Mark: Most people think mindfulness is about finding calm and escaping the world's problems. What if that’s completely wrong? What if it’s actually about gearing up for a fight—a way to turn anger and grief into fuel for real, lasting change? Michelle: Wow, that’s a hot take. So, meditation isn't about blissing out on a cushion, it's about preparing for battle? I like it. That sounds much more useful for the world we're actually living in. Mark: That's the radical idea at the heart of Real Change: Mindfulness to Heal Ourselves and the World by Sharon Salzberg. Michelle: And Salzberg is a giant in this field, right? She co-founded the Insight Meditation Society and has been a leading voice in bringing these practices to the West for decades. Mark: Exactly. And this book, published in 2020, feels like her direct response to the anxiety and division of our times. She argues that meditation isn't a retreat; it's basic training for engaging with a difficult world. Michelle: Okay, I'm intrigued but also skeptical. Anger as fuel? My experience with anger is that it’s corrosive. How does Salzberg suggest we use it without getting burned?

Mark: She starts by reframing it. She quotes the activist Soraya Chemaly, who says anger is a "signal emotion." It’s like an emotional immune system, warning us of indignity, threat, or harm. It’s a sign that a boundary has been crossed and something needs to be addressed. Michelle: A signal, not just noise. I can see that. It’s the energy that says, "This is not okay." But that energy can easily curdle into hatred or burnout. Mark: Absolutely. And that's where the mindfulness part comes in. Salzberg tells this incredibly powerful story about a social justice advocate named Mallika Dutt. In the late 90s, Mallika was visiting a friend in a hospital in India and she stumbled into the burn unit. Michelle: Oh no. Mark: The unit was filled with women who were victims of what's known as "bride burning." They had been doused in kerosene and set on fire by their husbands or in-laws, often for something as trivial as an unpaid dowry. It was a rampant, horrific form of domestic violence. Michelle: That's just… unimaginable. I can't even fathom the kind of rage and helplessness you'd feel seeing that. Mark: Exactly. Mallika felt this immense, searing outrage. But instead of letting that anger consume her or lead to despair, she recognized it as a clear signal: a profound injustice was happening. That fire, that righteous anger, became the catalyst for her to found an organization called Breakthrough. Michelle: Breakthrough… I’ve heard of them. They do incredible work on gender equality using media and pop culture. Mark: Yes, and it all started from that moment of channeled outrage. The anger wasn't the end point; it was the ignition. It provided the energy and the clarity to build something that has since helped countless people. It’s a perfect example of what Salzberg means by transforming anger into courage. Michelle: That's a crucial distinction. The anger isn't the goal, it's the rocket fuel. But what about the other side of that coin? What about grief? Grief doesn't feel like fuel. It feels like an anchor. It’s depleting. Mark: It is. And Salzberg acknowledges that. She doesn't suggest we should try to spin grief into something positive. Instead, she argues for the power of simply being with it, which in itself builds a different kind of strength: resilience. The story that comes to mind is the Thai Cave Rescue from 2018. Michelle: Right, where the young soccer team was trapped for weeks. I remember being glued to the news. Mark: Twelve boys and their coach, trapped in a flooded cave for eighteen days. They had no food, limited oxygen, and were in complete darkness. It’s a situation of pure, terrifying helplessness. Michelle: A parent's worst nightmare. Mark: But their coach, Ekapol Chanthawong, had spent time as a Buddhist monk. And in that cave, he guided the boys in meditation. Not to magically solve the problem, but to manage their terror and, critically, to conserve their physical energy. They couldn't fight their way out, they couldn't flee. Their only option was to endure. Michelle: So the meditation wasn't about feeling good, it was a survival strategy. Mark: It was the ultimate survival strategy. It helped them stay calm, slow their breathing, and use less oxygen. When the rescuers finally found them, they were shocked at how composed the boys were. They had faced the abyss of grief and fear, and through this practice of presence, they found the resilience to survive. The mother of the coach had a quote that Salzberg includes: "Tranquility itself is not freedom from the storm but peace within it." Michelle: Peace within the storm. That’s a powerful reframe. It’s not about waiting for the rain to stop, it’s about learning to navigate the flood. Mark: And that ability to navigate, that capacity to act even when you're in the middle of the storm, is what Salzberg calls 'agency.' But here's the twist: she argues you can't truly find your own power until you realize you're not acting alone.

