Feel Change
There's often a surprising amount of movement to discover in stillness.
This is the first installment of a four-part series on noticing impermanence in real time.
About five minutes into a mindfulness exercise, a familiar pattern often shows up.
People start to notice discomfort — tightness in the shoulders, pressure in the lower back, restlessness in the legs. Understandably, they almost immediately dive into analyzing it as a problem to solve or interpreting it as evidence that they’re doing something wrong:
I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.
Why is this making me feel restless?
Was that itch there before I started meditating?
Should I scratch it or not?
These reactions make sense. Most of us experience the body as if it’s stable and solid. A sore back feels like a single, unmoving problem. Tension feels stagnant. Pain feels inert.
But when you slow down and look — or feel — more closely, something different starts to emerge.
What you call “tension” or “discomfort” isn’t actually one unchanging sensation. It’s a collection of sensations — pulsing, pressure, warmth, subtle vibration — that are constantly shifting. Some elements intensify. Others fade. Some disappear entirely, replaced by new ones.
The experience isn’t static. It’s active. It might be subtle, but change is occurring.
This is the first step in noticing impermanence in real time. Not as an idea, but as something you can observe directly.
If this approach appeals to you, it’s worth remembering: giving your body permission to feel what it feels isn’t just about comfort. It’s about welcoming a handful of possibilities, some more approachable than others:
Comfortable sensations that well up and spread
Comfortable sensations that subside
Uncomfortable sensations that intensify
Uncomfortable sensations that weaken and fade away
Treat this like the long game it is, and practice meeting all four possibilities with as much hospitality as you can muster—even if sometimes that hospitality is in short supply. Learn to give yourself grace when you simply don’t have the willingness to allow a sensation. Paradoxically, letting your best effort be enough (even when it feels like not much) is what builds the patience to greet an ever-wider range of dynamic sensations over time.
Sometimes when I’m meditating, I get a charley horse in one of my calves. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it can be excruciating. My first instinct was always to fight it — brace, stretch, pinch my upper lip. None of those things helped.
A clever teacher who I’d come to trust over the years1 recommended something that sounded like a terrible idea: observe the pain as a temporary sensation, and try to meet it with equanimity2 — a neutral response — as it built toward its peak.
At first, I hesitated to follow this guidance. Most of the time it came up, I couldn’t bring myself to try it. But whenever I did, I discovered something invaluable that I still rely on today.
The first thing I noticed was that jumping in as early in the process was key. If I could meet the sensation right as it arrived, before I’d already started bracing against it, it changed the whole trajectory. It still hurt. But whatever misery came with it felt significantly less amplified.
The second thing I noticed was the impact of how much acceptance I could muster when I spotted it. Rather than a cognitive or conceptual acceptance, this variety of acceptance happens at the sensory level. It’s visceral. It’s not about condoning the discomfort or focusing on its cause. It’s getting out of the way so my body can calibrate its ability to process something with less internal friction.
At first, my immediate reaction was always, “Not you again!”
Then, leveraging reluctant curiosity more than courage, it was sometimes, “Okay…show me what you’ve got?”
Eventually, it would be closer to, “Oh, hell, I know you — come on in. Let’s do this!”
The progression was never linear, but the sooner I could offer even reluctant hospitality, the less problematic the encounter became.
And then came the surprise I never expected. If I could stay with the pain all the way to its peak, without fighting it, the relief as it faded was genuinely pleasant—almost like a gentle massage. It wasn’t just the absence of pain, but a sensation that felt surprisingly good in its own right. Most people never get to experience this, simply because it’s so counterintuitive to let go of resistance to pain. Without a trusted, experienced teacher pointing out that this is even an option, why would you ever try?
While mindfulness doesn’t eliminate pain, it can change how it plays out.
And here’s where things really get interesting.
The goal isn’t to get rid of discomfort. The goal is to see what each instance of discomfort is actually made of. Because when you look closely — really closely — even the most stubborn sensation is not as solid as it first appears.
And whether people realize it or not, this same kind of sensory clarity and body-level acceptance also makes pleasant sensations feel richer and more alive.
For some reason, it’s easier to have equanimity with something that’s moving. This is true with relaxation, humor, gratitude, and peace, but it’s also true even when sensations don’t feel good. And allowing a sensation to feel solid sets the stage for it to reveal dynamic qualities lurking behind its stable facade.
That’s what the exercise below is meant to help you discover for yourself. Start with pleasant sensations—no need to wait for discomfort—to build the skill of noticing change. As you get familiar with these subtle shifts, you’ll be better prepared to meet mild or even intense discomfort when it arises. Take your time. This isn’t about bracing against what you don’t like just to get it over with. It’s about learning a new way to relate to any sensation your body can feel. The real surprise? Even the most ordinary sensation can become a doorway to something rich, satisfying, and unexpected.
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Exercise
This exercise sharpens your ability to detect dynamic body sensations.
Circumstances for learning this attention exercise
Standing in line
During a conversation
Watching videos, movies, or television
