I first learned the word equanimity at a Vipassana meditation retreat in 2000 with S.N. Goenka and his teachers. For 10 days I sat in silence, observing sensations without judgment.

The practice began with focusing on the breath at the tip of the nose, building concentration. Then we moved to scanning the body, part by part, noticing each sensation — pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral — without clinging to or pushing away. This was my introduction to the teaching that the root of suffering is craving and aversion, and that freedom lies in meeting all sensations with balance.

It was, honestly, one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The idea felt foreign. I had grown up in a world of comfort and privilege. I was used to pursuing what felt good, not sitting in discomfort. My body hurt from hours on the floor. My mind spun with questions I was too shy to ask. Still, I stayed.

Over time I noticed layers of tension begin to release. It felt as though I was shedding years of heaviness, what Goenka called samskaras — the mental and emotional imprints we carry from past actions and karma. When the retreat ended, I left feeling lighter. Maybe it was relief that it was over. Or maybe I had truly let go of something. Either way, I knew the practice of equanimity had shifted me.

Craving, Aversion, and the Brain

Recently, I was listening to a podcast on brain science, dopamine, and addiction, and it struck me how these teachings echo what yogis have said for centuries.

We live in a culture built around craving and aversion. We seek comfort and pleasure. We avoid what feels unpleasant. Even algorithms feed us more of what we like. Each dopamine hit makes us crave the next one, and soon the scale tips out of balance.

But the opposite is also true. When we allow ourselves to experience discomfort, we reduce the pull of craving and help reset the brain’s natural balance. Dr. Anna Lembke, author of Dopamine Nation, describes this as the pain–pleasure see-saw: lean too far into pleasure, and the brain compensates with pain to restore equilibrium. But when we choose to face discomfort — through exercise, honest work, or sitting with difficult emotions — the see-saw moves back toward center. That center is where steadiness, resilience, and true contentment live.

Yoga Philosophy and the Kleshas

This circles back to equanimity and the teachings of yoga. In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, the kleshas — afflictions of the mind — are described. Among them are raga (craving or attachment, like the dopamine-driven pull toward reward) and dvesha (aversion, our resistance to discomfort). Both take us out of balance.

Yoga invites us instead toward sattva — the quality of clarity, harmony, and balance. Sattva isn’t about perfection. It’s the steady brightness that comes when we live in alignment with ourselves.

We cultivate sattva through how we live: the foods we eat, the rhythms we keep, the spaces we create. Fresh foods, honest conversations, nourishing rest, and steady practices all tip the scale toward clarity.

And we cultivate sattva through inner work: by breathing through restlessness, by staying present with discomfort instead of running from it, by showing up with honesty and compassion.

Spaciousness Within

To me, equanimity feels like sattva or spaciousness. It’s what arises when we’re not yanked around by craving or resistance. It’s a steadiness in the body, a calmness in the heart, a clarity in the mind.

And equanimity isn’t numbness. It’s not about ignoring pleasure or denying pain. It’s about holding both with the same steady presence, trusting that they will come and go.

That’s what I carried with me from those ten days of silence. And what I still return to — in yoga, in meditation, in everyday life. Equanimity is balance in action. It’s what makes us lighter, clearer, and more deeply connected to ourselves and to the world around us.