Chapter 8: Environment

The highway stretches ahead, two lanes cutting through West Texas landscape. Mesquite and creosote bush dot the sandy soil on either side. The land is spare, open. Nothing demanding attention.

The hum of tires on pavement creates a steady rhythm. Mile after mile, the same gentle sound. My hands rest easy on the wheel. My breathing settles into the pace of the drive. There’s a quality to this emptiness - not boring, but spacious. Room for the mind to be still.

In the distance, a sign appears. Green and white, announcing Fort Stockton in 45 miles.

Then another. Motel 6. Best Western. The signs start coming faster now.

Golden arches rise against the sky. That particular shade of yellow designed to grab attention from miles away. Red logos. Bright blue. Colors that don’t exist in the desert, colors specifically chosen because the human eye can’t ignore them.

The traffic thickens. An 18-wheeler merges onto the highway. Cars pulling into rest stops. More signs - bigger now, closer together. LED banners flashing gas prices. Digital displays announcing discounts. The visual field fills with competing stimulus.

My hands tighten slightly on the wheel. My focus narrows. I’m still driving the same road at the same speed, but something has changed. My brain is working harder now, filtering through all these signals, determining what matters and what doesn’t. Staying focused on the task - navigating through the traffic.

The alerting system we talked about in Chapter 5 is doing exactly what it evolved to do. New stimulus appears, attention orients toward it, checks if it’s relevant, then moves on. Over and over. This is how we stay safe.

But it’s also exhausting.

It’s just like when I learned to ride my bike. A car turning onto the previously quiet street would make my hands tighten on the grips. The sound and vibration moving through my body, pulling my attention. Not impossible to learn with cars around - I eventually did. But harder. The environment mattered.

Eventually I got comfortable enough that traffic didn’t bother me. But in those early days of learning? The quiet street made a difference.

Preparing the Environment

We’ve talked about preparing the body - making sure the elephant is in the right state before we meditate. We’ve talked about using breath as a tool to shift that state when we need to.

Now let’s check the environment.

Is the space you’re trying to meditate in more like the empty West Texas highway or Fort Stockton? Is it the quiet street where I learned to bike, or the one with traffic?

This isn’t about finding some perfect meditation space. It’s about noticing what you’re working with. Because meditating while looking out at sparse landscape is different from meditating surrounded by flashing signs and movement. Not because one is “better” in some absolute sense. But because one environment is competing for your attention while the other isn’t.

In Buddhist teaching, they talk about sense doors - the pathways through which stimulus enters our awareness. Vision. Sound. Touch. Taste. Smell. Each one is a channel that can either support our practice or compete with it.

Let’s start with the most dominant one.

The Visual Field

Your visual field is the most receptive part of your sensory input. It’s constantly scanning, processing, alerting you to movement and change. When you sit down to meditate, everything in your field of vision is competing for that bottom-up attention we talked about in Chapter 5.

The TV, even when it’s off. The window with movement outside. The clutter on the desk. The colors and shapes and patterns. Each one a potential hook for your attention.

This is why so many meditation traditions have developed specific approaches to the visual field. In Soto Zen, practitioners sit facing a blank wall. In other traditions, people close their eyes. There isn’t one right answer - the principle is the same: reduce what’s competing.

Some days I sit with my eyes closed. Other days that feels uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic. An eye mask can help - it’s gentle pressure, soft darkness, nothing to process. But sometimes just facing a plain wall is enough. Or sitting where my field of vision is calm - a blank space, soft colors, nothing moving.

The question isn’t “What’s the perfect setup?” It’s “What’s pulling my attention right now?” And then: “Is there a simple adjustment that would help?”

Sound

Vision is dominant, but sound runs a close second. Our ears are always on, always monitoring. And unlike vision, you can’t close your ears.

A sudden noise - a door slamming, a phone notification, someone’s voice - triggers that alerting response immediately. Your attention orients to the sound before you can decide whether you care about it. That’s the system working as designed.

But sustained, unpredictable sound is exhausting for the elephant. Traffic noise where you never know when the next car will pass. Conversation in the next room where voices rise and fall. Music with changing rhythms and melodies.

The brain works better with pattern. The hum of a fan. White noise. The steady rhythm of rain. Sound that’s consistent enough that the alerting system can settle down, can stop checking every change.

When I can’t find a quiet space, headphones with white noise help. Not because silence is required, but because predictable sound is easier to work with than random stimulus.

Temperature, smell, physical comfort - these matter too, though usually less urgently. Too hot or too cold, and the body sends constant signals that pull attention. An uncomfortable cushion. Tight clothing. The elephant can’t settle when it’s physically uncomfortable.

It’s About Awareness, Not Perfection

Here’s what I’m not saying: you need a perfect meditation space to practice.

I’ve meditated in airports. In hotel rooms with thin walls. In my living room with my family moving around in the next room. It’s possible. Sometimes it’s even useful - you learn to work with distraction, to find steadiness in the midst of stimulus.

But when you’re learning? When you’re trying to discover that subtle quality of balance, that shift from looking to seeing? The quiet street makes it easier.

You can’t always control your environment. Sometimes you’re on the Fort Stockton highway and there’s no empty desert nearby. That’s okay. Just notice it. Know that the car is coming. Your hands might tighten on the grips. Your learning might be a little harder in that moment.

But when you can make adjustments - when you can face the wall instead of the window, put on the eye mask, use the white noise, sit in the cooler room - why not?

We’ve prepared the body. We’ve used breath to shift our state. Now we’re preparing the environment. Not perfectly, but intentionally.

The elephant is settled. The breath is aligned. The sense doors are calm. The empty street is as ready as we can make it.

So what actually happens when we sit down?