Establishing Daily Practice
Making Meditation a Sustainable Part of Your Life
Foundation • Module 2
Estimated time to complete: 60 minutes
What Now?
The previous module introduced a meditation technique—the basic instructions for working with breath and attention. Some may have tried it already, perhaps several times. Others may be planning to start soon. Some may have been meditating for years and are just curious how learning Buddhist meditation theory will change their experience of meditation.
Wherever we are, certain questions arise: How much should we meditate? What’s realistic given our lives? Is there some particular meditation experience we are missing? Is there something else that’s supposed to happen? And more fundamentally: what are we actually doing when we sit down to observe our breath?
These questions matter because they determine whether meditation becomes part of our lives or remains something we tried briefly. This module addresses both practical questions about establishing practice and the deeper question of what we’re seeking.
Two videos provide guidance, and we’ll explore some of these themes in-between them.
What to watch for: Three types of happiness and what each reveals about what we’re actually seeking. The question of what brought us to meditation in the first place. How Buddhist tradition frames the purpose of practice.
Video 1: Introduction to Buddhist Meditation
Duration: 24 minutes
Three Types of Happiness
The video distinguished three types of happiness—but more important than the categories is the question they raise: which type have we actually been pursuing?
The first type is affective happiness: the pleasant feeling that arises when circumstances align favorably. We enjoy good food, warm sunlight, laughter with friends, physical comfort. This isn’t wrong or shallow—pleasant feelings are genuinely pleasant. But they depend entirely on circumstances, and circumstances change constantly. The meal ends, the weather shifts, friends leave, comfort fades. We might spend enormous energy trying to arrange our lives to maximize pleasant experiences, only to find that even when we succeed, the satisfaction is temporary.
The second type is satisfaction or contentment: the sense that our lives are going well according to some standard we hold. We’ve achieved goals, fulfilled responsibilities, made progress. This differs from mere pleasure because it persists even during unpleasant moments—we can feel satisfied with our work even when we’re exhausted, content with our relationships even during difficult conversations. But this type of happiness also depends on things going a certain way, on meeting expectations, on achieving what we set out to achieve. And it requires constantly spinning a story about our lives that frames events as leading somewhere meaningful.
The third type—the one Buddhist meditation specifically investigates—is existential happiness: a fundamental ease or well-being that doesn’t depend on circumstances being pleasant or on us achieving particular goals. This is harder to describe because it’s not what we typically think of as happiness. It’s more like discovering that beneath all our restlessness and dissatisfaction, there’s a basic okayness—not because everything is going well, but because the frantic search for security through controlling circumstances has ceased.
Most of us arrive at meditation seeking one of the first two types. We want to feel better (affective) or achieve something meaningful (satisfaction). Buddhist meditation certainly affects both of these—many practitioners report feeling more peaceful and finding greater meaning in their lives. But the tradition claims that what we’re really seeking, whether we know it or not, is this third type: an existential ease that doesn’t require constant maintenance through trying to change our external circumstances or achieving our goals.
What Brought Us Here
We might have arrived at meditation seeking something. Relief from anxiety. Better focus. Greater enjoyment of the present moment. Freedom from our emotional baggage. Peace. These aren’t wrong motivations. But they may point toward something more fundamental we haven’t yet named: a dissatisfaction that runs deeper than any particular problem, and that persists even when our problems are temporarily solved.
If we can identify through self-reflection any subtle sense of dis-ease or discontent, it deserves our attention—not as some depressing conclusion, but as something to look objectively into. By investigating our dissatisfaction, we can begin to see the source of it more clearly. It turns out that, rather than trying to get rid of our underlying dissatisfaction, we need to recognize it and thoroughly investigate its nature—what is it like? Does it stay the same moment to moment? What is important here is to reframe what matters and what we’re looking for. When meditation doesn’t immediately make us feel better, we are not failing but getting a deeper look at the baseline of how we tend to struggle. Rather than trying to force ourselves to have permanent pleasant feelings (affective happiness) or constantly spinning a tale about gaining some future life satisfaction, we look into the nature of our basic dis-ease and we begin to investigate whether we can locate within our awareness an even more fundamental kind of ease—something we are calling “existential happiness”—that doesn’t depend on circumstances being pleasant or on us achieving certain life goals.
