Start Where You Are

Start Where You Are Plot Summary

Introduction

Life has a way of presenting us with situations that seem overwhelming. When faced with difficult emotions, painful circumstances, or challenging relationships, our first instinct is often to run away or shut down. We erect barriers around our hearts, hoping to protect ourselves from further pain. Yet it's precisely these difficult moments that offer us the greatest opportunity for awakening and growth. Compassionate living isn't about waiting until everything is perfect or until we've eliminated all our flaws. It's about starting exactly where we are right now—with all our messiness, fears, and imperfections. The teachings in these pages offer a radical suggestion: what if instead of seeing our painful emotions and difficult situations as obstacles, we could use them as the very path to awakening kindness? This journey begins with making friends with ourselves exactly as we are, wounds and all. From this foundation of self-compassion naturally emerges our ability to extend that same warm-hearted presence to others, transforming our relationships and our world.

Chapter 1: Embrace Your Reality Without Judgment

At the heart of compassionate living lies a revolutionary idea: we already have everything we need. There is no need for self-improvement or fixing. The feelings we work so hard to avoid—our fear, anger, jealousy, and sadness—are not obstacles to overcome but doorways to our basic goodness and wholeness. Pema Chödrön illustrates this principle through the story of Milarepa, a renowned Tibetan meditation master. One evening, Milarepa returned to his cave after gathering firewood only to find it filled with demons. They were cooking his food, reading his books, sleeping in his bed. Though he recognized these demons as projections of his own mind—all the unwanted parts of himself—he still didn't know how to get rid of them. First, he taught them about compassion and emptiness, but nothing happened. Then he got angry and charged at them, but they just laughed. Finally, he gave up and simply sat down on the floor, saying, "I'm not going away, and it looks like you're not either, so let's just live here together." At that point, all but one of the demons left. With the most stubborn demon still remaining, Milarepa did something even more remarkable. He surrendered completely, walking over and putting himself right into the demon's mouth, saying, "Just eat me up if you want to." With that act of total acceptance, the last demon vanished. As Pema explains, "The moral of the story is, when the resistance is gone, so are the demons." This process of befriending what we reject becomes the foundation of tonglen practice—a meditation that teaches us to breathe in pain rather than push it away. Instead of our usual pattern of grasping at pleasure and avoiding pain, we reverse the flow. We breathe in suffering (our own and others') and breathe out relief, spaciousness, and compassion. Through this practice, we develop what Buddhists call bodhichitta—our awakened heart. The practice involves four stages: first, flashing on openness; second, working with the textures of breathing in what's dark and heavy while breathing out what's light and cool; third, connecting with specific suffering; and finally, expanding to include all beings who suffer in similar ways. By working with our own pain in this way, we discover our kinship with all beings.

Chapter 2: Transform Pain Through Breathing In and Out

Tonglen, or "taking and sending," forms the core practice for transforming pain into compassion. This revolutionary approach turns our natural tendencies upside down. Instead of avoiding what's uncomfortable, we deliberately breathe it in. Instead of grasping at what's pleasant, we consciously send it out to others. The story of a woman in Boston with intense back pain illustrates this approach. During a meditation retreat, her pain became so excruciating she could barely sit. The teacher suggested she try tonglen—breathing in not just her own pain but the back pain of everyone in Massachusetts, then America, then throughout the world. At first, she resisted: "You want me to take in more pain when I can barely handle my own?" But as she cautiously attempted the practice, something unexpected happened. Her pain didn't disappear, but her relationship to it transformed dramatically. The sense of being isolated in her suffering dissolved, replaced by a profound connection with others who were also in pain. Her back still hurt, but she no longer felt victimized by it. This practice works because it addresses the true source of our suffering—not the pain itself, but our resistance to it. When we're willing to feel what's difficult without building a story around it, the intensity often lessens. The pain becomes workable rather than overwhelming. As Pema explains, "When you breathe in pain, you're acknowledging the truth of suffering—not just yours but everyone's. And when you breathe out relief, you're cultivating generosity and compassion." The process is simple but profound: when something hurts—whether it's physical pain, heartbreak, or anxiety—breathe it in fully. Feel its texture without the narrative. Then, recognize that countless others feel this exact same emotion. Breathe in their suffering too. On the outbreath, send relief, spaciousness, and kindness to yourself and all those others. What makes tonglen so powerful is that it connects us with our fundamental goodness—what Buddhists call our "buddha nature." This soft spot exists in everyone, even when covered by layers of fear and aggression. When we stop defending against our pain and instead use it as a bridge to others, we discover our innate capacity for compassion.

