Mindfulness practice begins after formal meditation ends. Formal meditation is a time to cultivate insight and equanimity, to practice calm abiding, attentional regulation, interoceptive awareness, and non-reactivity. Formal meditation is the time to observe and calibrate the mind. When the session ends, mindful practice begins. Whilst walking, we attend fully to walking; whilst eating, we fully attend to eating (aromas, tastes, chewing, swallowing, and attendant movements); whilst showering, we remain fully aware, fully present. A Zen correlate states simply: "When walking, walk. When eating, eat." In other words, pay attention. Cut mental elaboration and focus on the task at hand. This can apply to any chore, any activity, any task.
The Korean Zen Master Songdam put it this way: "If you think meditation means going deep into the mountains and sitting in a quiet meditation hall with fresh air all around, then you've come to the wrong place. The Way to Truth I teach is washing dishes, sweeping and mopping the floor, doing laundry with your hands, hammering nails, and digging with a shovel. It's not about sitting calmly and peacefully like a mountain spirit."
When we are fully present, the usual sense of "I am doing..." dissolves. Though not always entirely quiet, the Default Mode Network's self-referential loops can be less dominant. The Task Positive Network engages.
The Task Positive Network is a network in the brain that becomes active during focused, goal-oriented tasks, facilitating attention, decision-making, and problem-solving. Engaging the TPN helps us maintain present-moment awareness with relaxed attention and reduces self-referential thinking.
When we concentrate on a specific task, the TPN suppresses the Default Mode Network (DMN), which is associated with mind-wandering and self-referential thoughts. This suppression minimizes distractions and keeps our attention anchored in the present.
Practices like walking meditation engage the TPN by directing attention to present experiences, such as breathing or bodily sensations. This engagement fosters relaxed attention and diminishes the influence of the DMN, thereby reducing self-referential thinking.
I created a list of seemingly mundane, ordinary activities that I use to develop moment to moment mindfulness, attentional stability, emotional resilience, and self-regulation off-cushion.
I use the Habitica app. Designed as a gamified habit tracker, Habitica turns personal growth into an engaging game. Each habit you complete earns you rewards—experience points, gold, and achievements—while missed habits carry gentle consequences, just like in a real adventure. But beyond the fun, Habitica serves to develop the mindful habit. Here are 14 of 30 tasks I do over the course of a day.
Task 1: Walking
When I rise from bed, I walk to the bathroom.
In a traditional walking meditation, the pace is usually slow, hands are clasped either in front or behind the back- or you may prefer to let your arms swing naturally. As we begin walking, attention is maintained on the soles of the feet, aware of the alternating pattern of contact and release.
We remain aware of the foot fall- as the heel makes contact, as the foot rolls forward onto the ball, as the body’s center of gravity passes over the top of the foot, as we toe off, as the leg lifts, as we balance, as we take the next step. Attention remains on the feet. We can abbreviate the complexity that is walking into a simple mantra: "Left" as the left foot falls and lifts, "right," as the the right foot falls and lifts. Left right left right.
Acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter, aids in focus. Attention improves perceptual awareness. As I walk, I bring heightened attention to the details: the contact in the soles of the feet, the touch of the wood or the fabric of the socks. I pay attention. I notice how the foot goes from being a shock absorber to a rigid lever that propels the body forward. Left right left right.
I bring my attention to the ankles, noticing the quality of the sensations in the joints and the Achilles tendon. I move my attention up to the lower legs—the shins, the calves. I notice how the calf muscles contract and lengthen as my heel rises, becoming aware of the contact with clothing, the temperature on the surface of my skin, and the movement of the muscles as I walk.
I move my awareness to the knees, noticing the quality of sensations in the knee joints. I expand my awareness to include the thighs—aware of the contact of clothing, the movement of the muscles, the temperature, and the pressure of gravity on the weight-bearing leg. I bring my attention to my hips, focusing on the muscles around the hip joints and paying attention to the cadence, the rhythm, the gait—whether my steps are short or long.
Neuroscientists have established a link between shifts in visual perception and the cadence of my steps while walking. My brain processes vision in a rhythmic manner, rising and falling in sensitivity in a cycle that corresponds to the rhythm of my steps. When swinging from one step to the next, my perception sharpens and my reactions are faster.
During footfall, however, my vision isn’t as sharp, and my reactions slow. Studies also confirm that the visual brain senses the environment in a strobe-like way; my perception takes regular samples of the world before stitching them together to create a seamless experience (Davidson, Verstraten & Alais, 2024).
