(Re)Learning to breathe

Small lessons from respiratory adventures

For an action so innate to life, breathing is underappreciated. Breathing is an intricate dance of countless sensory inputs, neurological signals, and muscular movements that result in anatomical magic. Yet we rarely think about our breathing. We don’t regularly stop to consider how we breathe or, importantly, how we change the way we breathe in different situations.

I am no exception. Breathing has always been far down on my list of priorities. I planned to continue doing it, but I didn't give it any more thought than that. Then over the last six months, the topic of breathing — and of breathing technique — has popped up repeatedly in my life. For reasons good and bad, I've been forced to reconsider my breath.

Toward the end of 2023, I became more interested in Zen Buddhist meditation. Meditation is attractive to me as a method for remaining present, and, of the various meditative approaches I've encountered, Zen Buddhism seems to offer the least dogmatic or fanciful version. I've never achieved the direct benefits many people proclaim from meditation (inner peace always slips through my fingers), but I strongly identify with the tenets of meditation. Discipline, calm, reflection, and presence all clearly correlate with a life of practiced mediation. That is a life to which I aspire. Meditation, in that way, feels like a barometer for my success in fostering a positive life.

In Zen Buddhist practice, breath is, alongside posture, the foundation of meditation. With those two pieces in place, a practitioner can begin tying down their fickle brain to the present moment. "To regulate the mind,” wrote the Venerable Thich Thien-An, “the first and most effective method is awareness of breathing.”¹ Rather than think about the future or the past, the breath helps anchor us to things as they pass.

The most common introduction to breath work in Zen meditation is simple breath counting. Once seated in meditation posture, the practitioner simply counts their breaths from one to ten without breaking concentration. The breaths should come naturally and without exaggeration, one at a time. You could try it now. Try counting your breaths to ten while focusing only on your breath. If you notice yourself thinking about anything besides the count, return to one and try again.

Zen meditation and breathing are difficult. If you struggled to count to ten, don't worry. Masterful monks spend their entire lives practicing their breath. "Breath counting is not the kindergarten of Zen," wrote Robert Aitken Roshi². The breath is something to be worked at, potentially forever. I spent several months practicing this form of breathing while meditating, and while I never came close to being able to sit consistently counting, the practice did become easier. I was able to tune out some of my mind's ceaseless wandering and sit only with my breath. That experience was a small revelation.

I hit a major roadblock with my Zen practice just as it was taking shape. Around New Year's, I experienced an acute episode in my nervous system that derailed much of my life. My physical therapist would later call it a 'chronic cascading nerve entrapment' brought on by an aggravating vertebral fracture. In simpler terms, my nervous and muscular systems went haywire to avoid pain created by stresses on my spine. Those systems had good intentions to protect me, but their reactions created new sources of pain and tension throughout my body.

Part of my recovery has been to learn new ways of structured breathing. Our breath is essential for every action in the body, especially when we use our core muscles, which is almost all the time. Our core is engaged anytime we pick something up, open a door, turn around, or walk. And our 'core' is not just limited to the obvious muscles, the abs and obliques. There are dozens of muscles working in tandem to achieve these everyday tasks. Because of their proximity to our diaphragm, lungs, spine, and spinal cord, these muscles are also influenced by our breath.

Under normal conditions, our bodies know how to integrate our breath and movements. Children intuitively know how to 'brace their stomach' when they expect to get punched by a friend. We do the same thing all the time without noticing it —when we turn around suddenly or reach out to pick up a heavy item off the kitchen counter. We know how and when to use the air in our body as a tool to perform basic movements. And it's not just inhaling; releasing the breath is just as important. Our bodies cannot be in a guarded state of contraction all the time, so our exhalation lets overworked muscles relax.

Breath and anatomical security go hand in hand. For reasons I have yet to fully understand, though, my body is not currently able to tense and release at the appropriate times. It has remained in a rigid lockdown for over two months. Several medical professionals have recommended that intentional breathing can help get my system back on track. So even though it's entirely contrary to Zen breathing, I now lay on my back four times a day and go through a few minutes of deep, controlled breathing, emphasizing filling out and releasing my entire core. This exercise is meant to help encourage solid core engagement and then signal to my muscles that they are allowed to fully relax. Inhale, exhale. Activation, release.

