Finding Solitude and Insight at the Garrison Institute

This year marked my third annual retreat at the Garrison Institute with Ethan Nichtern. My journey in Buddhism began with transcendental meditation introduced by my parents when I was seven, and it evolved through Zen and mindfulness meditation in my twenties. I formally embraced Buddhism in 2008 by taking my refuge vows and later, three years ago, took my bodhisattva vows with Ethan.

Ethan’s book, "The Road Home," had a significant impact on me, blending humility with a profound sense of self-esteem. His teachings propelled me towards greater leadership and the establishment of my own business.

This retreat focused on the meditation practice of raising wind horse, an ancient Tibetan practice aimed at building confidence by tapping into our inherent goodness, or bodhicitta. This practice beautifully aligned with Ethan’s new book on confidence and connected with another key theme of our retreat: The Buddhist teaching on the Eight Worldly Winds. These winds—pleasure and pain, fame and insignificance, praise and blame, success and failure—can blow us around, especially when we misidentify these strong emotions with our identity.

Heading into the retreat, I was dealing with themes of boundaries and over-functioning—doing more than necessary, leading to burnout. I needed the retreat to decompress and find solitude, silence, and support. I wanted to meditate and reflect on my needs, the needs of those around me, and the challenging dance of setting and maintaining boundaries.

I’ve been fortunate to receive scholarships for many of my retreats, particularly at the Garrison Institute, which is very supportive of healthcare workers and caregivers. They understand the importance of spiritual practice, contemplation, and self-care. However, receiving a scholarship often means being flexible with accommodations, including sharing a room.

Upon arriving, I was initially delighted to find my room empty, hoping for solitude. However, later that evening, my roommate arrived—a clinical psychologist from Sri Lanka who had traveled for 24 hours straight. As they say in Zen Buddhism, it was a Dharma gate—a karmic opportunity and a challenge.

Balancing my need for solitude with my roommate’s presence was difficult. She struggled with silence, frequently talking and using her computer late into the night. There were moments of frustration, but these experiences forced me to confront my rigid expectations about what I needed for comfort and pleasure.

One night, I was particularly frustrated when she closed the window and blinds, but then realized I was actually more comfortable—acknowledging how my certainty about what I needed added unnecessary stress. This realization aligned with the teachings on the Eight Worldly Winds, helping me see how rigidly holding on to what I thought I needed created extra stress.

Serendipitously, I had taken a two-year-long Buddhist study course with Ethan and was tasked with giving a Dharma talk, which I chose to do on the Eight Worldly Winds. Although I never polished and presented it, this theme kept reappearing in my life, reinforcing its significance. 

Ethan's teachings and the practice of raising wind horse emphasized that while we cannot change the human experience, we can change our perspective and relationship to it. This helps us stay present and not feel so threatened by life's vicissitudes. Pain is inevitable, but extra psychological suffering is optional—this perspective shift has always been at the core of my Buddhist practice.

Reflecting on the retreat, I realized how my need for solitude was tied to the Eight Worldly Winds. It took me three days to truly let go of work-related stress and feel like it wasn’t the end of the world.

As Ethan introduced the concepts of the Eight Worldly Winds—pleasure and pain, fame and insignificance, praise and blame, success and failure, I saw how my need for solitude was tied to these principles. I realized that I had been certain about what would bring me pleasure and what would bring me pain, creating rigid expectations. The challenge of accommodating my roommate highlighted this dynamic, showing me how I was adding extra stress by insisting on certain conditions.

In the end, I found that the breathing room I so desperately needed was there, regardless of the solitude or conflict I encountered. This experience reinforced the importance of flexibility, compassion, and understanding in both my personal and professional life.