The Sacred in Our Sacrifices

The Sacred in Our Sacrifices
I stood in my kitchen one morning, my kids at the table having breakfast, and I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the window. Phone in hand, I was distanced from my kids — physically and mentally — missing this opportunity to connect with them before they left for school. We know these moments are fleeting and precious as our kids grow up – these opportunities to look into our children’s eyes, to wish them a good morning and remind them, in word and deed, that they are loved and seen before they head out into the world. Yet there I stood, glancing down at my phone, glancing up, glancing down, glancing up. Fully present to no one.

During a recent Third Metric panel conversation moderated by Arianna Huffington, I reflected on that moment in my kitchen and now, my growing appreciation for the relationship between the sacred and the sacrifices we make. I find it especially intriguing that sacred and sacrifice have the same root: sacer, meaning holy. The words are also akin to sanctum, to set apart — like the scared space in a temple.

How might we transform the choices we make, the sacrifices we make, and appreciate that they are part of creating scared spaces for others and ourselves?

In the midst of computer screen time, smartphone use and browsing my iPad, I realized I had stopped looking deeply into my children’s eyes. The realization shocked me. Habitually glancing down then up like a crazed ground hog, distracted, half present, checking things off my to-do list.

That morning, I put my phone down and went to sit with my kids at the table. In the following days and weeks, I stopped looking at my phone during their breakfast time. Sometimes I would sit at the table with them, sometimes I would have a cup of coffee in a nearby chair listening to them talk with one another, present to the rhythms of their conversations, their plans for the day ahead.

I also made a point of tucking them into bed at night with a specific ritual: a kiss on the left cheek, right cheek and left again, then touching my forehead to theirs and looking deeply into their eyes. No phones, no computers, just a bit of time to connect and create a space for them to be fully seen, a sacred space for us to come back to each night.

There are many times when I am drawn into compelling issues at work, and I choose to disengage to protect the sacred space I’ve created with my kids. This can feel like a sacrifice. There are other times when I choose to sacrifice time with my kids for important business and do so with an intention to make the work time sacred as well. (For instance, we collect everyone’s cell phones prior to our board meetings and redistribute them after we adjourn. A different type of ritual to create sacred space.)

Only by looking up from my phone, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window that morning, did I come to appreciate the opportunity to create the sacred in these small sacrifices. Even as my kids have grown older, some of them now coming home from college only for a few days here and there, I protect this sacred “set apart” time, these rituals with them. It nourishes us all. And the sacrifices are worth it.

For more by Pat Christen, click here.

For more on mindfulness, click here.

How to Float to the Top
When I am at a party, the question I dislike the most is “What do you do?” I often challenge the other person by responding, “I live joyously and consciously. That is what I do.” But the very idea of living joyously and consciously is hard to grasp, let alone sustain, amid the demands of a high-tech workplace.

I get at least 200 or 300 emails a day, each one a data fragment asking me to respond in some fashion. My grandfather, who was a rice farmer in a small village in India, probably had to respond to four or five pieces of communication a day. For him, once the sun went down and the cattle were back in the shed, the rhythm of life changed. Not in Silicon Valley, where I work — the rhythm is 24/7. There is no dial to turn down and say, “I want a bit less of it.” So you have to accept that these are the conditions you are choosing to have, and then ask, “In the midst of this, how can I be peaceful, happy and content?”

The fact is that technology is like fire. Ever since we’ve discovered fire and known how to harness it, we’ve found it exceptionally useful. You can cook your food with fire, you can melt and blow glass with it. But if you misuse it, you can burn yourself or raze an entire city to the ground. Technology is a powerful tool — but whether you use the tool to be productive or destructive, to live with peace or chaos, is up to you.

At Google, where I work, we are building amazing technologies like self-driving cars, Google Glass and Google Plus. But the most important technology that every human being has access to is right within us: our body, our mind, our consciousness. On the outside we have the Internet, on the inside we have what I call the inner-net. That’s the connection you need to make if you want to live a truly conscious life — and there are simple steps you can take to connect, starting right now.

Communities of employees at Google — “Googlers” — organize themselves into groups that center on different interests. We have Gayglers, Jewglers and Carpooglers. I started a group for Yoga called Yoglers with just one student — but word spread and it has become a larger program across many Google offices. When you practice yoga, you’re asked to bring your complete, 100-percent awareness to your body and your breath. If you practice regularly, you stay more aware, and you make choices driven by that. The quality of your interactions improves. You stop checking your email when someone is talking to you. You become a more conscious human being.

Yoga to me can be practiced all the time, like meditation. Every single moment of every day, I try to be mindful, whether I am engaging with a janitor, a chef, an engineer, or a marketing colleague. I do set aside time for specific practices, and for the Yoglers class I teach, but in truth, every moment of every day is my inner work.

What if you don’t have a yoga or meditation program at your work? It’s simple. Go book a conference room. Sit, close your eyes, start meditating. It doesn’t matter if only one person shows — or if no one does. If you sit there for 60 seconds and watch your breath, you have just started a meditation program. You don’t need a budget or resources. Someone just needs to step forward and do it. Someone — perhaps you.

What’s essential to realize is that you don’t need to withdraw from the outer world in order to create a peaceful space in your inner world. There is a story in the Bhagavad Gita in which the warrior Arjuna looks across the battlefield and refuses to fight. He says, in effect, “My friends are in the other army. I can’t battle them.” And Krishna replies, “You must. In your role as a warrior, you need to battle and do so with honor.” I think Krishna is saying that this world is not to be avoided, but engaged. Some people think that they can find peace and avoid conflict — like, say, the stress of being passed over for a promotion — by going to live at a monastery or an ashram. But I have been to many ashrams and seen that these issues follow you. You think that the director of the ashram should have promoted you to be senior teacher! We tend to think, “I have my work life, then I have my spiritual life,” but the same person with the same body shows up everywhere.

The challenge, of course, is to engage the world without getting entangled. A lovely metaphor that I grew up with in India is that of the beautiful lotus flower. It always floats on top of the water, even though the roots are mired in the mud below. When water falls on a lotus leaf, it gently flows off like dewdrops. The message in the metaphor is that we can be involved in life and work without being mired in it. We can let our problems roll off us. We can float to the top.

For more by Gopi Kallayil, click here.

For more on emotional wellness, click here.

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