Chapter 3: Exchange Yourself for Others

At the heart of compassionate living lies a seemingly paradoxical instruction: "Gain and victory to others, loss and defeat to myself." This radical exchange of self for others directly confronts our ego's natural tendencies. Rather than constantly prioritizing our own comfort and success, we begin to care as deeply about others' wellbeing as our own. Pema shares the story of a meditation student who was physically assaulted and had his leather jacket stolen in a pool hall. As the thieves mockingly watched him realize his jacket was gone, he felt small, humiliated, and powerless. Yet in that moment of vulnerability, something unexpected happened. He suddenly felt a profound connection with all people throughout history who had been humiliated, scorned, or victimized. Though he didn't get his jacket back, he experienced a heart-opening that connected him to countless others who had suffered similar indignities. This practice of exchanging self for others works because it addresses the root cause of suffering—our fixation on "me" and "mine." When we're caught in self-importance, even small slights become major dramas. But when we shift our concern to others, our own problems naturally loosen their grip. This doesn't mean becoming a martyr or denying our own needs. Rather, it's about recognizing our fundamental interconnection. The exchange practice begins with acknowledging our shared humanity. When you feel afraid, recognize "fearful buddha." When angry, see it as "angry buddha." This approach helps us stop rejecting parts of ourselves while recognizing that others experience these same emotions. The more familiar we become with our own landscape of emotions, the more naturally we can connect with others. You can practice this exchange in daily life by noticing when you're caught in self-concern. When stuck in traffic, consider all the others equally frustrated. When celebrating success, wish for others to experience similar joy. In conflicts, try to understand the other's perspective as deeply as your own. This isn't about bypassing problems but about expanding your circle of concern beyond the narrow confines of self. Remember that this practice develops gradually. Start with easy situations before tackling more challenging ones. The goal isn't to force yourself to care, but to uncover the natural compassion that already exists within you.

Chapter 4: Awaken Your Heart in Daily Situations

Our daily life presents countless opportunities to awaken our hearts if we're willing to use everything as part of the path. The slogan "When the world is filled with evil, transform all mishaps into the path of bodhi" offers a revolutionary approach to life's difficulties—instead of viewing problems as obstacles, we can use them as opportunities for awakening. Gerald Red Elk, a Sioux elder, embodied this principle through his life story. As a young man, he was consumed with hatred toward white people for how they had treated his tribe. This hatred poisoned him, leading to alcoholism and profound unhappiness. During World War II, while serving in Europe, something in him shifted—he saw that his hatred was destroying him more than anyone else. Upon returning home, he dedicated the rest of his life to rebuilding his tribe's spirit and dignity, teaching young people not to hate but to communicate with all beings. His transformation came not from avoiding difficult emotions but from working directly with them. This approach differs dramatically from our usual strategy of either suppressing our emotions or acting them out. Instead, we create a middle path—acknowledging our feelings without being controlled by them. When anger arises, rather than lashing out or pushing it away, we can breathe with it, feel its energy in our body, and let the story line go. This doesn't mean becoming passive; sometimes clear action is required. But that action comes from a place of clarity rather than reactivity. To practice this in daily life, start by noticing when you're triggered. Perhaps a coworker takes credit for your idea, or someone cuts you off in traffic. Rather than immediately reacting, pause and feel what's happening in your body. Is there tightness in your chest? Heat in your face? Breathe with these sensations. Then extend your awareness to all others who are feeling similarly frustrated or hurt at this very moment. This simple practice transforms isolation into connection. The key insight is that our greatest obstacles can become our greatest teachers. The person who pushes your buttons is showing you exactly where you're stuck. The situation that triggers your fear reveals where you need to cultivate courage. By staying present with difficulty rather than running away, you develop the capacity to respond wisely rather than react habitually. This approach requires patience and practice. Start with small irritations before tackling major challenges. And remember that transformation happens gradually—you're rewiring neural pathways that have been reinforced for years. The goal isn't perfection but a willingness to stay present with whatever arises.