As I walk, I become aware of my whole pelvis moving a leg forward or back. I notice how my hips lift and sink, becoming aware of the complex three-dimensional movement of the pelvis as I walk forward through space. My spine is in constant, sinuous motion—something I pay attention to with every step. Left, right, left, right.
I notice my abdomen rising and falling, feeling the contact of clothing on my skin as it moves with each breath. I become aware of my chest expanding and contracting as I breathe in and out, filling my lungs with oxygen and expelling the air as I walk. I focus on the three-dimensionality of my ribs as they expand upward and laterally.
I notice my shoulders and how they move with the rhythm of my walk. I let my shoulders relax, allowing them to passively transmit the rhythm of my stride down to my arms as they swing naturally. I pay attention to the motions in my arms—the upper arms, the forearms, the wrists, the hands—feeling the air course over my body as I move.
I bring awareness to my neck and the muscles supporting my skull. I notice the angle of my head, making subtle adjustments to my posture, knowing that even small shifts in my neck or shoulders can change my experience as I walk. Left, right, left, right.
I use over two hundred muscles to take just one step. Left, right, left, right.
Task 2: Opening a door
When I reach for the door, the brain sends a command to the arm- it reaches, the fingers extend. I feel the touch of the handle- cool and smooth. As I turn the knob or press down on the handle, I’m aware of the resistance, the mechanical click, the transfer of force as the latch disengages. I built the wall and framed and stained the French doors. The door squeaks a "Good morning" as I open it.
Task 3: Relieving Myself
Attendees of my talks chuckle when I talk about peeing and pooping mindfully. However, the body’s waste is not something shameful; it’s a sign of health, of digestion completed, of the body’s capacity to transform what is no longer needed. Peeing and pooping are not merely biological necessities; relief is a practice of release, a physical letting go that mirrors the mental and emotional release we so often desperately need. I bring my full attention to the present.
Peeing and pooping stimulate the parasympathetic nervous system, encouraging relaxation and signaling the body’s readiness to rest and restore. This is why the feeling of relief often extends beyond the physical—it’s a subtle reset for the mind as well. Beyond the physiology, this act serves as a metaphor for release in all its forms. Just as I let go of what the body no longer needs, I can also release mental clutter, emotional tension, or lingering thoughts that no longer serve me.
In a poem, the 9th Chinese Zen master Linji Yixuan wrote:
Shit and piss
Wear your clothes
Eat your meals
And in all things be ordinary.
Everyday actions, including basic bodily functions, are integral to spiritual practice. Acknowledging and embracing all aspects of human experience, without attachment or aversion, leads to true understanding.
Task 4: Hand Washing
Task 5: The Coffee Ceremony
When I lived in Japan, I couldn't understand the tea ceremony. Why put some much emphasis on something so unimportant? A colleague shared a book with me on this Japanese art. In the Book of Tea, Okakura Kakuzo writes: “Our mind is the canvas on which the artists lay their colour; their pigments are our emotions; their chiaroscuro the light of joy, the shadow of sadness. The masterpiece is of ourselves, as we are of the masterpiece.” The mind can elevate the mundane into the sublime. In Japan, "the tea ceremony is a worship of the imperfect… [it’s] the art of being in the world." The intention is to live with a refined attention to detail. When I prepare and drink my morning coffee, I’m not simply brewing a beverage—I’m performing a ritual of awareness, a daily meditation that transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary. Much like the Japanese tea ceremony, described so beautifully in Okakura Kakuzō’s The Book of Tea, this simple act becomes a “worship of the imperfect” and an honoring of the present moment. The first sip is an invitation to presence. I notice the bitterness balanced with subtle sweetness, the warmth spreading through my chest, the aftertaste lingering like the trace of a thought. “In the tea ceremony,” Okakura writes, “the everyday becomes sacred.” This cup of coffee is no different—each sip an offering to the now, each swallow a moment of union between body, mind, and environment.
Task 6: Morning/Evening Sunlight (Sunrise & Sunset)
When I step outside to greet the morning light, I engage in a ritual that is both biological and spiritual—a practice that aligns my body’s inner rhythms with the vast, unhurried clock of nature. The simple act of receiving sunlight soon after waking is not just about resetting my circadian clock; it is a reminder that I am part of something ancient and eternal.
Biologically, morning sunlight triggers a cascade of effects in the body. Light-sensitive cells in the eyes—intrinsically photosensitive retinal ganglion cells—signal to the suprachiasmatic nucleus in the brain’s hypothalamus, our body’s master clock. This resets the sleep-wake cycle, balancing hormones like cortisol for alertness and melatonin for restful sleep later in the evening. Yet beyond the science, stepping into the sunlight is an act of connection to the natural world.
