A Good Day: A Meditation On Impermanence And Living Fully

Loss can remind us of something we often forget: this life is precious because it will not last forever. In this guided meditation on grief, acceptance, impermanence, and living fully, I share a personal experience following the death of a lifelong friend and the simple words he left with me: “Cuz, it’s a good day.”Together, we’ll explore turning toward grief rather than running from it, practicing acceptance without confusing it with approval or resignation, and recognizing what love leaves alive in us. Drawing on the Buddhist teaching of impermanence, we’ll reflect on change not only as the reason things end, but also as the reason healing, growth, and new beginnings are possible. Through mindfulness, reflection, and intentional silence, consider one question: Because this moment will not last forever, how do I want to meet it?

Transcript

Before we begin this meditation, I hope you won't mind me sharing a personal story with you. A few days ago, I was out taking my morning walk. When I had this strong feeling. That I should call an old friend of mine. This wasn't just any friend. We'd known each other for most of our lives. So I called them. There was nothing particularly profound about the conversation. We talked, We laughed. We talked a little trash the way old friends do. And at one point, I asked him how he was doing. He said cuz. It's a good day. Before we hung up. We told each other we loved each other. And then about an hour later. I got the call that my friend had died. I was in shock. I've spent a lot of time since then thinking about that phone call. Thinking about grief. Thinking about loss. And thinking about the impermanence of this life that we all share. But I've also been thinking about something else. Sometimes what appears to be an ending. Can also become a beginning. Loss can break our hearts. But if we're willing to turn toward that broken heart rather than run from it. Sometimes it can teach us. Something about how deeply we've loved. And sometimes it can wake us up to the life that's still there. That's what I'd like for us to explore today. And because we'll be exploring grief and loss. Please take care of yourself as we go. If anything feels like it's too much. You can simply return to your breath. Open your eyes. Or step away from the meditation. Let's begin by getting comfortable. You can sit in a chair. On a cushion. Or wherever your body feels supported. There's no need to hold yourself rigidly. Just allow the spine to be naturally upright. The shoulders relaxed. The hands resting comfortably. And if it feels safe and comfortable. Go ahead and gently close your eyes. Or simply soften your gaze. Now, Begin to notice your breathing. Don't try to change it. There's nothing or nowhere you need to get to right now. Just notice the simple movement of the breath. Breathing in. Breathing out. During this meditation, There'll be times when I'll stop speaking. Those periods of silence are intentional. There's simply an invitation for you to sit with whatever you've been exploring, To breathe, To notice, And to allow. Allow your own experience to unfold without my voice filling the space. So if you hear silence, Nothing has gone wrong. Just remain here with your breath and your experience. And when you hear the closing bells, You'll know our meditation has come to an end. For now. Perhaps just allow yourself to recognize something very simple. I'm here. The moment is here. And for these next few minutes, We don't have to run away from anything. We can simply be here. With what is. I learned something about grief many years ago when my mother died. I didn't really know how to turn toward what I was feeling. So instead, I tried to get away from it. I tried to push the grief aside and keep moving. And what I discovered was that pushing the grief away didn't make it disappear. In some ways, It extended it. For almost a year, I wasn't quite myself. I was distracted. I was constantly losing things. I wasn't fully present. The grief I wouldn't make room for was still there. So for a moment, I'd like for you to think about your own life. Maybe it was the loss of someone you loved. Or perhaps another kind of loss, A relationship, Your health. A dream you had for your life. Something that changed and you didn't want it to change. Is there a time when you try to push that pain away? Don't judge yourself for doing it. Just remember. What did turning away from that pain feel like? Where did it show up in your life? Perhaps in your body. Perhaps in your thoughts. Perhaps in the way you treated yourself or other people around you. You don't have to figure anything out. Just notice. And now. Bring your attention gently back to the breath. Breathing in. Breathing out. And perhaps recognizing. I don't have to push this away right now. I can allow myself to know that this hurts. Sometimes we're afraid that if we allow ourselves to feel our grief, It will consume us. That if we open a door even a little. . . Somehow all of it will come rushing in. But feeling our grief is not the same thing as becoming consumed by it. We can make room for what hurts without allowing the hurt to become everything that we are. So let's try it now. Bring your attention back to the breath. Feel the breath entering the body. And leaving the body. And if there's grief here. