Mindfulness and the locus of joy

reflections on inner peace after a summer of travel

February 2025.

I was doing my research on the interrelationships between pain, anxiety, and depression for a uni presentation and came across this paper describing the effect of early separation anxiety on later depression. The point of the paper is that rather than being a direct effect, early childhood separation anxiety mediates its effect through affecting locus of control (external vs internal) and affecting problem solving skills. In other words, when there was a healthy internal locus of control and confidence in one’s own problem solving skills, the negative predictive value of early separation anxiety on depression was reduced to below statistical significance. Of course, the two are also related; presumably, to effectively solve a problem, you must believe in your ability to influence external events. This is another name for ‘learned helplessness'.

Internal locus of control refers to that the individuals consider themselves as responsible for the events they experience mostly. However, external locus of control refers to that the individuals think other persons or other factors like chance responsible for the events they experience mostly (Kennedy, Lynch, & Schwab, 1998; Yeşilyaprak, 1990).

On the subject of internal vs external locus of control however, I’m not convinced that having a complete internal locus of control is a good thing. For example, guilt and regret both stem from perceived responsibility for the way things have turned out (internal locus of control).

Conversely, many things are actually beyond our locus of control and having some degree of perspective about the chaotic and unpredictable nature of the universe is both realistic and helpful.

The most enlightened view that I can think of at this stage is to know that while we cannot control external things, we can often control our interpretation and reactions of them. This appears to be a running theme amongst Holocaust survivors that describe contentment despite the traumas they’ve experienced (like Viktor Frankl or Eddie Jaku), and the Stoics. (Viktor Frankl wrote Man’s Search for Meaning and went on to found logotherapy, a school of psychoanalysis)

Our entire conscious experience is merely an interpretation of the mind. Infants are born with the fear of falling and loud noises, everything else is learnt (see videos of infants playing with snakes). Pain is only interpreted as a noxious stimulus because of the way our nervous system is wired; wired a different way and the same electrical impulse might be interpreted as pleasure (e.g. masochistic behaviours). It would be fascinating for neuroscientists to tease out how the brain encodes for valency e.g. what feels good (+dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin) vs bad (low dopamine, dynorphins etc.), which the amygdala is purported to be involved in.

But learning to interpret the world in a way that is conducive to inner peace is difficult to spell out. Mindfulness, being aware of the thoughts going through the mind and the sensations going through the body, certainly seems to be a foundational element. I suppose the reason for this is understanding cause and effect better, just like how we describe in CBT...

Situation > implicit beliefs/memories + situational thoughts > reactions / feelings

Without awareness of the implicit beliefs and thoughts, the reaction is unanticipated and confusing, which leads to a loss of control, and motivates avoidance behaviour (trying to limit the situation rather than our reactions to it). Avoidance is often interpreted as a sign of anxious disorder or trauma. Understanding and training the mediating psychological factors may ultimately restore locus of control and hence limits avoidance behaviour.

The mindful state can be difficult to achieve depending on the circumstance, e.g. in an anxious/aroused state. It requires a kind of reflective introspection which may be done alone or with a talking partner that gives you the room to think and helps you with what a Buddhist might call ‘right view’ or ‘right thinking’.

The mindful state, once achieved, should be followed by a kind of introspective self-parenting. This is a part that I think requires a lot of wisdom, because it involves reminding ourselves of the core truths of life, which is only learnt by personal insight or through teachers. Different people will come to different insights. And each general truth must be reframed and applied into the specific situation to help.

While ‘locus of control’ has become an important part of the psychological lexicon, I believe a more important term is internal ‘locus of joy’ or ‘locus of wellbeing’, which is in turn mediated by an internal locus of control over our reactions and feelings. What I mean by this is that a truly happy person should find joy in their experience and the fascinatingly infinite ways we can process the world around us, rather than needing the world to be a particular way. Since the ability to think and perceive is with us until we die (‘I think therefore I am’), it is immune to the chaos of external things. When one door of experience closes, another opens. When Stephen Hawking was paralysed physically, his mind was still able to roam free.

One of the hard problems of life (which features heavily in buddhist philosophy) is attachment. Attachment basically means that we try to hold on to one experience (a way of experiencing the world) - e.g. I loved someone once, and now they are gone, but I miss them and still want to have that experience again (attachment to the past). Or I need my family to be healthy and love me in my life for me to be happy (attachment to the present). Or I believe that I need to succeed in my career to prove my worth to other people (attachment to a future vision + attachment to others’ opinions). In all cases of which there are a myriad different types, attachment is an externalised locus of joy.

This is not to say one can’t be happy while being attached. But it only works so long as we can possess the things we are attached to. Appropriately, the word ‘happiness’, comes from the old Norse word ‘hap’ for ‘luck, chance, fortune or fate.’ Hence, happiness is a fragile, narrow path to walk, based on the concurrence of attachments aligned with chance, that could be lost at the very next moment. When we doubt our ability to attain our attachment, we feel anxiety. When we are dispossessed of our attachments we feel anger (if we felt it to be unjust) or depression (if we feel helpless given an external locus of control).

But the more under-appreciated problem with attachment is that it often blinds us to the infinite richness of possible experiences.

The tendency for attachment is an integral part of memory and idealism. Those that can vividly remember their pasts or that can envision the future are naturally prone to attachment, hence why many gifted, imaginative minds can be also emotionally very vulnerable, seeing the world not as it is but as it could be. Without guidance, consciousness becomes a source of suffering, and then people often seek numbing agents (alcohol, drugs, doom-scrolling, addictions) to dissociate. In certain kinds of Buddhist meditation, the aim is to explicitly 'empty the mind.'

Let go of your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty, and become wind.

- Legend of Korra

But I believe that this is just a stepping stone, a temporary solution. Life’s richness comes from the richness of conscious experience, in thinking and feeling. In my meditation, I do not seek to empty my mind (such as focusing entirely on my breathing), but draw awareness of all the parts of my mind from a higher vantage point. Using the mind itself to understand the parts of the mind from an independent perspective is called metacognition. The goal is not to cease the flow of thought, but rather let it run freely and rid it of obstacles that cause turbulence.

Obstacles like regrets, longings and other kinds of attachment suffering prevent people from fully immersing in the present and the multitude of experiences yet to come.

There is a Zen koan I learnt during a tea ceremony in Japan that illustrates the meaning of acceptance and letting go. ...

One day, a Zen master and his student were sitting together, having tea. During their conversation, the Zen master forcefully knocks over his cup, spilling tea onto the table and the floor.

There was a moment of quiet as the student contemplated the mess, then replied: “Willows are green, flowers are red.”

The Zen master smiled back.

An American expat who had spent some twenty years in a teahouse in Uji related the story to me as we drank freshly-milled matcha. Despite being plain-coloured, ‘misshapen’ and rough to the touch, the cups we drank from had a dignity and beauty to them. Embodying the philosophy of Wabi Sabi, I realised they were so much more interesting and unique than the perfect symmetrical patterns and polished ceramics that I was used to. They spoke for the ‘beauty’ of imperfection, similar to the use of gold lacquer to highlight the cracks of broken pottery in Kintsugi art.

kintsugi bowl