You don't have to run. But you do have to jump.

Meditation is so hard. Years ago I came to believe that a good life requires self-knowledge of a certain sort—non-judgmental awareness of my human and spiritual aspects. An informed awareness, I was told by a mentor, brings with it the possibility, maybe even the guarantee, of healing. Other peer mentors prescribed meditation as the ideal form of continuing this education. So I’ve been trying to suit up and show up and sit.

But I’m a world-class fidgeter, not to mention incredibly distractible. I’m meditating one minute, then pitching clothes into the dryer the next. What just happened?

Okay, not getting hijacked by the laundry, or a family member’s request, or that weird thump from the street, or the urgent need to check my e-mail again, that’s relatively manageable. Pick a time. Choose a space where I’m not likely to be interrupted. (The side of the tub will do in a pinch. Trust me.) Sit. Sit. Sit.

So far, so good. But then there’s the inner stuff. The monkey mind. The racing thoughts. I may be in the chair, but my head is in the kitchen starting dinner, or ruminating on past events or possible coming attractions. The cure is to simply watch the thoughts, neither pushing them away nor grabbing onto them for embellishment. To stay with watching them rather than working them up, I repeatedly come back to my breath. This is a challenge, but it’s do-able. There’s even a rhythm: It gets away, you reel it in. It gets away, you reel it in.

But then there’s the moment when there’s just me, myself and I, and I really, really do not want to sink down into my inner self. It feels just too…too risky. What might I see, feel, hear? Yikes! Run! says some part of me, though this message tends not to come as words, but as a gut-clenching physical sensation. What next?

I’ve come to think of this as the cold water moment. I’ve been told it’s common, maybe even universal, among meditators. It’s the moment when I need to take the plunge, just like when I’m swimming and the water’s cold and I must just…GO!…knowing that there will be a shock, and I will gasp.

More and more I’m able to do this. And I’m so glad, because the willingness to plunge in, endure the gasp, and stay the course, informs the rest of my life. With this work I am exercising my emotional-spiritual muscles. I grow stronger. And then I am able to face challenges with the same courage.

There’s nothing of the world that can guarantee me comfort or safety. But there is something in me, of me, that can—if I’m willing to jump in and sit with it. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. No human does. But at least now I know where the path is, and what to do when the cold water moment comes.

What’s your experience? Where does your courage come from? How do you build up your inner strength?