Michelle: Okay, what does that mean, exactly? It sounds a bit abstract. How does my ability to act depend on other people? Mark: It’s about realizing that our actions, even the smallest ones, ripple out and affect a whole web of connections we're not even aware of. And that restoring someone else's agency can be one of the most powerful things we can do. She tells this very small, very human story that I can't get out of my head. Michelle: I love a small, human story. Let's hear it. Mark: She was in New York City with a friend who was newly sober. A man who was clearly homeless approached them and asked for money. The friend was hesitant, worried the man might use the money for alcohol, but he still wanted to help. Michelle: A classic modern dilemma. What do you do? Mark: Instead of just giving him cash or walking away, the friend said, "I'd be happy to buy you something to eat. Let's go into this deli, and you can pick out whatever you want." Michelle: Ah, so he offered help, but with a boundary. Mark: But it was more than that. The man's face lit up. He went into the deli and was just elated. He savored the process of choosing his meal. And Salzberg’s friend realized the most important thing he had given the man wasn't the food. It was the choice. Michelle: The agency. Mark: The agency. For a moment, he wasn't a beggar receiving a handout. He was a person with preferences, a customer making a decision. The friend had switched on, as Salzberg puts it, "a glimmer of self-worth." He recognized the man's humanity by restoring his ability to choose. Michelle: Wow. That’s… that’s profound. It reframes charity completely. It’s not just about giving things, it’s about restoring dignity. And that only happens when you see the other person as a full human being, not just a problem to be solved. Mark: Exactly. And the flip side is that we often fail to see that humanity because of our own mental firewalls. Salzberg brings up this brilliant riddle to illustrate the point. It was created by the psychologist Mahzarin Banaji. Are you ready? Michelle: Lay it on me. Mark: A father and his son are in a car accident. The father dies at the scene. The son is badly injured and rushed to the hospital. In the operating room, the surgeon looks at the boy and says, "I can't operate on this boy. He's my son." How is this possible? Michelle: Okay… wait. The father is dead. The surgeon says "he's my son." Um… is it a ghost? No. Is it… two fathers? Maybe he has two dads? Mark: That's what a lot of people guess. It's a common modern answer. But the riddle was first posed decades ago. The answer is much simpler. Michelle: I’m stumped. What is it? Mark: The surgeon is his mother. Michelle: Oh! Oh my god. Of course! Wow. I have to admit, my brain probably would have short-circuited on that riddle too. It's unsettling how deep those biases run. The default image for "surgeon" in my head was immediately male. Mark: For most people, it is. Banaji found that even in recent years, a huge percentage of people, including women, don't get it right away. It shows how these unconscious stereotypes create blind spots. We literally can't see the connection that's right in front of us because of a story our brain is telling us. We separate ourselves from others based on these flawed, automatic judgments. Michelle: And if we can't even see a simple connection in a riddle, how are we supposed to build real-world connections to solve complex problems? That’s a scary thought. Mark: That's the million-dollar question, and Salzberg's answer is a word that's often misunderstood: equanimity.

Michelle: Okay, stop. Equanimity sounds so passive. Like you just don't care. It sounds like the opposite of the fiery anger you were talking about earlier. Is that what she means? Mark: Not at all. This is the most common misconception. She defines equanimity not as indifference, but as balance. It’s the ability to feel the full intensity of life—the joy, the grief, the anger, the love—without being swept away by it. It’s the gyroscope that keeps you upright in the storm. Michelle: A gyroscope. I like that metaphor. It’s not still; it’s in dynamic balance. Mark: Precisely. And she tells the best story to make this concept real and not just some lofty spiritual goal. It comes from the Holistic Life Foundation, an after-school program in Baltimore. They teach kids mindfulness and meditation. There was an eight-year-old girl in the program named Janaisa. Michelle: An eight-year-old meditator. I'm already impressed. Mark: Janaisa had a history of getting into fights. If another kid made fun of her, she would immediately lash out. One day in the gym, another girl said something mean to her. And Janaisa, true to form, grabbed the girl and slammed her against the wall. Michelle: Oh, so the meditation wasn't working. Mark: Wait for it. The program director, who was watching, saw this and thought, "Here we go again." But then, something different happened. Janaisa had the girl pinned against the wall, and she just… paused. She held her there for a second, looked her in the eye, and then let her go. She took a breath and said, loud enough for everyone to hear… Michelle: What did she say? Mark: "You'd better be glad I meditate." Michelle: [Laughs] That's incredible! An eight-year-old has better emotional regulation than most adults! She felt the anger, she acted on it initially, but then she found that space. The pause. Mark: That pause is equanimity in action. She didn't suppress her anger. She felt it, fully. But in that moment of balance, she was able to choose not to be consumed by it. She could hold the intensity without it tipping her over into more violence. Michelle: This is the key, isn't it? This is how people like the Parkland students or other long-term activists avoid becoming what Salzberg calls a 'culture of martyrdom.' They don't deny the pain or the anger, but they find a way to balance it so they can stay in the fight. Mark: Exactly. It prevents burnout. Salzberg quotes the CEO of the END Fund, Ellen Agler, who says, "It’s more powerful to give from overflow than to give from a place of depletion." Equanimity is what allows you to keep your heart open to the world's suffering without letting your own well get drained dry. It's the ultimate tool for sustainable action.

Mark: When you put it all together, it’s a kind of three-step dance for engaging with the world. First, you learn to harness the fire of your own difficult emotions—your anger and your grief—as fuel. Michelle: Then, you use that fuel to act, but you do it with the understanding that your agency, your power, is deeply tied to everyone else's. You have to break down those mental walls that create 'us' and 'them'. Mark: And finally, to keep going without collapsing, you cultivate equanimity. That inner balance that lets you hold both the horror of bride burning and the joy of a child's breakthrough, all at the same time. It's the skill that allows you to stay in the dance for the long haul. Michelle: It really challenges the conventional idea of what it means to change the world. It’s not just about protesting in the streets or donating money; it’s about the profound inner work you have to do to even be able to show up authentically and sustainably. Mark: It’s the real change that has to happen inside before we can make real change outside. Michelle: The question it leaves me with is, what's the one small act of agency I can choose today, knowing it ripples outward? It could be as simple as offering someone a choice in a deli. Mark: A powerful question to sit with. It reminds me of that famous story of the person throwing starfish back into the ocean. When a cynic says, "You can't possibly make a difference," they pick one up, toss it in, and say, "I made a difference to that one." Michelle: And that's where it starts. Not with saving the world, but with saving one starfish. With one moment of connection. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.