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Right Effort, Balanced Effort

Welcome, and happy New Year again. It's hard to believe, right? Here we go, one more year.

It is not uncommon at the beginning of a new year, a new season, or a new beginning to reflect back on the preceding time and to look forward to what we would like to do, or how we would like the next year to be different. One way we do this is to think about what we would like to prioritize in our life in the coming year. Chances are, if you are here, meditation has a role there. If you made it here on a rainy holiday, maybe meditation is part of it—not necessarily, though.

I want to tie this in with a theme I want to continue from the last time I spoke: effort and energy. How can we apply effort and have energy in a way that is helpful, supportive, and honors the amount of energy we have, without demanding that we have a different amount? How can we work with it to have our lives head in the direction we would like? It is not a secret that if we want our lives to unfold a little bit differently, effort has to be part of the equation. No matter what we would like to prioritize in our lives, a sense of activity, effort, or energy is needed to take it out of the theoretical into something that actually gets done, bridging the gap between an idea or a wish and something that actually happens.

I am really good at coming up with these great ideas: "I'm going to do this, I'm going to do that." Sometimes, that is as far as it goes—just having ideas. But what is this effort directed towards? Part of it is to do something other than just follow our preferences and habits. If we don't apply effort, our habits are the direction our lives will go. Maybe that is okay, but if we want to broaden our lives, add different elements, or shift the direction a little bit, we have to do something other than follow our habits and preferences. And this takes energy.

Habits are a way the body and mind conserve energy; things just go on autopilot. Energy is required if we want to do something different than we usually do. When I was thinking about this, I noticed a minor habit in my own life that will take a little effort to change. I have this habit of sitting at my computer without my computer glasses. I spend all this time with bad posture, squinting. It's terrible. I just don't put my computer glasses on, and by the end of the day, I have this tension in my neck and shoulders. It's a minor thing, but day after day, week after week, month after month, it adds up. It will take a little bit of effort for me to notice this habit.

We have physical habits, but we also have habits in our relationships, or habits supported by our social structures. I had a friend who really enjoyed reading blogs that were very polemic—all about "we are right and everybody else is wrong." It was quite something to have a conversation with them just after they finished reading one of these articles. You could feel all this righteous indignation: "We've got to do something!" They weren't taking in the bigger picture, just stuck in a narrow view. If our habit is to look at our phones in the morning and they are filled with polemic content—whether a podcast, an article, or a Substack—that is going to have an impact on us. If we want to do something different, it takes energy.

I am going to define effort as applied energy. We might think of energy as a sense of vitality. Maybe it has a little bit of a buzzing or vibration to it, or maybe it is just a sense of feeling good and present. In the Buddhist world, energy and effort have different Pali words, but sometimes those words have the same definition, so we often mix them up. But for tonight, I will define effort as applied energy.

In the Eightfold Path^[1], which is the path towards awakening, one of the eight aspects is wise effort. This points to the direction of our effort: what are we going to spend our life energy on? What direction are we going to go, and what direction are we not going to go?

Broadly speaking, wise effort (sometimes called right effort—not in a moralistic sense of right versus wrong, but "right" as in the best tool for the job, like grabbing a hammer instead of a screwdriver for a nail) is the idea of diminishing what leads to suffering for ourselves and others, and increasing what leads to well-being. I don't think anybody will protest this; probably all spiritual practices share this direction. I like Gregory Kramer's definition: "Right effort is the energy of swimming towards the wholesome and away from the unwholesome." I like this idea of swimming. Moving through water involves a little pressure, so it does take effort, but we can also float on top. It can sometimes be restful, but sometimes we need to swim. He summarizes right effort as "out with the bad and in with the good."

What is the "bad," or those things that cause harm? It is not only actions, but mental qualities. What are we doing with our minds? Is it helpful or unhelpful? This word "helpful" is often a translation for the Pali word kusala^[2], which can also be translated as wholesome or skillful. Not only should we be aware of our actions, but really, what are we doing with our minds?

There is a classic core of teachings on what should be abandoned (the unwholesome). I am just going to list some of them:

• The Five Hindrances^[3]: Things that hinder the mind from being settled and collected.
• The Three Unwholesome Roots^[4]: The foundation of everything unhelpful is just three things: greed, hatred (or aversion), and delusion (or ignorance). Sometimes it is helpful to simplify things: greed is wanting more, hatred is pushing away, and delusion is not paying attention at all or being completely unaware. In my practice, it can be helpful to recognize these as a feeling of leaning forward, pulling, or wanting something.
• The Taints (Asavas)^[5]: These are said to be abandoned when a person is awakened. They include intoxication with sense pleasures (the idea that pursuing endless sense pleasures is the way to everlasting happiness), intoxication with self-making (setting up the belief that "I am the person who does X and doesn't do Y"), and ignorance.
• Clinging (Upādāna)^[6]: It is amazing how many things we can cling to, even the things we don't want.