Chapter 5: Lighten Up and Abandon Hope of Perfection

One of the most powerful teachings for compassionate living is the instruction to "abandon any hope of fruition." This counterintuitive guidance strikes at the heart of our constant striving for improvement. We're always hoping to become someone better, someone who doesn't experience fear, anger, or inadequacy. Yet this very hoping keeps us from being fully present with who we are right now. This teaching was powerfully illustrated when Jon Kabat-Zinn established his stress-reduction clinic in Boston based on Buddhist principles. Many people came to his clinic with chronic pain, addiction issues, and overwhelming stress. The fundamental premise he established was that they needed to give up hope of things getting better—otherwise, the treatment wouldn't work. This wasn't pessimism but a profound recognition that our constant wanting to be different, better, or fixed comes from a place of aggression toward ourselves. It's only when we stop trying to escape our present experience that healing can begin. The story of a woman who had been gloomy her entire life demonstrates this principle. As she aged, she became increasingly irritable and difficult. Then she got cancer, and after an initial period of resistance, something unexpected happened—she began to cheer up. The more her body failed, the happier she became. She kept expressing gratitude for having time to enjoy her life, which she hadn't appreciated before her diagnosis. On the day before she died, she went into a coma. Her family gathered around her bed, looking sad and solemn. Just before passing, she opened her eyes, saw their gloomy faces, and said, "Gosh, you all look so unhappy. Is something wrong?" She died laughing. To practice abandoning hope of fruition, start by recognizing when you're caught in the belief that you need to be different to be okay. Notice how this creates a subtle or not-so-subtle rejection of your present experience. Instead of struggling against what is, practice opening to it with curiosity. If you're feeling anxious, don't add the additional layer of thinking you shouldn't be anxious. Simply be present with the physical sensations, without the narrative. This doesn't mean giving up on growth or positive change. Rather, it means recognizing that true transformation comes from befriending ourselves exactly as we are, not from rejecting our current experience. When we stop treating ourselves as a project to be fixed, we discover the wholeness that has been here all along. The instruction to abandon hope goes hand in hand with developing a sense of humor about ourselves. Can you see the comedy in your patterns without turning them into drama? Can you lighten up about your imperfections? This lightness of touch is essential for the journey of compassionate living.

Chapter 6: Communicate from the Heart Without Expectation

True compassionate action emerges from our ability to communicate authentically with others, speaking in ways that open hearts rather than close them. When we act from a place of genuine connection rather than self-righteousness, we create possibilities for real transformation. Pema shares a personal experience that illustrates this principle. She received a letter from a friend that criticized her harshly. Her first reaction was hurt, followed by anger. She began mentally composing a response that would put her friend in her place, using dharma teachings to show how wrong the friend was. But before sending it, Pema experienced a moment of profound loneliness and vulnerability. In that raw state, she suddenly understood where her friend's letter had come from—loneliness and a feeling of being left out. This insight completely changed her response. Instead of sending the defensive letter she'd planned, Pema wrote something honest and open: "You can dump on me all you like and put all your stuff out there, but I'm not going to give up on you." This wasn't a wishy-washy avoidance of the confrontation, but neither was it a counterattack. It was communication that created space for both people to be heard and understood. This approach to communication requires us to move beyond our habitual patterns of either attacking or withdrawing. When we feel threatened, our instinct is often to defend ourselves by proving we're right. But the question to ask is not "How can I win this argument?" but "How can I create conditions for mutual understanding?" To practice heart-centered communication, start by listening fully. This means suspending your internal commentary and genuinely trying to hear what the other person is saying. Notice when you're formulating your response instead of truly listening. When it's your turn to speak, pause to connect with what's most important to communicate. Speak from personal experience rather than abstraction, using "I" statements rather than generalizations. Remember that the goal isn't to get the other person to agree with you, but to create understanding. Sometimes the most powerful communication happens when you acknowledge the validity of someone else's perspective even when it differs from yours. And sometimes the wisest response is silence—giving both yourself and the other person space to feel whatever is arising. The practice of communicating from the heart doesn't mean you'll always be successful or that every conversation will go smoothly. What matters is your willingness to stay present, to speak honestly, and to listen deeply—without expectation of a particular outcome.

