Meditation and the Art of Non-Reactivity

November 5, 2026 | 1,537 words | 8min read

Life contains a great deal of suffering. And when I say suffering, I mean it in the broadest sense imaginable, including everything that could be described as unpleasantness, unease, or unsatisfactoriness. This includes major life events such as the loss of a loved one, illness, accidents, or the loss of one’s job, but also less severe experiences such as having an argument with a friend, failing an exam, or being disappointed. It even encompasses mundane experiences such as discovering that your favourite ice cream flavour is sold out at the supermarket, stubbing your toe, or playing an especially beautiful song on your guitar while simultaneously feeling uncomfortable about the fact that it will soon come to an end. And, of course, there are countless other examples.

Whenever we are confronted with these different forms of adversity, one fundamental question arises: How should we deal with them? Is there a general principle or approach to behaviour that we can follow to help alleviate our suffering?

There are several ways in which we might instinctively respond to suffering. One natural reaction is to respond to negativity with negativity. When we stub our toe, we swear. When we have an argument with a friend, we become angry. When someone insults us, we insult them back. When we lose a loved one, we might become overwhelmed by grief and despair, and so on.

The problem with this approach is that responding to negativity with further negativity often creates even more negativity. Reacting with anger during an argument with a friend is likely to escalate the situation. Insulting someone in return might feel satisfying in the moment, but a few days later, we might regret what we said. In other words, rather than alleviating our suffering, these reactions often amplify it.

Another way of dealing with negativity is to ignore or suppress it. We disengage from whatever is troubling us and distract ourselves with another activity: watching our favourite film, reading a good book, knitting, going to a nightclub, playing a video game, and so forth.

The problem with this approach is that we do not necessarily work through the underlying negativity. Instead, we simply divert our attention from it. The unpleasant feelings may remain unresolved, continue to influence our mood and behaviour, and resurface later.

So, what should we do? If we should neither react to suffering with further negativity nor simply suppress or ignore it, what alternative do we have?

One possible answer is to become consciously aware of our suffering. In other words, we practise observing it without immediately reacting to it. This approach has two important advantages: we neither ignore nor suppress our suffering, but at the same time, we refrain from acting on it in ways that might generate further negativity. Instead, we allow the unpleasant experience to be present while observing it. Over time, the intensity of the experience may diminish, and the suffering may gradually dissolve.

This sounds promising in theory, but there are two significant challenges with this approach.

First, it is difficult to remember to observe our suffering in the heat of the moment. Imagine having an argument with a friend and becoming increasingly angry. In that moment, we are unlikely to remember that we should step back and observe our anger. Even if another person or a device reminded us to do so, we might simply ignore the reminder. For example, if I stub my toe, cry out in pain, and someone immediately tells me to remember not to react angrily but instead to observe my pain, I might very well punch them in the face!

Second, it is not immediately clear how we can actually observe our internal experiences. We can observe external objects through our senses: we can see them, hear them, touch them, smell them, or taste them. But how exactly do we observe something like anger, sadness, frustration, or anxiety? These are internal experiences that cannot be directly seen, touched, or heard in the same way as external objects. So what does it mean to observe an emotion, and how can we practically do it?

One possible solution to the first problem is to make the practice of observing our experiences habitual. In other words, we establish a regular practice in which we deliberately encounter certain forms of discomfort under relatively controlled conditions and train ourselves to respond to them with equanimity through observation. By repeating this practice, we gradually develop a habit. Eventually, it may become second nature, allowing us to remain calmer and face adversity with a clearer and more composed mind, even in the heat of the moment.

This raises the question of what such a practice might look like. Furthermore, we still need to address the second problem: how can we observe emotions and other internal experiences?

One helpful insight, which has been recognised for centuries and is also supported by modern psychological research and applied in approaches such as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT), is that we can use our bodies as a means of observing our mental states.

There is a continuous interaction between the body and the mind: the former influences the latter, and vice versa. This relationship is reflected, among other things, in the activity of the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems. When we are angry or anxious, for example, our breathing tends to become shorter and shallower, our muscles may tense up, and our heart rate may increase. These are observable physical changes that accompany our internal experiences.

Thus, even if we cannot directly observe an emotion in the same way that we observe an external object, we can observe some of its physical manifestations. Our bodies provide us with an observable window into what is happening in our minds.

Now, if we wanted to design a minimal practice based on this insight, what characteristics should it have?

Ideally, such a practice should:

Provide opportunities to encounter discomfort: It should expose us to some degree of unpleasantness or adversity, but in a relatively controlled environment. Be simple and accessible: It should require as few tools, resources, and external conditions as possible. Be repeatable: It should be possible to practise it regularly, ideally every day. Provide immediate feedback: It should allow us to notice the relationship between our mental states and their physical manifestations. Train non-reactivity: It should encourage us to observe unpleasant experiences without immediately trying to escape, suppress, or act upon them. Be adaptable: It should help us develop a skill that can eventually be transferred from the practice itself to everyday situations.

One practice that fulfils these criteria is remarkably simple: we sit still somewhere and observe our breathing. Whenever our attention wanders or we become distracted by thoughts, feelings, or external stimuli, we gently bring our attention back to the breath.

Why does this work?

First, the breath provides us with something concrete and observable. It is always available to us, requires no equipment, and is closely connected to our mental and emotional states. When we become angry, anxious, or frustrated, our breathing often changes. By paying attention to it, we can become more aware of these changes and, indirectly, of the mental states accompanying them.

Second, the practice provides us with a relatively controlled environment in which we can encounter and observe different forms of discomfort. For example:

We might experience frustration because we cannot maintain our concentration and repeatedly find ourselves distracted by thoughts. We might experience physical discomfort because we are sitting still in an unfamiliar or uncomfortable position. We might experience restlessness because we would rather be doing something else. We might become bored, impatient, or irritated because we expect something to happen and nothing does. We might experience anxiety or unease as thoughts and emotions arise during the practice.

Each of these experiences presents an opportunity to practise observing discomfort without immediately reacting to it. Rather than becoming frustrated with our inability to concentrate, for instance, we simply acknowledge the frustration and return our attention to the breath.

In this way, we repeatedly encounter small amounts of suffering in a controlled setting and practise responding to them with awareness and equanimity.

We can call this practice meditation.

And, in fact, this is one of the fundamental ideas underlying meditation: by deliberately directing our attention towards something as simple as the breath, we create an opportunity to observe our physical and mental experiences, become familiar with discomfort, and gradually develop the ability to respond to suffering with greater awareness rather than automatic reactivity.

One final point is worth emphasising: meditation is not about suppressing our emotions, preventing unpleasant experiences from arising, or forcing ourselves to remain calm at all times. Nor does it mean passively accepting every adverse situation without doing anything about it. Rather, the objective is to recognise what is happening within us without automatically being carried away by it. Sometimes the appropriate response to suffering is to take action, stand up for ourselves, set boundaries, or change the circumstances causing it. The difference is that, instead of acting impulsively under the influence of anger, frustration, or fear, we can respond consciously and deliberately. Ultimately, equanimity does not mean passivity; it means developing the ability to respond rather than merely react.

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