Author: Eric Kaufmann

I’ve heard talk of meditators trying to “get rid of the self” in meditation, and I realize that we’ve stumbled upon a paradox here: the self, trying to get rid of the self. Sorta like a dog chasing its own tail, or an eye trying to see itself. Given that this is both popular and unhelpful, let’s unpack this conundrum, shall we?

This idea of “getting rid of the self” is a peculiar notion that’s crept into Western interpretations of Eastern wisdom. Seems that the concept of anatta, non-self and non-attachment, has twisted into a form of self-annihilation. But if we contemplate “who is it that wants to get rid of the self?” we have to inquire about who is the “you” that’s trying to erase “you”?

When we take on this (misguided) quest to eradicate the self, rather than reducing it, we’re actually reinforcing its existence. We’re giving it more stability, more substance, more power. Our effort to get rid of the self is like trying to smooth out waves on a pond by slapping the water – we create more ripples, more disturbance.

In fact, this approach is a form of violence towards oneself. It smacks of the notion that, “There’s something fundamentally wrong with me, and I must eliminate this unacceptable stuff.” But, my fellow meditators, this is the very essence of the Western duality superimposed on Buddhist insight – the idea that there’s a “good” self trying to vanquish a “bad” self. It’s a battle that can’t be won because the very act of fighting creates the conflict.

So, what’s the alternative? Well, rather than rejection and elimination, it’s acceptance and integration.

Acceptance is not the same as indulging every whim of the ego. Rather, we’re creating space for everything to be as it is. It’s like inviting all aspects of ourselves to a grand palace – joy, sorrow, pride, anger, shame, vanity. We welcome all of us with open arms, saying, “There’s plenty of room here! Come in, come in!”

In acceptance, we realize that the self, which seemed so solid, is not a fixed entity at all, but a flowing, ever-changing process. We get to feel in our bones that we don’t have a fixed, authentic self, rather, we are a flow of authentic expressions. And this, in turn, cracks the illusion of a separate self. Not by destroying it, but by embracing it so completely that its boundaries dissolve.

This path of integration isn’t an effort to get rid of anything, but to see how everything fits together – the “good” and the “bad,” the light and the shadow, all threads in the same weave.

In this way, our meditations shift from a grim exercise in self-negation, to a joyous exploration of all that we are. As we sit in meditation, we’re not trying to achieve some special state or get rid of thoughts. We allow everything to be as it is. Thoughts come and go like clouds in the sky. Emotions rise and fall like waves in the ocean. And we are the vast, open awareness that contains it all.

In this open awareness we might just realize that the self we’ve been trying to get rid of doesn’t actually exist in the way we thought it did. It’s more like a character in a dream – seemingly real while we’re dreaming, but ultimately insubstantial. This is when we smirk at the absurdity of the self trying to get rid of the self. And in that knowing smile we taste the freedom that we’ve been seeking all along.

You know, it’s strange how easily we can be unkind to ourselves. Isn’t it? You’d think, of all people, we’d know how to treat ourselves gently. But no – too often, our inner voice is the one that nags, criticizes, and berates. We’ll forgive a friend for messing up, show them patience when they’re struggling, but when it’s us? The standards shift. Suddenly, we’re not allowed the same grace. It’s as if we’ve decided that we’ll be lovable and acceptable when we’ve somehow perfected ourselves.

And why is that? Well, I, for one, was taught to believe that improvement – self-improvement, career success, looking and feeling good – is the virtuous way to prove I’m worth something. And improvement is fine in itself, but let’s be honest: it comes with a sneaky little hitch. Instead of being this wonderful process of exploration and learning, it turns into a whip we crack over our own backs. Every time we fall short, every time we fail to meet some shiny, unrealistic standard (one that we unquestionably adopted from family, community, and culture), we punish ourselves. And what’s worse, we believe that punishment, berating ourselves, and pushing harder is what will drive us to do better.

I admit that while yelling and pushing has an impact, in the long run, it doesn’t really work. Not in the way we think it does. Sure, it might make us scramble harder in the short term, but over time, it wears us down. The more we criticize ourselves, the more we start to believe that inner voice that says, You’re not enough. We stop taking risks. We stop being creative. We stop enjoying the very life we’re striving so hard to improve.