This reframing matters enormously. If we approach meditation as a tool for feeling better or achieving something, we’ll be disappointed because our minds certainly won’t cooperate. But if we understand meditation as a method for investigating the nature of our dissatisfaction itself—what causes it, whether it can be addressed, and what it is actually like moment to moment—then every session where we notice our discomfort or discontent clearly is successful practice because it provides data for recognizing our neurotic habitual patterns and how to get free from them.
On “Faithful Practice” and Investigation
It’s worth self-reflecting for a moment on what else drew us here. Something beyond the wish for happiness. Curiosity about our mind or experience. Dissatisfaction with superficial explanations of life. A sense that meditation might be a valuable tool for piecing together our puzzle. Perhaps inspiration from encountering Buddhist ideas or teachers. Whatever form it took, that open-minded, intuitive interest—that felt sense that this is worth investigating—is the kernel of the Buddhist notion of “faith” (dépa; dad pa). Without this natural interest, we would never even wish to settle our minds and meditatively investigate the truth of our daily experience.
But let’s be clear. Even though the Tibetan word is often translated as “faith,” it’s very misleading if we hear it through Christian or Islamic frameworks where faith can mean believing what we are told without evidence. Learning Buddhist meditation doesn’t require adopting beliefs, not even the belief in karma or rebirth. It requires only enough trust to experiment with the meditation techniques, look into our experience, and see what happens. The Buddhist tradition offers observational tools: a microscope (meditation methods) and research questions (things to look for) and a laboratory guide (how to create retreat spaces dedicated to research). We can use them all—like a hypothesis we’re personally interested to test—without ever accepting any part of the framework as a final truth. The Buddha himself reportedly emphasized this approach, telling students not to accept his teachings on authority but to investigate them directly and verify them through their own experience.
Speaking personally: my highest pursuit is truth itself, and I have a lifetime of practice in not wanting to deceive myself or others. My allegiance is ultimately to truth, not tradition. If I were to discover through investigation that Buddhist claims about suffering, identity, or awakening don’t match reality, I would discard those claims. But I also know that some truths aren’t accessible through casual observation—they require sustained investigation with appropriate tools and clear reasoning. So I personally take the Buddhist framework seriously as a research methodology while remaining free to reject any part of it that proves false to experience.
You too should never feel in this course as if you are being asked to subscribe to a religion. Buddhism is an ancient rich phenomenological tradition connected with a scientific method to investigate all assumptions, including Buddhist ones. At Tarpa, we teach about Buddhist meditation theory from a secular perspective and have no agenda to convert anyone to Buddhism or any other pet ideology.
What to watch for: The Buddhist understanding of faith as affective trust rather than cognitive belief. Guidance about session length, frequency, and how practice matures over time. The metaphors for practice development and why a teacher matters.