I watch the slow drift of clouds, each one a transient sculpture shaped by unseen winds. They remind me of impermanence, of movement without force. A cloud neither clings to form nor resists change—it simply becomes what it must, moment by moment. This observation, simple as it seems, carries profound lessons for living with grace and acceptance.
Task 7: Greetings
I listen for birds. The Japanese poet Ryokan wrote:
A bush warbler
And of a hundred passersby
Not one knows it's there.
The haiku reads more powerfully in Japanese:
鴬や (Uguisu ya)
百人なから (Hyaku nin nagara)
気かつかす (Kikatsukazu)
鴬 (Uguisu) is the name of the song bird や (ya!) is an exclamation. It's as if the poet's reveries were interrupted by the trills of the song bird. He stops to listen. Wow! A warbler! Hark! Listen!
百人 hyaku nin (100 people)
なから nagara (of a 100 people)
気かつかす
The kanji for ki 気 derives from the Chinese character qi 氣 - the same qi of qi gong or tai chi. It has multiple meanings: spirit, energy, life force. The last line ki katsu kazu (気かつかす) can be read in different ways: the Spirit is scattered, the mind is distracted; the life force is so dispersed that they cannot notice. It can also be read as an injunction: Be careful.
I live in the city. Every morning, when I sit to meditate, the sounds of birds perfume the ether.
A song sparrow!
And of a hundred passersby
Not one knows it's there.
The song sparrows are not the only buskers in my city. A blue jay, a raven, a nuthatch, a Carolina wren, a cardinal, a blackbird, a purple finch, a robin, a red tailed hawk, a mountain chickadee, a white throated sparrow, gulls, geese, a murder of crows...
And of a hundred passersby
Not one knows they're there.
Why not? We're attending to our thoughts, listening to our worries, our hopes, our plans, the cravings, the resentments, the anger, the disappointments, the fear, the cacophony of wants, the din of noise.
There are tulips in full bloom, flowering cherry trees, wispy cirrus clouds against a blue sky, an alpine glow, a waxing gibbous moon, a squirrel, a sunset festooned in ribbons of color...
And of a hundred passersby
Not one knows so much beauty is here.
Task 8: Washing the Dishes.
The Venerable Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh shared an insight on washing dishes, a chore considered disagreeable by many. In At Home in the World, he wrote:
When I was still a novice at Tu Hieu Pagoda, washing the dishes was hardly a pleasant task. During the annual Rains retreat all the monks would come back to the monastery to practice together for three months, and sometimes we were only two novices who had to do all the cooking and wash all the dishes for well over one hundred monks. There was no soap. We had only ashes, rice husks, and coconut husks, and that was all. Cleaning such a high stack of bowls was a difficult chore, especially during the winter when the water was freezing cold. Then we had to heat up a big pot of water before we could do any scrubbing. Nowadays with liquid soap, special scrub pads, and even hot running water it is much easier to enjoy washing the dishes.
To my mind, the idea that doing dishes is unpleasant can occur only when you aren’t doing them. Once you are standing in front of the sink with your sleeves rolled up and your hands in the warm water, it is really quite pleasant. I enjoy taking my time with each dish, being fully aware of the dish, the water, and each movement of my hands. I know that if I hurry in order to be able to finish so I can sit down sooner and eat dessert or enjoy a cup of tea, the time of washing dishes will be unpleasant and not worth living. That would be a pity, for each minute, each second of life is a miracle. The dishes themselves and the fact that I am here washing them are miracles!
If I am incapable of washing dishes joyfully, if I want to finish them quickly so I can go and have dessert or a cup of tea, I will be equally incapable of enjoying my dessert or my tea when I finally have them.With the fork in my hand, I will be thinking about what to do next, and the texture and the flavor of the dessert, together with the pleasure of eating it, will be lost. I will be constantly dragged into the future, miss out on life altogether, and never able to live in the present moment.
Each thought, each action in the sunlight of awareness becomes sacred. In this light, no boundary exists between the sacred and the profane. I must confess it takes me a bit longer to do the dishes, but I live fully in every moment, and I am happy.
Washing the dishes is at the same time a means and an end. We do the dishes not only in order to have clean dishes, we also do the dishes just to do the dishes, to live fully in each moment while washing them, and to be truly in touch with life.
We can apply this same attitude toward the most mundane chores. The goal is to achieve a degree of mental stability, and then sustain that continuity of awakened awareness while engaging in real world activities.
