For some time I have been thinking about the implications of leading a life that is typically over-stimulated, characterized by frequent multi-tasking, usually dominated by the urgent rather than the important, and spent on immediate reactions as opposed to thoughtful reflection and mindfulness. In response to these observations, about a year ago I began a meditation practice that I have followed sporadically ever since. More recently, I came up with the idea of going on a 72 hour “silent retreat” in rural Maryland and found a terrific and affordable place to do so. As the date approached, I defined what my retreat would actually mean, in terms of what I would permit myself to do, and (more importantly) not do.
I posted about this online in advance of beginning the retreat, and was surprised by the high level of interest and support. I heard from people who had done something like this in the past, and also from those who were interested in doing so but had never tried. In fact, my A-plan coach went as far as to say that my intention to do this spurred her to decide to do something similar later this year.
While I would probably have written about the experience anyway, the curiosity and support I received from others made it a priority. However, when I sat down to write something earlier this week, I realized that a more immediate need was to compose a tribute to the late Senator Mike Enzi, which I subsequently self-published.
First let me share the rules I set for myself: no talking to anyone in person or on the phone; no email or surfing the Internet; no caffeine or alcohol; no television or radio; and no tracking of news in any form. Perhaps needless to say, all of these things (except radio) are big parts of my life normally.
So with all those off the table, what did I do? I read a lot (more on that below), reviewed around 200 goals I had written 23 years ago, wrote down some new goals for the next 20 or so years of my life, hiked on the 200 acres of grounds owned by the Overlook Retreat House (where I stayed), cooked and consumed three meals a day (including decaffeinated tea in the morning), slept, and stared out into the distance on occasion and let my mind wander.
Did I cheat? Perhaps surprisingly, hardly at all. I did get a call from one of my mother’s health care providers within an hour of arriving, and I took it. But within a few minutes I realized it was not urgent and wrapped the conversation up. Other than that, I spoke to no one for 72 hours. (At one point I saw another hiker and decided that if we crossed paths, I would say hello, but that didn’t come to pass.) I sent a text to my wife about getting picked up, and another to a friend who came into town unexpectedly and wanted to get together. I logged on to the Internet once for a few minutes to email a document to myself so it would not be lost if my computer imploded. Other than that, I followed my own rules.
What was the experience like? I will admit to occasional feelings of boredom. But in general, I enjoyed how life slowed down, how I was able to spend more of my day than normal outdoors, and all the time spent reading and doing a few “important but not urgent” things that would usually get crowded out by the various distractions of modern life.
I recall waking up at 6:30am the first morning and feeling a bit tired, as I sometimes do. Rather than push through my inertia in order to “get things done,” I realized that I had no deadlines, appointments, or assignments (beyond reading and hiking) for the day. I went back to sleep until 8:15am.
I read a lot. First up was plowing through the last 200 pages of President Obama’s recent book A Promised Land. Then I turned to Ten Keys to Reality (which I read the middle third of) and the second half of a book on climate change titled We Are the Weather about how personal decisions – especially about our consumption of animal products – can influence the climate crisis. Finally, I started and completed the book Noise: A Flaw in Human Judgement that I had read about in this New York Times book review a few weeks earlier (and about which I will write a separate post soon).
Revisiting the goals I had written in August 1998, as part of a life planning exercise embedded in a workshop led by now-retired leadership expert Dave Ellis, was a prelude to thinking through my forward-looking goals now. (I highly recommend Dave’s book “Falling Awake.”) Reviewing those 206 objectives 23 years later was an eye-opening experience, about which I plan to write separately in the weeks to come. (Those goals spanned ones for myself personally and professionally, for organizations I was affiliated with, for people in my life, for cities and nations I have affinity for, and for society in general.)
At this stage, my big take-aways from this visioning exercise are:
· How many of my goals actually came true, including a few outlandish ones, such as having Muhammad Yunus win the Nobel Prize and my publishing a book on nonprofit leadership (especially considering that I had limited skills in that area at the time).
· Given my unexpected degree of success, I realized on a deeper level how powerful it can be to write down and/or share with another human being one’s goals and intentions, even if they seem unattainable and even if you never come up with a formal plan to achieve them. (In fact, even if you never even consciously review them for decades at a time!)
· The many ways I have similar values, interests, and desires to what I had at age 31, and also the ways they have changed dramatically. (Few things in my life have ever clarified my consistency and my changes over time more than going over that list.)
· How important it is for me go through a similar process now, given that I am arguably at the height of my powers to achieve things and that I probably have another 23 years (plus or minus 10) to live. I see that the extent of my professional, personal, spiritual, and organizational accomplishments over the next 2-3 decades depends a great deal on clarifying my goals now.
Related to my silent retreat, I think that learnings from this exercise are two-fold. First, every retreat should have an element of stock-taking in the form of reviewing and updating life goals and plans to realize them. Second, days spent like this afford the opportunity to also do other things that require time, focus, emotional vulnerability, and prolonged reflection.
I would be interested in hearing from others about their experiences with silence, mindfulness, life planning, goal setting, exploring the outdoors (or otherwise unfamiliar environments), and interrupting the normal cadence of life in other creative ways.