Video 2: Faithful Practice & Intellectual Study
Duration: 47 minutes
Establishing Daily Practice
Video 2 addresses many practical questions about meditation practice. What does it actually look like to develop a sustainable relationship with meditation? The guidance is clear and counter to many people's assumptions. The key when starting out: “short sessions, many times.” Not long sessions where we sit restlessly for an hour while our mind wanders and then procrastinate doing it again for the next two days. Better in the beginning to meditate for five to ten minutes—or however much we can manage, even if it is just 2 minutes—four times daily, rather than 20-40 minutes once daily. This approach allows us to practice each session with some degree of focus and intention before getting sidetracked and to build our capacity for more. And by practicing multiple times daily, we familiarize ourselves with the transition into practice, the settling process, the quality of sustained attention. We're building habits and capacity simultaneously. As our ability to focus develops—as our mental stamina increases—session length naturally extends. What felt like a long time initially becomes easy. But this happens gradually, not through force. We're training attention like training a muscle: consistent moderate effort works better than occasional extreme effort. The tradition also emphasizes that eventually, as enthusiasm grows naturally from experiencing meditation's benefits, we may find ourselves drawn to longer practice sessions or even formal retreats. A retreat might mean dedicating several days to intensive practice, or even weeks or months for more experienced practitioners. But these aren't requirements—they're possibilities that emerge when practice has already become established and we feel genuinely called to deepen our investigation. The key principle: start where sustainability is realistic. Brief daily sessions practiced consistently build a foundation much stronger than ambitious schedules we can't maintain. We're developing a relationship with our own mind that needs to mature over time, not forcing quick results.
When Practice Feels Dry
There will be periods when meditation feels pointless. When we sit down and nothing happens except boredom or restlessness. When we’ve been practicing for weeks and can’t point to any benefit. When the initial inspiration fades and we’re left wondering why we’re doing this. These periods aren’t signs of failure. They’re part of the maturation process—often the part just before something shifts.
The impulse during dry periods is to quit, or to add something new—a different technique, a teacher, a retreat. Sometimes that’s appropriate. But often what’s needed is simply to continue with patient consistency. The fruit is ripening even when we can’t see visible change. The capacity for sustained attention is developing even when sessions feel difficult.
This is where faith—which includes various degrees of investigative interest—proves crucial. If we’re meditating to feel better, dry periods seem like proof the technique doesn’t work. But if we’re investigating the nature of mind and experience, dry periods are just another phenomenon to observe. What does restlessness actually feel like? What thoughts arise when practice feels pointless? What keeps us sitting down day after day even when we’re not getting obvious rewards? These are valid objects of investigation.
The tradition also acknowledges that some people need guidance when practice feels stuck. This might mean seeking instruction from experienced teachers, attending retreats where intensive practice is supported, or returning to the foundational instructions to see if we’ve drifted from them. Of course, there’s also value in simply continuing with patience, trusting that the process works even when it doesn’t feel like it’s working. But there’s absolutely no shame in recognizing we need support.
Questions for Reflection
These questions are designed as ongoing investigations rather than one-time exercises. Return to them as your practice develops.
1. What Type of Happiness Am I Seeking? When you sit down to meditate, what are you hoping will happen? Relief from discomfort? A pleasant state? A sense of accomplishment? None of these are wrong, but noticing them honestly helps clarify what you’re actually seeking. As you continue practicing, investigate whether something deeper than temporary pleasant states or achievements might be possible.
2. What Brought Me Here? What led you to meditation? What were you seeking or curious about? Has that initial motivation shifted as you’ve learned more? The question isn’t whether your original motivation was “right” or “wrong,” but simply noticing what it was and how it might be evolving.
3. Investigative Interest vs. Religious Faith The curriculum emphasizes investigation over belief, framing Buddhist teachings as testable hypotheses rather than dogmas. Does that framing resonate with you? Or do you find yourself wanting more definitive guidance about what to believe? Neither response is wrong—noticing your own inclination helps you understand how you relate to the material.
4. Consistency and Resistance If you’ve been practicing, what helps you sit down consistently? What creates resistance? Notice the thoughts that arise when you’re deciding whether to practice today. This isn’t about judging yourself harshly, but about seeing clearly what supports practice and what interferes with it.
5. Progress and Expectations Have you noticed any changes since you started practicing? Are you looking for particular signs of progress? What would count as “success” in your meditation? As you continue, investigate whether the changes you’re looking for are the ones that actually matter, or whether something more subtle might be developing.
This module is part of Tarpa's Palace of Learning curriculum, a secular educational program exploring Buddhist philosophy, psychology, and contemplative practice. All content © 2025