Meditation can be tricky. I’m by no means a skilled practitioner, but I did make a fair bit of progress with my focus meditation recently. This post is about the realization that helped me up my meditation game. Enjoy!
When I meditate, I often spin away into reflections and judgments about how the meditation is going.
“I should focus on the breath.”
“It’s going quite well—oh wait, I should not make this into a performance—damn, I got stuck thinking about how I meditate. I should focus back on the breath—wait, reflecting on how I reflect is not the same as focusing on the breath, damn it—[…]”
Some time ago, I realized that the perspective "I want to focus on the breath" is self-defeating. It uses a third-person perspective that includes me as an object of evaluation—no wonder I spin off into reflection. I want to let go of self-evaluation, yet my very mindset starts with an “I.”
A More Helpful Intention
The problem with "I should focus on the breath" is that it assumes a self who is monitoring, evaluating, striving. Realizing this, I started framing my practice differently. Instead of directing myself to focus, I tried a perspective that didn’t include a self at all:
"Sensations of breath are arising."
This simple shift changed the texture of my meditation. Instead of a little homunculus in my mind trying to herd attention back to the breath, there was just the breath. No watcher, no judger, just sensation appearing.
Note: When trying this at home, you might mistakenly adopt the mindset "I should think 'sensations of breath are arising.'"—your brain habitually sneaking a self into the way you view things. Resist this impulse, and stick to the simple phrase "Sensations of breath are arising."
No commentary.
The Effect: Letting Go of the Observer
By letting go of this outer layer of reflection and just being with the breath, I found it much easier to meditate. The usual looping pattern—focusing, noticing I’m focusing, judging how I’m focusing—started dissolving.
Another small intervention helped, too: I stopped trying to sit like an experienced yogi. Instead, I lay down comfortably. Without the distraction of physical strain, the whole thing flowed more smoothly. At some point, I started slipping into absorption, the kind of effortless concentration that used to feel impossible.
I’m not an advanced meditator, so take this advice with a pinch of salt. But if you tend to overanalyze your meditation, this might be worth a try.
The Sapir-Whorf Connection: How Language Shapes Thought
The reason I decided to try this mindset shift is the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, the idea that the structure of language influences cognition. According to this hypothesis, language isn’t just a tool for expressing thoughts; it also shapes the way we think.
When I used self-referential language in framing my meditation—"I should focus on the breath"—I reinforced a mental model in which there is a separate “I” that is monitoring and correcting.
By shifting to "Sensations of breath are arising," the “I” was removed from the frame. This change in language avoided reinforcing the idea of a self who is managing the meditation, allowing for a more direct experience of the breath.
An Invitation to Experiment
If you tend to overanalyze meditation, this shift might help you step outside the loop of self-monitoring and just be with the breath. No effort, no performance—just experience unfolding.
So far, this shift has made a difference in my meditation practice. But what about the rest of life? Would a general commitment to no-self langage reduce baseline default mode network activation? I haven't tested it fully, but the idea lingers, and with it, a quiet curiosity.
I’d love to hear from others who experiment with this! If this resonates with you, give it a try and see what happens. Let me know what you discover.
Right, and to what end? What drives you to want to do this unusual thing? Why isn't that already connecting to a desire that pulls your focus to your breath?
The answer to these questions is what allows you to resolve the conflict between "I want to focus on my breath" and "I am not focusing on my breath".
Sorta. Yes, I think that you're probably physiologically capable of far more focus than you're currently demonstrating in your meditative practices. And yes, I'm looking at revealed preferences and not buying into people's claims of desiring things that the evidence shows they don't actually desire.
There's no magical law preventing you from being wrong about what you want. How might you notice if you were? What would that look like?
Not necessarily. There are a couple assumptions you're making here.
One is that they'd be physiologically capable of doing it, in my view. If we replace "focus on the breath" with "lift 500kg", the answer to "Why aren't you already lifting it, if that's what you want?" is partly that you just can't. Even if you were to try your genuine hardest, it would not lift -- but there'd be real signs that you were attempting to lift it, and it wouldn't at all look like "just not interested in lifting this weight". I do think you're physiologically capable of focusing on your breath to a greater extent, but it's worth noting this requirement because failing because "can't" is different than failing because "don't wanna, so not really trying".
Another is that "offering a lot of money" is enough to make them really want to do it. There's no magical law saying that people will always be motivated by things that you think "should" motivate them. Indeed, people are usually not very good at drawing these connections. Replace offers of money with a gun to the head, and you'll get stronger results -- the reality of the consequences there are a lot more obvious, so it takes a much dumber person to fail to make the connections.
Eddie Hall's 500kg lift is a dramatic example of this. You can watch it and think "Yeah yeah, he's just really big and strong, no need for the overly dramatic music" -- until you notice blood spontaneously dripping from his nose. And apparently his eyes, and ears -- and brain. He says that the most he could do in the gym was 457kg, and that what it took to get that extra 10% was putting himself in the mindset that he was "lifting a car off of [his] kids". It's not that he "couldn't" lift 500kg in the gym, it's that it wasn't worth the risk and he knew it, so he was only motivated to give 90% effort. Give people the motivation to actually try, and they don't get magic powers but they do produce significantly more force because they'll actually try.
Heck, it often takes much much less than that. My favorite example is when my friend was able to tap a big strong guy with a wristlock, and she had to argue with him about whether he was strong enough to resist. He insisted that he was genuinely unable to muscle through it, until she said "Jimmy muscled through when I had both hands on it, so unless he's a lot stronger than you, you can definitely resist when I have one hand on it". Surprise surprise, he was able to after that.
Well, you weigh your options, and figure out what you want.
Instead of "I should do this, but I'm struggling to get myself to do it", you notice that you don't want it, and reflect on the consequences and whether you continue to want them once you realize what you're asking for.
What happens if you don't lift 500kg? You don't get people saying "he broke a record"? Yeah, I guess that's okay. Your kids will die? On second thought, maybe I can try harder. That latter one feels different, you know?
What happens if you don't sit there for an hour focusing on nothing but your breath? Why is that bad? What happens if you do? And what is so appealing about that? Not "come up with rationalizations that sound plausible", but moves you?
It's easy to get very disconnected from what we actually care about, and what we can do. It takes some work to get back in touch and sort out the contradictions, but the path is absolutely there.