Task 9: Preparing a meal
Preparing a meal is more than sustenance—it’s a meditation on transformation, patience, and the beauty of everyday rituals. In the quiet focus of cooking, I rediscover the sacred in the ordinary, and with each meal, I nourish not just my body, but my capacity to live fully, attentively, and with gratitude.
Task 10: When eating, eat
The Zen instruction “When eating, eat” is a call to simplicity, to presence without distraction. It reminds me that eating isn’t a chore or a task to be completed—it’s an act of connection with the present moment, with my body, and with the world that sustains me.
In many cultures, the act of eating begins with a moment of prayer or gratitude—a pause to recognize the energy and effort that brought the meal to the table. These rituals serve as reminders that eating is not merely consumption but communion. They honor the unseen hands that cultivated, harvested, and prepared the food, and they acknowledge the Earth’s abundance with humility. This simple gesture transforms a routine meal into a sacred exchange, grounding the act of nourishment in appreciation and mindfulness.
Task 11: Getting dressed
Getting dressed is often seen as a routine task, but across cultures and traditions, it carries deep symbolic meaning. My father was a minister. In the Christian tradition, clothing is often used as a metaphor for spiritual preparedness and moral integrity. To “gird up your loins” (1 Peter 1:13) is to prepare oneself for action, a call to readiness both physically and spiritually. In ancient times, this referred to tying up loose garments before undertaking work or battle, symbolizing focus and determination. Spiritually, it becomes a metaphor for clearing distractions and centering one’s heart on what truly matters.
Another powerful metaphor appears in Romans 13:12, where believers are urged to “put on the armor of light.” This image evokes the idea of clothing oneself in virtues—integrity, compassion, and clarity—becoming a beacon of goodness in a world often shadowed by negativity. Similarly, in Ephesians 6:11, the Apostle Paul speaks of “putting on the whole armor of God” to stand against spiritual adversity, where each piece of armor represents a quality to embody: truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the word of God as a sword of the spirit.
Even beyond religious contexts, getting dressed reflects personal transformation. A suit can embody professionalism and confidence, workout gear can signal a readiness to push physical limits, and casual clothes can symbolize comfort and relaxation. In this way, every choice we make while dressing mirrors our inner intentions and prepares us for the specific demands of the day.
When I approach getting dressed as a mindful practice, I honor both my body and my purpose. I notice the texture of the fabric, the feeling of warmth or coolness against my skin, and the subtle shifts in posture as I button a shirt or tie a shoelace. Each movement becomes a meditation on preparation and presence.
Dressing mindfully reminds me that, like putting on spiritual armor or ceremonial garments, I am choosing who I want to be today. I ask myself: What am I preparing for? What mindset do I wish to embody? With each layer, I don the qualities I need—confidence, focus, compassion—until I am ready to meet the world, not just clothed in fabric, but dressed in intention.
Task 12: The Commute
Driving, often dismissed as a mundane necessity, can become a profound training ground for cultivating a meta-cognitive, global awareness—an expansive state of attention that holds the whole field of experience, rather than narrowing focus to a single point.
Awareness is expansive. The mind is spacious. I take in the peripheral landscape—the flicker of trees passing by, the play of light on metal, the subtle shifts in shadows as the sun moves across the sky. This practice mirrors the experience of advanced meditation, where thoughts and subtle excitements arise at the periphery of meditative attention. We learn to correct these subtle distractions
Task 13: Brushing my teeth/flossing (a.m. & p.m.)
Task 14: Showering/Bathing
In the Islamic tradition, purification holds profound spiritual significance through the practice of Wudu (ritual washing) and Ghusl (full-body purification). These acts prepare the practitioner for prayer, symbolizing a state of spiritual readiness and purity. As I bathe, I reflect on this sense of preparation and renewal—an opportunity to begin anew, both physically and spiritually. With every drop of water, I imagine cleansing away not just the dirt on my skin but also the emotional residue of stress, frustration, or negativity that accumulates throughout the day. This becomes a conscious act of preparing myself for the moments ahead, much like how Wudu prepares a Muslim for mindful devotion.
In the end, these ordinary habits—walking, eating, driving, bathing—are not merely tasks to be completed but opportunities to reconnect with the present moment.
By consciously engaging in activities that activate the TPN, such as focused work or mindfulness practices, we can enhance our ability to stay present, maintain relaxed attention, and minimize self-referential thoughts. We can enjoy moments of peace throughout the day no matter our life circumstances.
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