Self-making takes a tremendous amount of propping up, energy, time, and effort. It turns out that having this belief is extra; we don't need it. For example, when we feel righteous indignation, there is a strong sense of self: "How dare they! They shouldn't do that." Contrast that with doing your favorite hobby, like knitting or gardening. There isn't such a strong sense of self; you are just thinking about what you are doing. Creating a strong sense of self—"I am over here, and everybody else is over there"—takes extra energy. It is not necessary.

On the other hand, what is cultivated?

• The Seven Factors of Awakening^[7]: These are qualities that support awakening, including mindfulness, investigation, energy, joy, tranquility, concentration, and equanimity.
• The Five Faculties^[8]: Faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom.
• The Brahma Viharas^[9]: Four practices of the heart: loving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.
• The Ten Paramis^[10] (Perfections).

The Buddhists love lists! Right effort points us towards abandoning the unwholesome and cultivating the wholesome. But I would make a distinction between right effort and balanced effort. Balanced effort is not the balance between making effort and not making effort. Rather, it is recognizing the right amount of effort to apply to the task at hand, given the type of energy we have at the time. Sometimes we have lots of energy, and sometimes we don't. Maybe we have an illness and rarely have lots of energy. We are not being asked to be different than who we are; we are being pointed to be wise about how we use the energy we have—not using too much, and not too little.

I appreciate the Buddha's simile about having the right amount of energy. Suppose a person were to hold a quail. If they held it too tightly, it would die right there. If they held it too loosely, it would fly out of their hands. This idea of "not too tight and not too loose" is about applying the right amount of energy.

Sometimes when we hear about effort, we might think of intense focus. But quoting Gregory Kramer again, balanced effort is sometimes like the strenuous effort required to turn the soil and plant our gardens with shovels and trowels, and other times it is like the steady application of the sun's heat. We need all of these things to make things grow. Part of the art of practice is discerning what is needed. When are we giving too much, and when is it too little?

When there is too little effort, there is often a feeling of discouragement, which can lead to doubt. We apply a little effort and see little results. It's true that in this practice, we sometimes don't see results in a short timeframe. It might not be until we look back over months that we see, "Oh, yeah, I am showing up in the world a little bit differently. I have a different inner voice that allows me to be kinder to myself, kinder to others, or more patient."

I also want to acknowledge that these days—as we try to find our way with the new normal after the pandemic—many of us feel depleted. There may not be as much energy for what used to be meaningful to us. Zen teacher Koshin Paley Ellison describes it as feeling like the oxygen has left our lives. We might feel flat, disengaged, or going through the motions, living at a distance from what's happening. All our energy goes into just doing the next thing to get through the day. If we want to reorient our lives and cultivate the wholesome, how do we do that if we are overwhelmed and lack the energy?

Often, Dharma teachers talk about effort with a tone of striving. I remember at the beginning of a long retreat, a teacher talked about a retreat they had done in Asia. It was so hard: they could only sleep for four hours, they weren't allowed to move while sitting for hours, and there wasn't enough food. My eyes got big: "Oh my gosh, I guess that's what's required!" It got me really tight, striving with my shoulders up near my ears. It was completely unhelpful.

Instead, I would like to offer a poem by Sylvia Ostertag titled "Tiredness," about how to practice with tiredness:

Tiredness is no obstacle to sitting in silence. But to think tiredness is an obstacle, that is an obstacle. When you stop thinking this, you can sit in silence very well with tiredness. However tired you are.

Then at last you are too tired to get stressed and want to achieve anything, too tired to bully your breath and keep griping about yourself. Perhaps even too tired to think.

That the only thing to do is to abandon yourself gently for this brief moment into the silence.

I appreciate this idea that tiredness might support a certain letting go. Earlier, I talked about how selfing is something we move away from with practice. She writes, "perhaps even too tired to think. That the only thing to do is to abandon yourself gently."

When we talk about energy and effort, we often think about how much we have to apply. But we can practice with whatever amount of energy we have. Sometimes there are advantages to having little energy. When we feel depleted, can we sit anyway, without the idea that we have to achieve anything? "At last you are too tired to get stressed and want to achieve anything." There is a tenderness to this, instead of trying to prop ourselves up.

