightened.
I find myself wanting to be still simply to be still—not because stillness leads somewhere else, but because stillness itself is enough.
Ironically, many of the deepest fruits of meditation become more accessible once we stop chasing them. If every session is measured by whether it made us calmer, happier, or more insightful, judgment quietly remains at the center of the practice.
Beyond Self-Improvement
Modern culture has an extraordinary ability to turn everything into self-improvement—even spirituality. Meditation becomes a productivity hack. Prayer becomes emotional regulation. Retreats become a way to optimize ourselves. These are noble pursuits, but they subtly place the self back at the center.
This is one reason I find Buddhist thought so compelling. Buddhism challenges the idea of a permanent, independent self existing through time. If the self we are constantly trying to improve is not as fixed or separate as we imagine, then spirituality becomes not about polishing the self but about seeing through our attachment to it.
As awareness deepens, we may begin to loosen the grip on the constant stream of sensations, interpretations, and judgments—especially those that reinforce fear, resentment, or separation—and become aware of awareness itself.
Off the cushion, it is perfectly appropriate to reflect on techniques, notice benefits, or consider what we have learned. But once we sit down to practice, those concerns are best released. The practice itself becomes enough.
The Art of Stillness
Stillness will always be more of an art than a science. We can optimize many things in life. We can become more efficient, more organized, and more productive. But the harder we try to optimize stillness itself, the more likely we are to create its opposite: a restless, striving mind.
So begin simply. Choose one activity today and do it a little more slowly. Bring your full attention to it. Notice your thoughts without chasing them.
Or simply sit quietly for a few minutes—not to accomplish anything, not to become someone else, but simply to practice awareness.
That is enough.
Namaste.












