waking up from wellness culture
Wellness culture is one I’ve known a long time, drawn to it in my twenties and entering it hard in my thirties. It’s a culture of crystals and retreats and mala beads and ‘teachers’ and prayers — to name a few of its hallmarks. It’s a culture that I’ve gained from also lost from. It’s a culture that suggests well-being can be gained from accoutrements more than continuous practice. Wear this! Read this! Burn these! and it will get you to same place as that rather dull and unflashy project I think of as showing up. Wellness culture is one that rests on extraction—literal extraction from the earth in the form of crystals and other precious gems, and extraction from other cultures that have honed and nourished their own practices for centuries, unlike many of us white people who have been borne into a sort of blank slate of culture and yearn for deeper practices. It is one that has collected various wisdoms and tools and lumped them together and put price tags on them.
The two times I was most deeply immersed in this culture were at Kripalu, a large retreat center in the Berkeshires where I did my yoga teacher training, and at Esalen, a retreat center on the west coast where I did more training. Both places share similar aspects—workshops on any number of spiritual topics taught by people who range from true masters of their field to those who have branded their way into the venue; amazing food that makes you wish for a private chef who cooked such delicious, healthy meals for you every day; and glittering gift shops full of all of the trappings of wellness culture—sun catchers and Tarot cards and bundles of palo santo and, yes, books, all price marked and sitting next to mugs and t-shirts with the center’s logo.
When I first got to Kripalu for a month-long yoga teacher training, I was ga-ga for that gift shop. But I was on a strict budget so everything in it felt just out of reach. Its inventory held every message and tool of what I thought I wanted to become. Little by little, its allure dimmed. Over the course of the month that I was there, the trappings became less appealing. The people who showed up for weekend retreat wearing all of their overpriced yoga stuff, seemed increasingly silly.
Eventually, I intuited that the building and its trappings, including the shop (and even the glorious dining hall!) was a mere backdrop for the work I was doing. It was, as they say, an inside job. The repeated daily practice of 6 AM to 9 PM was the purpose, and it could have been accomplished nearly as well in a warehouse. Perhaps better, in some ways.
Now, nearly 15 years later, the places beyond the main hall where we practiced that I recall most vividly are my bottom bunk in a communal dorm room and the woods. These were places of sanctuary. Of peace. Of solitude. I grew exponentially in that month, and the unlearning that occurred was as crucial as the learning. I am my highest teacher: that was the crux of what I discovered and this meant a stripping away of putting others on pedestals. Read the books, yes. But eventually, you have to sit with yourself. At a point in my life that had been particularly challenging—my father’s death and a divorce precipitated my time there—I came out infinitely stronger and much more attuned to that self.
Five years later, when I got to Esalen I discovered some of the same workshop teachers, familiar looking seekers, delicious food, an even more stunning backdrop, and, yes, a bookstore. What was different was that my longing for belonging was so fierce that it obscured that inner voice. I listened, instead, to teachers who had the hubris to claim they had the way and who pulled from other traditions without honoring them. I received “a name” from another culture, one that did not truly speak to me, but which in the moment felt like “belonging.” I wore my malas. I bought the crystals. I dove in.
And it did not heal me. Rather, these things masked my wounds. They exacerbated them, feeding a “not enough” mentality that’s been burning since childhood. They kept me from the “chop wood, carry water” work that I know is essential to actual evolution.
Here I pause to say that we all need to evolve. We all need to take care of our inner wounds because they are what is keeping us from doing the collective work that so urgently needs to be done to save this world. The therapy I’ve had in my life — and there have been hundreds of hours—has been incredibly worth while. The meditation I do daily is very worth while. The yoga I practice, which is less about poses and more about Being In My Body and Out of My Head, is worth while. The time spent under the sky, in the trees, near water—priceless.
I also acknowledge that we all have our own on-ramp into wellness culture. Sometimes it’s physical pain. Often it’s psychic pain. Some of us are natural wanderers. And getting into the culture is not a bad thing; there are most definitely lessons to be learned, wisdom to access. Retreat centers like Kripalu and Esalen can provide a spark to begin, or a place to recharge. The trick is not to get stuck on the onramp; be sure to get on the actual highway. Don’t visit the gift shop and never enter the museum. Worse yet, don’t avoid or repress or your own creative instincts because you think visiting the museum is enough. Ongoing practice is what will sustain you to do the work this world needs. And that cannot be bought.
I often listen to talks from Upaya Zen Center. Its founder Joan Halifax is about as frank a speaker as they come. Now in her 70s, she has been a leader in the areas of prison chaplaincy, end of life care, and, now, climate action. Prior to Covid, she annually led a trip, mostly on foot, to bring medical care to villages in the high Himalayas. She was recently arrested in Washington, DC for protesting in the Capitol. She is fierce, no nonsense, and doesn’t suffer fool’s lightly. Roshi Joan is increasingly frustrated by our obsession with self improvement. WAKE UP, PEOPLE! she nearly spat in a recent talk. Go to therapy, yes. Figure out what’s ailing you. But do it fast because we need all hands on deck!
We find the teachers we need. In Buddhist circles, many are drawn to the loving, gentle nature of Thich Nhat Hanh. Others by the non-nonsense, humorous tone of Pema Chodron. For me, there is something about Roshi Joan’s anger that feels true to this time. To me, it is what is called for right now. And so I listen.
I don’t wear mala any more, just a turquoise ring that came from my grandma and reminds me of her. I maintain a small alter that has a simple Buddha and Kuan Yin on it, along with stones found on travels and pinecones and seeds of all types. In the summer, there are flowers from my garden. There are incense that I purchased when I visited Upaya, which doesn’t have a gift shop but has a few items for sale, mainly re-printings of talks, and an unmonitored donation box. The point of these items is to remind me to let my heart rest and regain its clarity so that my whole being can continue to do the work of the world. This is why we’re here.
The money and time spent in wellness culture are desperately needed elsewhere. I’m reminded of the thought I often have after seeing a blockbuster movie: How much did that cost? What else could be done with that money? There is so much in the world that is worthy of our attention, that can be our teacher, that yearns for our resources to be turned in its direction. We need collective action, not the personal branding that is a sort of empire building essential to gift shop mentality. This isn’t personal. We are all in this together. And the time is now.
Notes:
Joan Halifax’s recent talk: https://www.upaya.org/2022/12/tanahashi-halifax-rohatsu-green-dharma-1-n/
American Detox is a book about some of these ideas that came out last year.
No friendships were intended to be harmed in the writing of this blog! It’s food for thought — mine and yours! <3
