What Other Work Is There Than This?
April 8, 2026 – A rhetorical question I often ask clients is — What other work is there to do but this—to explore how to be fully human on this planet today? In my opinion, that is why we are here. The rest of it is simply trappings.
The question is an easy sentiment coming from someone who sits in circles of privilege. I do not face the troubles that so many do—fear of deportation, life in war zones, hunger, being unhomed. Yet, after sitting with clients who have lived through horror and being with kids who are on the receiving end of legacy burdens, intergenerational trauma, and family ideologies, the question still holds—
What other work is there to do but to figure out how to be present to the here and now?
How do we do the work when we are in pain, betrayed, not safe? How do we find courage to stand up for ourselves—or simply wake up in the morning? And for those of us well situated within circles of privilege, who have power to make the world different—how do we do our work? It is vital for those who have power and agency to sit with the question.
Everybody is going to do their work differently. And I have so very far to go before I can get it even halfway right. I am composing this blog as I take an early morning walk—the first exercise I’ve had in months.I still work obsessively. I still can’t quite connect with the people closest to me in really vulnerable ways. There are parts in me that still need tending even after all these years. But I attempt to share with you in this blog the little bit that I’ve learned.
That realization and admittance that I have more work to do is, in and of itself, doing the work. The living is the learning. The learning happens in the living.
How do I do the work? And what is the work? Like many things, it’s simple but not easy—I pay attention. It is a mindfulness practice but I don’t meditate nor do I do breathwork per se. My mindfulness practice threads through my entire day when: I sit in front of my computer; do the morning chores; zone out to British mystery series; take a walk; be with family and strangers. Every moment, all the time, I pay attention. Paying attention throughout our days is doing the work.
At Home with Self
The verb “pay,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary, has long meant “to render, bestow, or give.” When we practice mindfulness, we ‘pay attention,’ that is, we bestow our attention to our experiences and our lived life in the here and the now. In this practice, we are anchored, oriented, and present. We are at home with our Self, or, paradoxically, we know we are not. Four guiding questions or orientations can help us do the work.
1 – Am I at home with myself right now? What does it feel like to be here now?
2 – Am I not quite at home with myself? Am I no longer oriented or grounded? How do I know this?
3 – Do I know how to find my way back home to Self? Do I know what is needed to re-orient and how to access that resource? Do I know what to do if it’s not available?
4 – Am I back at home with myself? How do I know this?
Recognizing where we are is the work. Knowing when we are is essential as well. Am I dwelling in a past I cannot change or spinning myself out into an unknown future that may or may not happen? Knowing if we are time-traveling is also doing the work.
How to Practice
Jon Kabat-Zinn’s definition of mindfulness is succinct and spot-on. “Mindfulness is the awareness that arises through paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, non-judgementally in the service of self-understanding and wisdom.” We bestow our attention on what is.
Mindfulness is not about relaxing and feeling more comfortable. It is the opposite in fact. In one research study, participants who directed their attention to their thoughts and feelings during a 20-minute mindfulness meditation noticed six times more unpleasant experiences than pleasant ones. Strengthening our ability to be with the challenging and unpleasant internal experiences is the grand gift of paying attention. Only then can we come into relationship with our parts, our lived experiences, who and what we are. That relationship-building is doing the work.
Here are some of the things I do on an ongoing basis in no particular order:
I slow down and pause when my mind or the world around me is moving too fast. I slow my body down. I take a breath. I put my head in my hands and close my eyes, if possible. I focus on my inhale and exhale for 2-3 breaths, thinking about my breath and not much else.
I look for beauty everywhere.
I look for life everywhere. Birds, insects, flowers, leaves, water, trees, blossoms, weeds, animals.
I notice patterns, what are the rhythms and repetitions out there in the world, what repeats in my relationships, what repeats over the days, weeks, and seasons.
I check in with my body. My heart and gut. My muscle tension. I notice patterns there, too.
I recognize when my Inner Critics show up. They are guaranteed to take me away from home. So I bestow curious attention and work to build a healthy relationship. Meaning, I don’t let them take over.
I write. A lot. Notes on scraps of paper, journal entries, text messages to myself and to my support system, in my bullet journal, in the margins of books, social media posts. Lists of ideas, plans, to-do’s, lists of lists. Dreams. Poems.
I track my body during conversations and conflict.
I engage in the validation process as much as I can. Though I often fail with my husband. A big piece of ongoing work for me!
A Moment of Being
It may sound like a lot of work—but it’s not. It helps me be here in the world. It helps me hold not only suffering and pain, but also enormous, astounding beauty.
Without these practices, I would miss it all.
This morning, I watched a squirrel bound across my path with its mouth full of leaves. I know, from watching the squirrels around my house, that they’re building a nest. I stopped and followed the tree line up, up, up—and there, about 40 feet high, tucked between branches, was the beginning of a nest, the squirrel ardently tucking in leaves, adding sticks and twigs.
I notice my sore feet, the result of months without taking walks. I feel the weight of grief and fear for our world today. And as I turn toward home, I feel the pull toward that sweet, complicated place.
Compassionately witnessing our Self as we navigate our days here on planet Earth, compassionately witnessing others if we are able—this is the work.
Further Reading: This essay by Brenda Littleton showed up in my email box this morning. She speaks eloquently to doing the work. Highly recommended. You can also grab my Journal Prompts for free to help you recognise and practice mindfulness.
Photo by: Canva