“On top of the world one moment, devastated the next.” That’s how my mother often described me as a child. “That’s just how she is.” Apparently, with me, there were only two extremes, with very little in between.
That’s how my parents saw me. That’s how I saw myself. And eventually, I became convinced that this was simply who I was. I never questioned that label. My emotions, my anger – that was me. And I showed it. Loudly, intensely, without a filter.
My way of living had little to do with equanimity. It never occurred to me that I could change anything about it. So I convinced myself that my temperament was a good thing: I was spontaneous, always up for a surprise, and certainly never boring.
But eventually, I met people who radiated something different. A calmness, a serenity that fascinated me. They seemed not to be swept away by every wave. And the more time I spent with them, the stronger my own desire to become more calm and composed grew.
At some point, I realised that equanimity doesn’t have to be an inborn quality. It can be learned. Trained like a muscle. And suddenly, what I had always considered part of my personality no longer seemed unchangeable.
I realised that I didn’t have to wait until I became more serene. I could practise serenity.
Impermanence
One of my greatest teachers when it comes to equanimity is impermanence.
The day comes and goes. Summer comes and goes. A holiday comes and goes. Weekends come and go. Things come and go. People come and go. Problems come and go. Sadness comes and goes. Happiness comes and goes.
The more aware I become that all of this is part of the natural flow of life, the less I feel the need to fight against situations or try to hold on to them. Nothing becomes more lasting simply because I try to hold on to it. And nothing disappears any faster just because I desperately want to get rid of it.
For me, equanimity has a lot to do with acceptance. With the willingness to accept life in all its changeability rather than constantly fighting against it. To take the present moment as it is, without immediately labelling it as good or bad, right or wrong. And when I manage to do that, equanimity feels good. Content. Peaceful. And not boring at all. Simply beautiful.
When I live with greater equanimity, I suffer less. Not necessarily because my circumstances change, but because I fight less against what is happening right now. I can acknowledge the natural flow of change and still remain present. Aware.
The less I struggle, the more I can accept the moment as it is and often even enjoy it. Not perfect. But here. Real. Now.
The Desperate Search for a Solution
One pattern that is widespread in our Western society is using activity as a way to escape. I know this pattern all too well from my own life.
Life isn’t playing the tune I wish it would. So I try to intervene. I spend days overthinking, sometimes late into the night, trying to force a solution through sheer reasoning. Usually in vain.
More and more often, I feel that I don’t always have to act immediately. Sometimes I can simply wait and observe where life takes me.
In moments like these, I find the image of a glass of muddy water helpful. As long as we keep stirring the water, it remains cloudy. We can try to fish out the mud or clear the water with all our might. But all we do is stir it up even more. If, on the other hand, we let the water settle, the particles gradually sink to the bottom. The water becomes clearer on its own.
This story reminds me not to react immediately when I feel unsettled inside. In those moments, I see a situation through the filter of my emotions and expectations. I interpret, judge and search for solutions, even though what I may be lacking most is clarity. When I pause and give myself time, something can change. My feelings settle, my perspective widens, and suddenly I see possibilities I hadn’t noticed before.
Clarity often doesn’t come from doing more, but from stopping the constant stirring. Time and again, I experience how solutions begin to emerge precisely when I stop desperately searching for them. Not because I give up, but because I can see more clearly when I am calm.
For me, this is also equanimity: not being inactive, but recognising when it makes sense to act – and when it is better to let things settle first.
Healthy Emotions
Equanimity doesn’t mean feeling less. It means becoming more conscious of how we deal with what we feel.
One thing I have always appreciated about my temperament, and even my anger, is that it has prompted me to speak up when someone was treated unfairly or disrespectfully. My anger has helped me not only recognise my values, but also stand up for them.
That’s why I believe there is such a thing as healthy anger. Anger that draws our attention to injustice and motivates us to stand up for what we believe in. What matters to me today is how I deal with that anger. Am I riding my anger, or is my anger riding me?
