A good man is sitting in front of me telling me things he has never shared before. He is explaining to me in great detail what it feels like when he worries. He talks about the racing heartbeat from inside his chest, the breathlessness that follows and the way his throat feels too dry to speak. He tells me that at forty-nine this has been happening for a few years and he doesn’t understand why. He tells me that he feels like he is the only man he knows that worries and that makes him feel worse. I listen and we start a dialogue that continues for a few months.
I could tell him now that in three months’ time his worry will no longer consume him, I could tell him that a weekly coaching session alongside daily meditation practice will change him, that the conversations that happen between us will shift the way he thinks about things, sometimes subtly and sometime more notably and once that shift happens other things will change. I could tell him that in three months time he will state it's been transformational. I could tell him that the sessions might be hard sometimes but there will also be laughter and lightness. I could tell him that despite his initial suspicions he will be pretty damn pleased he did it. But I don’t yet know any of this and so we keep talking and I keep listening.