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Even numbness. See if you can allow it to be here too. You don't have to fix it. You don't have to understand it. And you don't have to make it go away. Just give it a little room. Sometimes we misunderstand acceptance. Acceptance doesn't mean saying, I'm okay with this. It doesn't mean saying this should have happened. It doesn't mean that we don't wish things were different. Acceptance can be much simpler than that. Sometimes acceptance is simply finding the courage to say, I don't want this to be true. But it is. Notice what happens inside of you when you allow those words to be there. I don't want this to be true. But it is. Maybe there's resistance. Maybe sadness. Maybe anger. Maybe even a little relief from no longer having to fight what has already happened. Whatever is here. Let it be here. And remember. You are not the grief. You are the one who's aware of the grief. Grief is here. The breath is also here. Your body is here. Sounds are here. Life is still happening around you. So perhaps for these few breaths. You don't have to choose between pushing the grief away and being swallowed by it. There may be another possibility. You can simply sit beside it. Breathing in. Breathing out. Allowing what is here to be here. When someone we love dies. It's natural to think about what we've lost. Their voice, Their presence. The conversations we won't have again. The ordinary things we may not have realized were precious until they were gone. And those losses are real. And we don't have to pretend otherwise. Perhaps there's another question we can gently ask. What remains. When I think about my friend now. I keep coming back to those simple words he said to me during our last conversation. Because? It's a good day. He couldn't have known that these were among the last words I would ever hear him say. And I certainly didn't know. But those words have stayed with me. In fact, They've changed me. Thus my friend was living with Parkinson's. Life wasn't perfect. And yet. . . On what turned out to be the final days of his life. He could still recognize. It's a good day. Somehow his words have become a gift that he's left behind for me. They remind me to look at life that's actually in front of me. To make the call. To tell people I love them. To stop assuming that I'll always have another opportunity. And perhaps most importantly. To stop waiting for everything to be perfect. Before allowing myself to recognize what is good. His life ended. But something he gave me didn't. So now, And only if it feels comfortable. Bring to mind someone you've lost. Don't struggle to create a perfect picture of them. Just allow them to come to mind. In whatever way they come. Now, Instead of asking yourself what you've lost, Gently ask yourself, What remains? What did this person leave alive in you? Maybe it's something they taught you. Maybe it's the way they loved you. Maybe it's something that still makes you laugh. Maybe it's a strength you developed because they were part of your life. Or perhaps it's simply the experience of having loved someone deeply enough. That their absence hurts. As you breathe. See if you can hold both things at the same time. Grief of their absence. And the gratitude that they were here. One doesn't have to cancel out the other. You can miss someone. And still be changed by having known them. You can grieve what has ended. And carry something of that person forward. So perhaps with your next few breaths. Simply ask. What has this love left alive in me? There's something else that my grief has been reminding me of. We often think of impermanence only in terms of loss. Things change. People grow old. Relationships change. People we love eventually leave us. And because of that, Impermanence can sound frightening. But imagine for a moment a world without impermanence. Nothing could change. Nothing could grow. Nothing could become anything other than what it already is. Think about a child you love. Without impermanence, That child could never grow up. A seed could never become a tree. Winter couldn't become spring. A wound could never heal. We could never learn. We could never become wiser. We could never become more compassionate. We could never become someone different from the person we were yesterday. And permanence isn't simply to reason things in. And permanence is also the reason things can begin. And maybe that's one of the hardest things grief asks us to accept. We don't get to keep everything exactly as it is. We don't get to hold the people we love forever. And acceptance doesn't mean we have to like that. It means recognizing that change is woven into life itself. And perhaps instead of allowing that truth only to frighten us. We can allow it to empower us. Because this moment will change, Be here for it. Because the people you love won't always be here. Love them while they are. Because you won't always have another opportunity. Stop saving everything for someday. Because you are also impermanent. Remember that you can change, You can begin again, You can become. Before we finish today. I'd like to leave you with a simple practice that can. . . That you can take with you. Sometime during your day, Stop. Just for a moment. Take a conscious breath. And ask yourself three questions. What am I feeling right now? What am I resisting right now? And because this moment won't last forever. How do I want to meet it? You don't need a profound answer. Maybe the answer is just to make the call. Maybe it's to say, I love you. Maybe it's to forgive. Maybe it's to take better care of yourself. Maybe it's to finally begin something you've been postponing. Or maybe it's simply to look around and recognize that despite everything that isn't perfect, There is something good here too. Take one more slow breath in. And let it go. Feel your body sitting here. Notice the sounds around you. And when you're ready, Gently open your eyes. My friend couldn't have known those simple words would come to me, What they would come to mean to me. Because it's a good day. But they've become a reminder that I want to carry with me. And perhaps you can carry something of them with you. We don't know how much time we have. And we don't need to be frightened by that. We can let it wake us up. And maybe every once in a while. Right in the middle of this imperfect changing life. We can stop long enough to notice. I'm here. This is my life. And it's a good day. Thank you so much for taking the time to meditate.

Reviews

Thank you for this, so much. It is profound and tender and true. So much compassion to you for the loss of your friend. I know how that feels and that with aging it will happen more and more in my circle of dear people (yesterday was three years since a friend died, in fact). Your reflections on impermanence and change landed just right. Thank you, and very best to you.