I now know that I can act most effectively when I stay within my window of tolerance. When I feel angry without turning the situation into drama. Without becoming disrespectful myself. When I can be firm without being hurtful. Then I can act without losing control of myself.
Of course, I still find myself falling back into old patterns and being overwhelmed by my anger. But I notice it now. And when I do, I know I still need practice. For me, equanimity therefore doesn’t mean suppressing my anger or simply accepting injustice. Rather, it helps me remain calm inside even when I feel angry. This allows me to act more clearly instead of reacting unconsciously.
When I consciously acknowledge my emotions, I can ask myself: Which value has been violated? How do I want to stand up for it? And how can I do so without losing my inner balance?
In this way, healthy anger becomes a constructive force for change.
Small Injustices
I have always liked my strong sense of justice. And I still do when it comes to things that really matter. But how often do we make life harder for ourselves by getting upset over little things?
When someone is served before me at the supermarket, even though I was actually next in line. When a driver won’t let me merge into traffic in a zipper merge. When people don’t keep their agreements. Or when someone takes a parking space I have been waiting for. In situations like these, I try to train my equanimity muscle. I practise becoming less attached to small injustices instead of getting stuck on them.
After all, what do I gain by getting outraged? It puts a strain on my nervous system, costs me energy and may spoil the next few hours of my day. In the end, my resentment mainly harms me – while the other person has probably long since forgotten the incident.
“Is it really worth getting upset?” That was one of my mother’s favourite sayings. She lived by that attitude, and I often admired her for it. I’m still practising.
One thought that repeatedly helps me is: Zoom out. See the bigger picture. Take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Will this situation still have any significance for my life a week from now? Do I really have to correct every little injustice? Or can I simply let it pass through me and carry on peacefully?
That doesn’t mean I have to put up with everything. When important values are at stake, I still want to stand up for them. But I can learn to distinguish between what is worth investing my energy in and what I can simply let go.
Much of what people say or do comes from their own stress, fear or exhaustion. Not everything is really directed at me. And that means I don’t have to take everything on board. The world has become loud. Outrage is everywhere. Our nervous systems are often under constant strain, even when there is no immediate danger.
Not every injustice deserves my attention. And not every irritation deserves my energy.
Accept What You Cannot Control
We cannot completely control the circumstances of our lives or the behaviour of other people. But we can learn to deal with our own reactions more consciously. I can develop inner stability in a world I will never be able to control completely.
I can do my best every day. And once I have done my best, I can learn to accept the outcome – even when I don’t like it. That doesn’t mean giving up or no longer wanting to change anything. It means no longer making my inner peace dependent on whether everything goes the way I want it to.
For me, equanimity doesn’t mean no longer feeling anger, fear or sadness. It means acknowledging these feelings without allowing them to control me. I am allowed to feel without having to act immediately.
Much of our suffering arises when reality doesn’t match our expectations. We wish people would behave differently, that things would turn out differently, or that life would be fair. For me, equanimity doesn’t mean having no wishes or desires. Rather, it means no longer constantly measuring reality against them.
I know I won’t transform overnight from a highly spirited person into a calm and composed one. But I can practise. Every day.
Through meditation, conscious breathing and observing my own reactions. By learning that I don’t have to react immediately to every thought and feeling. And by consciously practising equanimity in everyday situations that would once have driven me up the wall.
For me, equanimity doesn’t mean that life affects me any less. It means that I am slowly learning to find more room in between the extremes of being on top of the world and feeling utterly devastated.
LUMA – it begins in you.
Mini Exercise
Today, take a brief pause whenever something upsets you.
Take a deep breath and ask yourself: Is getting outraged really worth it? Or can I simply let this little thing pass me by?
You don’t have to push your anger away. You can simply choose whether you want to give it your energy.
Reflection Question
Which situations repeatedly disturb my inner peace – and what might change if I stopped giving them so much importance?