How useful this exercise is on its own, I have no idea. However, I have determined that structured breathing is an essential part of my healing process. At the root of my problem is a slew of bad postures and habits that I developed over decades. To overwrite those undesirable movements, I have to take back ownership of unconscious and conscious physical actions. I need to understand my body before I can rewrite the ways I use my body. And, if I have learned anything, that starts with the breath.

My recent limited mobility has also driven me to explore new activities. Even in constant painful tension, my body has begged for movement. Anything involving sitting or standing added to the aggravation, so I looked to swimming as a potential option. Swimming is great for people with lumbar spine issues. Our bodies are buoyant in water, so the spine is given a break. Floating de-loads the pressure we place on the joints and creates almost no impact. It's also great for employing under-utilized muscles thanks to the different swim strokes. So in late January, I went to a Dick's Sporting Goods and bought swimming goggles and a head cap before heading to my local YMCA.

The only problem was that I did not really know how to swim — at least not properly. The last time I'd completed a full pool lap was at Barbara Denny's Swim School when I was six. And even back then, I struggled to breathe correctly when bringing my head in and out of the water. I had a habit of panicking, before throwing a fit in the shallow end. I must have learned eventually because my dad says I received a belt loop in Cub Scouts for swimming a mile, but I have no recollection of that accomplishment.

My first attempt at the YMCA suggested my father was mistaken. I only managed one lap. Then I got out of the pool and sat in the hot tub for twenty minutes while watching several geriatric swimmers glide back and forth with ease. The next day — armed with a few YouTube how-to's on correct breathing technique — I tried again. And failed. Every time I put my head under water some chlorinated spray would sneak up my nose and I'd come up coughing. For an adult man swimming at a YMCA at 11:30am on a Tuesday, this was embarrassing.

But floating in the pool felt good for my body. My pain was reduced as soon as I submerged myself. So I started doing specific drills while standing in the shallow end of the pool: Breathe in through the mouth, exhale through the nose while crossing the waterline, exhale more consistently while under the water, then repeat. When that didn't work, I looked for clues from other swimmers. I changed from breathing on my right side to breathing on my left. Then I bought a nose plug because someone online said mouth-breathing was superior. For a while, I tried breathing every four strokes instead of two. Whatever it was, I was dead set on finding the key to correct breath technique. Every day I went, and every day I struggled.

Toward the end of February, my body had become much more comfortable in the water. I could swim for more than twenty minutes, though still wearing my nose plug and taking several breaks to catch my breath. When one day I lost that nose plug, though, I felt dejected. Without the plug, my whole breathing technique went out the window. My first instinct was to sit in the hot tub and sulk.

I got in the pool anyways and decided (with a degree of a "fuck it" attitude) I'd do the easiest two-stroke motion and breathe on my dominant side and just go for it. Of course, it worked. Suddenly all the pieces clicked and I could swim breaststroke. The simplest way to breathe in the pool, it seemed, was not through any particular technique. The trick was dispensing with technique altogether.

Whether swimming, meditating, or healing, breath has an intricate role to play in our successes. These three small lessons in breath are a reflection of how much more time I have been focusing on my body over the last few months. My relationship with my physical self has changed, forcing me to reconsider how I pilot my body in daily activities. That’s been an uncomfortable process. The upshot is that I have a newfound appreciation for how our anatomical systems interact.

Breathing, especially, is a complicated process. But that makes sense. Humans are complicated creatures. We can perform an incredible array of feats, both out in the world and in our minds. I find it useful to understand that our breath is not one-size-fits-all in all these exploits. The more we do, the more we have to consider our breath. Even if that means just taking a breather.

1. From Zen Philosophy, Zen Practice

2. Robert Aitken's book Taking the Path to Zen is a great introductory resource about Zen Buddhism. Aikten was also a Japanese prisoner of war during World War II.