Of course, exhaustion can be due to external factors: not enough sleep, illness, working too much, or being spread thin with responsibilities. But sometimes exhaustion is internal. When we feel exhausted, we should investigate what is draining our energy. Are we simply overextended, or is it something else? Trying to please everyone is exhausting. Doing too much to feel indispensable or important is exhausting. Not being able to ask for help or delegate leaves us doing everything ourselves, feeling exhausted and resentful. Not taking care of our physical bodies also shows up as tiredness.

At the beginning of the new year, we might have ambitious ideas about what we are going to do. In these times, we believe anything is possible and have peaks of energy. Sometimes that works fantastically. But sometimes these peaks are followed by valleys. Part of this is because making big changes can elicit a fear response. Something in us is uncomfortable with change, and this fear shows up as putting on the brakes, sucking out all the energy.

If we lack the energy for grand projects, maybe it is helpful to focus on the little things we can do to improve situations. Is there something small I can do differently next time? Is there something I can learn about this, instead of turning it into a grand project? This can make the direction we want our lives to go much more sustainable.

Right effort is about the direction we want to go, and balanced effort is about making sure we don't squeeze the quail to death or let it fly away, so that we have energy for what we are doing.

Q&A

Question: Happy New Year, Diana. Thank you so much. I really liked your Dharma talk, especially in regards to effort and the sense of self. Through meditation, I'm more aware of that sense of self. With the new year upon us, I want to make sure that whatever I'm clinging to with my sense of self, I can approach it every day. Do you have any pointers to help realize when that sense of self is strong, so I can go about life without having to strive, and just be here?

Diana Clark: I think you are asking when there is a strong sense of self, especially when it's tied up with striving and trying to make things different. One clue about when there is a strong sense of self is when there is a strong sense of "other"—like, "those people over there." Whenever that is happening, there is a strong sense of self. It can be energizing to feel "I am in the right and they are wrong," but it is taxing and doesn't lead to a good life.

Regarding striving, it can be helpful to think about what is fueling it. Underneath striving, there is often some fear: a fear of missing out, a fear of having regret, or a fear of turning into a slug. Fear is often tied up with a strong sense of self. Have some curiosity about whether there is something you are trying to avoid or are afraid of that is fueling the striving.

Question: Thank you for a nice talk about effort and energy. You talked about greed, hatred, and delusion. Do you agree that they fall under "ego"? Greed, hatred, and delusion are forms of ego. How can that ego be lowered or dispelled? Secondly, when you talk about effort and being tired, I have been interested in finding more like-minded people to talk about Dharma with. Do you have any comments on how we can multiply that energy?

Diana Clark: Regarding greed, hatred, delusion, and ego: In this tradition, we wouldn't say you have to diminish the ego; we would just say to recognize that it's actually not there. "Ego" is a contemporary psychological term, but we might use "sense of self" in a similar way. It is certainly easier to avoid greed, hatred, and delusion when you are surrounded by like-minded people, but we can't always do that.

If you are looking for places to find like-minded people, here at IMC, there are discussions after the Dharma talks on Sundays and Wednesdays. It is an opportunity to explore, meet other people, and see if it's a place that supports you bringing your best self forward.

Question: I really liked your analogy about the quail and finding the right amount of energy. What I find in my own life, and among my friends, is that the world today seems to have too many demands. We have young children, careers, and the dream is to go about the day at a gentle pace. But I don't find that possible because there's too much to do. It seems most people's reaction is to go really fast, get exhausted, and oversleep—doing too much and then too little. It would be great to just go at a steady pace and feel like you have enough time to tend to everything like a gentle gardener, but that's not realistic right now. If we can't have that, what is the next best thing?

Diana Clark: This is a legitimate question. It is absolutely possible—I promise you, though it is not easy—to be doing lots of things without tension. You can do one thing after another without tension. Part of it is learning what it feels like when tension is there. Sometimes a strong sense of self gets created: "What's going to happen if I turn this in late? I'm going to be the person who turned it in late." Can there be a recognition of what needs to be done without contraction, without the shoulders going up?

First, recognize when there is tension. Meditation practice helps because it allows the mind to settle and get used to recognizing spaciousness. Once the mind and body recognize that there is an alternative to the usual way of doing things, it becomes easier to make a change. But if you have no experience of doing things quickly without tension, it is hard to do. Meditation practice can give you that alternative experience. I wish I had an easier answer, but it is possible.