Chapter 7: Train Your Mind When Challenges Arise

The journey of compassionate living culminates in what the teachings call "the five strengths"—powerful practices for both living well and facing death with openness. These strengths provide a complete framework for navigating life's most difficult challenges with courage and heart. Pema illustrates the importance of these practices through the contrasting stories of two dying friends, Jack and Jill. As Jack's body began to fail, he initially reacted with anger, but then something shifted. He began to relax and let go, becoming happier as his physical form dissolved. He would say, "There's nothing to do, there's nothing to want," and laugh. Jill, facing the same physical decline, had a very different response. She became increasingly terrified, clenching her teeth and hands, struggling against the inevitable. These stories reveal why we practice—to discover the process of letting go and relaxing during our lifetime, before the final moment arrives. The first strength is strong determination—not dogged pushing but connecting with joy, relaxing, and trusting. One simple way to develop this is through cultivating a playful spiritual appetite. When you wake up, you might think, "This may be the day I die. This may be the day I understand what these teachings are really about." The second strength, familiarization, means the teachings become so integrated that your first thought becomes dharmic. You realize that all teachings are about studying yourself—not as abstract philosophy but as practical guidance for softening your heart and mind. The third strength acknowledges the seed of virtue or buddha nature within you. Rather than seeing yourself as fundamentally flawed, you recognize that wisdom and compassion are your natural state, simply waiting to be uncovered. This isn't about transplanting something foreign but about allowing your inherent goodness to emerge. The fourth strength involves a dialogue with yourself when you notice you're caught in old patterns: "What do you really want? Do you want to shut down and close off, or do you want to let yourself relax here? Here's your chance to actually realize something." This self-teaching becomes especially powerful during challenging situations. The final strength is aspiration—voicing your heartfelt wishes for awakening. Even when feeling completely hopeless, you can express aspirations like "May my compassion for myself increase. May my experience of being obstructed decrease." These aspirations cut through negativity and empower you to continue the journey. To practice these strengths in daily life, start by setting an intention each morning to remain open to whatever arises. Throughout the day, notice when you're contracting around difficulty, and gently remind yourself of your aspiration to stay present. At day's end, review your experiences not as evidence of failure but as opportunities to deepen your understanding of yourself.

Summary

The path of compassionate living begins exactly where we are—with all our pain, fear, and confusion. Rather than seeing these difficulties as obstacles, we can use them as the very fuel for awakening our hearts. As Pema so powerfully reminds us, "When we're trying to comfort ourselves with the peanut butter jar, that's a fine time to practice. When someone leaves us, that's a fine time to practice. When we're lonely, that's a fine time to practice." Every circumstance becomes an opportunity to grow in kindness and wisdom. The journey begins with a single step: the willingness to stay present with whatever arises in your experience without judgment. Today, choose one difficult emotion or situation you've been avoiding and simply sit with it. Breathe with it. Notice any tendency to escape or push it away, and instead, bring gentle curiosity to your experience. This simple practice of showing up for yourself exactly as you are forms the foundation of compassion for all beings. The world doesn't need more perfect people; it needs more fully human ones who have made friends with their own hearts.

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