My Taylor has always been James. Every song from his early Sweet Baby James album was deeply etched into my young heart, where they remain today, ready to be re-activated at any time. So it was to my great surprise that, when faced with a recent mindfulness challenge, it wasn’t “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain” that came to my aid, but the lyrics of another Taylor, played for me by my favorite 9-year old. So what was my challenge and how did one Taylor’s wisdom suddenly usurp the other’s?

Over the past few weeks, I have been both teaching and learning various mindfulness practices, seemingly at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. Teaching others the mindful practice of cultivating joy and happiness. Learning how, as teachers, to help others hold impermanence, grief, and loss. The learning involved reflecting on our own experience and I noticed how I tend to gloss over my own sadness. Particularly as it relates to change. Whether planned or unplanned, desired or not, change brings loss. Sometimes the loss of what’s been, sometimes the loss of what might have been, hopes and dreams for something to grow or flower in a particular way, a path not taken, a journey that won’t be completed.

Simultaneously, I was also working on practicing what I teach, cultivating joy and happiness. Really seeing and experiencing all the beauty and joy that exists in each and every moment, if we pay attention. But this sadness thing was really messing me up! I kept working on expanding my awareness to try and take it all in, only to realize there is no such thing as mindful multitasking. I was intellectually acknowledging the presence of my sadness but emotionally ignoring it like someone at a party I didn’t want to talk to.

Thankfully, the mindful practice of compassion, particularly self-compassion, provided support. Sadness really needed to be seen and felt. Dashed dreams needed the respect of a few tears. And I discovered that what the Dalai Lama said is true, “If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” Giving myself compassion actually brought me happiness. Like giving a good friend the gift of your full presence during a difficult moment, feeling that connectedness, that shared humanity. Befriending myself unlocked that for me. I didn’t feel alone and unseen. I felt validated, still vulnerable, and also incredibly happy that I was vulnerable, that I was capable of having all of these feelings. No longer in a binary emotional struggle of my own making, trying to force myself to choose happy over sad.

And with that, the newly etched lyric that joyfully sprang forth from my heart was: “Yeah, we’re happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. It’s miserable and magical, oh yeah!” (Taylor Swift, 22, Red album).

Here’s to your finding mindful inspiration in new and surprising places (and to holding more than one Taylor in your heart)!