This is where kindness comes in – not as some fluffy, “let yourself off the hook” kind of thing, but as a radical, game-changing shift. What if, instead of berating ourselves for every mistake, we treated those moments like a good friend would? Imagine saying to yourself, Hey, you’re doing your best. You’re learning. It’s okay. Doesn’t that feel better? More honest, even? Because the truth is, we’re all stumbling along. My teacher Ezra Bayda used to say that, “we’re all brailing our way toward enlightenment.” We’re all figuring things out as we go. And the reality is, when you let yourself stumble without judgment, you’re more likely to stand back up and keep going.

In case you think I’m advocating for a choice, I’m not. Kindness isn’t about abandoning the desire to grow; it’s about giving yourself the space to grow. It’s realizing that beating yourself up doesn’t make you stronger – it makes you smaller. But when you’re kind to yourself, you get to see your mistakes not as failures, not even as virtuous steps in a larger process, but just as unpleasant actions. I’m inviting you to kindly forgive yourself for not being perfect because – well, heck – nobody is. Perfection is the pursuit of a hurting ego. As we awaken to life and reality, we may find that presence is more compelling than perfection.

And here’s the kicker: the way you treat yourself colors the way you see the world. If you mete out harshness toward yourself, that harshness is bound to seep into how you relate to others. In the same vein, if you dial up the kind, patient, understanding posture with your own self (flaws and all), you can’t help but notice that the world looks a little softer. People’s mistakes don’t bother you so much. You start to realize everyone’s in this same boat, trying to stay afloat in the choppy waters of life.

So, why not practice being kind to yourself? Why not begin to let go of the idea that you have to earn your own love? Why not allow yourself to receive it? In the grand scheme of things, kindness isn’t a luxury – it’s essential. It’s the soil where all the best parts of us grow: resilience, creativity, and yes, even growth and improvement. But it’s not about becoming someone else. It’s about realizing you’re already enough – right here, right now. And from that place, your true nature shines through – and that nature is naturally kind.

Let’s briefly explore the phenomenon of pain, that (oft unwelcome) guest that, nonetheless, has its place  at the dance of our life.

Now, you may ask, “Eric, why on earth would we want to meditate with pain? Isn’t the point of meditation to feel good?” Well, there’s the rub! We’re not meditating to feel good or bad, but to feel real. And what’s more real than the pinch or pulse of the flesh itself?

Sensations are life’s way of tapping us on the shoulder, saying, “Hey, pay attention! This is happening now!” Sensations are a direct, unfiltered experience of reality, free from our mind’s incessant chatter about past and future. When we attend to sensations, we anchor ourselves in the present moment, like a ship dropping anchor in the vast ocean of consciousness.

Our sensations come in three flavors: pleasant, neutral, and unpleasant. Pleasant sensations are like unexpected gifts – enjoy them while they last, but don’t cling too tightly. Neutral sensations are the wallflowers at the dance, often overlooked but no less part of the whole. And then there’s the unpleasant, and now we’re getting somewhere interesting!

Pain, as we register it, is the intense end of the unpleasant spectrum (and this spectrum is subjective). Buddhist teachings associated pain with sickness, aging, and death – the conditions that remind us of our shared human condition, and form the foundation of suffering. But, and this is a critical distinction, pain is not the same as suffering. Pain is data, a signal from the body. Suffering is the story we tell ourselves about that pain.

“Oh, woe is me! Why must I endure this torment? Surely, the universe has it out for me!” Sound familiar? That’s the voice of suffering. And, while it seems natural and intimately familiar, it is optional. You can have pain without suffering, just as you can have a rainy day without a bad mood.

