By now, I’ve been meditating (mostly) daily for about five years. And, as a result, I sometimes get questions about the upsides – or, really, just about the point – of a regular meditation practice.

In truth, I can’t say that I’m a wildly different person because of it. I don’t see the world completely anew, nor do I think or act with a calm or insight or balance that I wouldn’t have before. But I do, at least, notice my thoughts and actions – and, even more so, my feelings – with a clarity and precision and objectivity that I couldn’t before beginning meditating.

Sometimes, I’ll be arguing with my brother on the phone, and suddenly see myself from the outside; hey, I think, you’re pissed off, and needlessly being a dick to him. At which point, if I’m honest, I then keep being a dick, at least a good percentage of the time. But, sometimes, by noticing, I can change course.

Anyway, from that noticing, I’ve also discovered that, more than anything else, my crappiest moods happen when someone I care about feels anxious or upset. Today, Jess had a terrible morning, and worrying about her and how she’s feeling right now has my stomach tied in knots. Her crappy day isn’t because of anything deeply serious; by the end of the week, she’ll likely have rebounded completely. Further, even in the short term, I’m certain my own distress on her behalf does absolutely nothing to help. Still, I spent the last few hours feeling pretty terrible.

So, I sat for 20 minutes of meditation, and looked at that feeling. I breathed, and considered it from a distance. After which, I’m still anxious and upset. But now, I can also see my worry and stress for what it is – empathy for someone I love – and I can keep it in my mind and heart while also carrying on with the rest of my day.

Perhaps that’s not much. But, for me, it’s meaningful enough that I’m happy to keep up the mediation habit, day in and day out, as life rolls ahead.

The great samurai Minamoto Musashi, better known for his Book of Five Rings, also wrote “The Way of Walking Alone” shortly before his death in 1645. A list of 21 simple instructions, it was a gift to his disciple Tergo Magonojo, along with the rest of his possessions, a week before he died.

Frankly, it’s an ascetic approach that’s often far from my own, which I find makes it particularly worth considering as a counter-balance to the many pulls of modern life.

1. Accept everything just the way it is.
2. Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
3. Do not give preference to anything among all things.
4. Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
5. Be detached from desire your whole life.
6. Do not regret what you have done.
7. Never be jealous.
8. Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
9. Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself nor others.
10. Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust or love.
11. Do not seek elegance and beauty in all things.
12. Be indifferent to where you live.
13. Do not pursue the taste of good food.
14. Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
15. Do not act following customary beliefs.
16. Do not collect weapons or practice with weapons beyond what is useful.
17. Do not fear death.
18. Do not seek to possess either goods or fiefs for your old age.
19. Respect Buddha and the gods without counting on their help.
20. You may abandon your own body but you must preserve your honor.
21. Never stray from the way.

Po-chang needed a master for his new monastery, so he called all his monks together and set a pitcher before them saying, “Without calling it a pitcher, tell me what it is.”

The head monk replied, “You couldn’t call it a piece of wood.”

The cook walked up and kicked over the pitcher spilling the water and walked away.

The cook was put in charge of the new monastery.