The Knicks, Meditation, and the Art of Showing Up

"The seed grows in silence. The tree grows in silence. The soul grows in silence." — Amma (Mata Amritanandamayi)

"Faith is not something to grasp; it is a state to grow into." — Sharon Salzberg

"The Lord is not concerned with results. He looks at our effort." — Maharaj Charan Singh

---

Last night, New York City celebrated.

The Knicks won Game 5 and, after more than fifty years, brought a championship home to a fan base that has been waiting longer than many of its fans have been alive. Watching the reactions, I found myself smiling for people I don't even know. There is something moving about seeing decades of hope, disappointment, loyalty, and persistence finally rewarded. The interviews weren't really about basketball. They were about waiting, believing, and continuing to show up year after year despite having no guarantee that the outcome would ever change.

As I watched, I found myself thinking about meditation. What struck me wasn't that the Knicks finally won. It was that millions of people stayed emotionally invested through all the years when they didn't. Fifty years is a long time to keep showing up for something without any assurance that things will eventually turn around.

The older I get, the more I realize that much of life seems to involve exactly that. We show up, do our best, and then wait. We wait for circumstances to change, for healing, for answers, for opportunities, or simply for clarity about what comes next. Sometimes we are waiting for things that are largely outside our control, and sometimes we are waiting for the results of our own efforts.

Maybe that is why this story resonated with me more than it might have a few years ago.

I have spent most of my career in sales, and sales has a way of humbling you. There are years when everything seems to click. Opportunities become customers, customers become advocates, and deals close. Quotas are met or exceeded, and it is easy to convince yourself that hard work and results always go together.

Then there are years that teach a different lesson. This year, I am working just as hard as I worked during some of my best years. The early mornings are the same. The preparation is the same. The calls, meetings, proposals, and follow-ups are the same. Yet large opportunities that looked promising have stalled, been delayed, gone in another direction, or simply disappeared. More than once, I have caught myself wondering how I can be putting in the same effort and getting such different results.

I suspect most people have asked some version of that question at one time or another. Maybe it has nothing to do with sales. Maybe it is a health challenge that refuses to improve as quickly as you hoped. Maybe it is a family situation, a relationship, or a goal that seems forever out of reach. Whatever form it takes, there are periods in life when it feels like we are trying and trying and trying, and very little appears to be changing.

That is where the teachings of the Path become more than ideas. They become practical.

It is easy to trust when things are going well. It is easy to have faith when life seems to be moving in the direction we want it to go. The real challenge comes when it isn't. One of the things I have always appreciated about the Masters is that they never promised immediate results. They did not tell us that meditation would solve every problem or that spiritual growth would happen on our preferred schedule. Instead, they gave us a practice and a way of living.

The guidance the Masters give us is actually pretty simple. We are asked to meditate every day, live the teachings as best we can, fulfill our responsibilities, and leave the results to the Lord. It sounds simple enough when we read it, but it can be surprisingly difficult when we are deeply invested in a particular outcome. Most of us want reassurance that our efforts are working. We want evidence. We want progress. We want some indication that we are moving toward the future we hope for.

Life rarely works that way. Meditation certainly doesn't.

Anyone who has meditated for years knows there are periods when the practice feels rewarding and periods when it feels routine. There are mornings when the mind settles down and mornings when it seems determined to wander everywhere except where we would like it to be. Yet we continue because the Masters have asked us to continue.

Over time, I have come to believe that meditation is not just teaching us how to sit quietly. It is teaching us how to live. It teaches patience in a world that wants everything immediately. It teaches consistency in a world that often values excitement more than commitment. Most importantly, it teaches us to separate effort from outcome.

That may be one of the hardest lessons of all.

Kathy often reminded us that the Lord looks at our effort. Lately, I have found myself returning to that thought again and again. Not because it guarantees that things will work out exactly the way I want them to, but because it shifts my attention back to the only part that is actually mine to manage: the effort.

I cannot control whether every deal closes. I cannot control whether every plan succeeds. I cannot control every outcome in my life. What I can control is whether I show up. I can control whether I meditate. I can control whether I continue making the effort today, regardless of what happened yesterday.

As I watched the celebrations in New York, I couldn't help wondering how many seasons those fans spent believing that next year might be different. How many times they were disappointed. How many times they started over. And yet they kept showing up.

Perhaps that is what faith looks like in everyday life. Not certainty and not guarantees, but the willingness to continue when there is no proof that continuing will pay off. In many ways, that may be the lesson both sports fans and meditators eventually learn.

Amma wrote that the soul grows in silence. I suspect many other things grow in silence as well. Character grows in silence. Patience grows in silence. Trust grows in silence. Often, the most important growth is taking place long before we can see any evidence of it.

The Knicks finally had their moment after more than fifty years. Most of us are still somewhere in the middle of our own stories. We are still waiting for certain things, hoping for certain things, trying, learning, and showing up day after day without knowing exactly how everything will unfold.

Maybe that is one of the deeper lessons of both meditation and life itself. We do our best, make the effort, and trust that the rest will come in its own time.

And for today, perhaps that is enough.