So, how do we practice with pain? While this is a lifelong practice, we can begin by applying a simple formula: we e note it, we accept it, we penetrate it, and then we exit. Let’s break that down:

1. Note: Acknowledge the pain. “Ah, there’s a twinge in my knee.” Don’t ignore it, but don’t fixate on it either. Use labeling to bring specificity to your sensational experience.
2. Accept: For this moment, allow the pain to be there. This isn’t surrendering to it, it is not glorifying or justifying it, but simply recognizing its presence.
3. Penetrate: Now, this is where it gets technical. Dive into the sensation as deeply or shallowly as you can in this moment depending on the sensation, your energy level, and mood. Is it sharp or dull? Does it pulse or remain steady? Is there a center to it, or does it radiate outwards? Become curious about the pain, as if you’re a scientist studying a new phenomenon.
4. Exit: Having explored the pain for a breath of three, or longer, let it be. Return your attention to your breath, or to the general field of awareness.

In this practice, we bring three essential qualities: curiosity, compassion, and courage. Curiosity to explore the sensation without judgment. Compassion to be kind to ourselves in the face of discomfort. And courage to face what we might usually avoid.

Now, I’m not suggesting you ignore medical advice or forgo pain relief when it’s needed. By all means, take care of your body! And on your meditation cushion, you have the opportunity to engage with pain in a new way.

You see, pain is not an enemy to be vanquished, but a guide to be followed. It’s a part of the grand web of existence – a node in the network that is sending signals. When we lean in to listen to it without resistance, we open ourselves to a deeper understanding of the nature of our reality.

So, the next time pain comes knocking at your door, invite it in. Sit with it, explore it, and then bid it farewell. You may find that in doing so, you’re not only changing your relationship with pain, but with all of life’s experiences.

Remember, the goal isn’t to eliminate pain, but to dance with it. For in that dance, we find our tru

Self-awareness is a catchall term we toss around in meditation and self-help circles. And while, on face value, it seems obvious, what is self-awareness? And – more importantly – who or what is “being aware”?

In meditation, self-awareness is a mental flashlight that illuminates what’s here and now – the parade of objects of consciousness that is made of thoughts, sensations, images, and emotions. It’s also a mystery. The more closely we peer, the more magical it appears, revealing that it’s nary impossible to definitively answer what it actually is. And yet, understanding (or at least sensing) this awareness is critical in meditation.

Let’s start with the body. Is awareness located in this body that changes continuously? Skin and bones, muscles and organs, all are constantly shifting, cells dying and being replaced. I look back at old photos, and the “me” from twenty years ago has a different face, for sure a different hairstyle. But somehow, I still feel like… well, me. So, if I can change physically and yet still feel the same in some sense, then perhaps the body is not the true seat of my awareness.

Then there’s the mind: thoughts, memories, the stuff of our mental life. My thoughts are like weather patterns that come and go, often without warning. Our narratives, beliefs, opinions, values, biases – all the stuff that makes up the story of who “me” – are in constant flux. Even a passing experiencing with sitting meditation reveals that our thoughts are ever changing. Even our values shift. Our judgments morph, and our opinions take on different hues over time. So if we’re attuned to our constantly shifting mind… who is listening to these thoughts?

So, what about emotions that ebb and flow without our consent or control. Joy can morph into sadness with a simple memory. I just spent a day feeling sunny from being productive, only to be under storm clouds before bed. And awareness doesn’t seem to be anchored in identity, either. As I look back on my lifeline, I can spot about a dozen versions of my “self,” each one of them authentic in their moment. We’re not quite as brief as thespians in Broadway play, but we do change roles over time. And yet, there is a thread that pulls through all these versions of “me” – something aware, beyond roles, beyond titles, beyond time.

So, what is this awareness? To be honest, any answer I could attempt would be too simplistic, a dogma, an “ism.” Fortunately, in meditation, rather than defining self-awareness, we get to experience it. In my meditation I’m less concerned with getting the answer, and more attuned to noticing the process of awareness itself. And you have your own experience of being aware, a uniquely personal phenomenon that no teacher, book, or idea can define for you.

I encourage you, in your meditation, to quest (yes, in the spirit of questions) for the center of your awareness – the nucleus, if you will. That aspect of you that notices without judgment, that simply is. Just observe: when you drift from your intention to notice your breath, what pulls you back? Is it a thought, a habit, or something subtler? How is this self-awareness trainable, if at all? And if you find yourself distracted, even judging yourself for drifting, what is doing the judging, and what is being judged?

As you experience the nucleus of awareness, does it have a direction, or a frequency, or even a sense of mass? Some days, it may feel like you’re grasping at nothing. Other days, you may experience it as a calm, silent presence within you – an agenda-free witness that keenly observes. In this state, self-awareness is not a “thing” or an identity. It’s a state of being, a steady beam in a swirling lightshow. I’ve come to believe that self-awareness is more a question than an answer; a question that evolves as we evolve. And I find solace and contentment in that open-ended inquiry, a journey with no final destination.

So next time you sit in meditation ponder this: what is aware? And then relax. Don’t strain for an answer. Don’t worry if you can’t wrap your mind around it. Just notice. Stay in the inquiry. Maybe in the end that’s what self-awareness really is: the art of asking, not answering. With a deep bow to science and instruments and AI, why not let it stay a little mysterious. Because life’s wonder isn’t just in the knowing; it’s in the devotion of something that might never be fully known.

“Eric, you missed something important in that meeting,” my trusted colleague said. “People felt like they weren’t being heard.”

That hit hard. And it was true. In my rush to “get things done,” I’d lost sight of what was happening in the moment. I was pushing for outcomes, not leading with presence. And here’s the truth: that’s weak leadership.

Let’s be honest: most of us in leadership are wired for action. We drive results, push for outcomes. But if we’re not careful, that drive can backfire. My colleague nudged me awake to this fact. I was running that meeting with discipline, steering everyone “on track” through an overloaded agenda. I was three steps ahead, crossing off items and chasing the next issue, so when Dan raised a valid concern, I brushed it aside. Why? We were running late, and I didn’t want to lose face or time.

Leading with presence isn’t for the faint-hearted; it requires courage and conscious leadership. It takes guts to fully show up, especially when things get uncomfortable. Conscious leadership means linking the drive for results with the need to truly connect with your team – it’s about combining wisdom with power. Are you bold enough to lead this way?

Presence changes everything

Your presence has weight. Whether you realize it or not, your team feels it. They know when you’re fully engaged, and they can see right through you when you’re simply waiting for them to finish talking so you can move on. That’s the moment when trust is either built – or broken.

When I wasn’t present in that meeting, I sent a clear message: “I don’t care.” That’s a failure in leadership. But presence isn’t about pretending to agree or playing nice; it’s about the courage to notice the energy, the tension, and the unspoken dynamics in the room. It’s about being willing to pause and say, “Let’s dig into this” when your instincts push you to keep things moving.

Conscious leaders are the ones who build trust and alignment by staying present, even when things get tough. They’re unafraid to slow down, ask challenging questions, and tune into what’s simmering beneath the surface.

How to bring presence to your role

1. Trim the agenda: A bloated agenda is a fast track to distraction. Keep it lean. Make room for meaningful conversations. Move simple updates to email and set aside time for real connection with your team. Ask about their challenges and perspectives, not just their to-dos.
2. Read the room: Watch body language, tone, and energy. Are people tuned out? Are they tense? Notice it. Address it. Memorable meetings balance efficiency with authenticity.
3. Lean into the hard conversations: When the temperature rises, don’t sidestep it. Stay calm and create space for the tough discussions you’ve been avoiding. This is where conscious leadership thrives – gently and with purpose.
4. Reflect and adjust: After each meeting, ask yourself: What did I miss? Were there signals I overlooked? This self-awareness is essential for conscious leadership.

Ready to lead more consciously?

If you think leadership is just about hitting KPIs and moving fast, you’re overlooking something powerful. Presence is the foundation of conscious leadership, and it’s a game-changer. It builds trust, opens up dialogue, and ultimately fuels the very results you’re driving for.

So, if you’re ready to become the leader your team needs – a leader who’s present, connected, and impactful – let’s connect. Our Leadership Evolution Program and Executive Coaching are crafted to transform how you lead your teams and how your teams drive the organization forward.

Reach out, and let’s embark on the journey to a more conscious, impactful kind of leadership.