There's a particular kind of anxiety that arrives when the ground beneath your community starts to feel uncertain. When neighbors become afraid. When the morning news creates a tightness in your chest before you've finished your coffee.I've been thinking a lot lately about two teachers whose work I return to in difficult times: Alan Watts and Thich Nhat Hanh. On the surface, they might seem to offer escape—meditation, acceptance, letting go. But that misreads them entirely.Both understood something essential: true peace is not passivity. And real presence requires us to show up for each other.
The Trap of "Spiritual Bypassing"
Alan Watts was suspicious of using Eastern philosophy as an escape hatch. He warned against what he called "the hoax"—the idea that if we just meditate enough, think positively enough, we can float above the messiness of human life."You cannot get rid of your problems," he said, "because they are your life."This isn't pessimism. It's an invitation to stop waiting for life to feel safe before we engage with it. The anxiety you feel when your community is afraid? That's not a sign you're doing something wrong. It's a sign you're paying attention.
Thich Nhat Hanh and the Birth of "Engaged Buddhism"
Thich Nhat Hanh coined the term "Engaged Buddhism" during the Vietnam War, when his country was being torn apart. He refused the false choice between monastic withdrawal and political rage. Instead, he walked directly into the suffering—helping war victims, rebuilding villages—while maintaining his practice of mindfulness."Meditation is not to escape from society," he wrote, "but to come back to ourselves and see what is going on."What is going on. Not what we wish was going on. Not what we're told is going on. The actual texture of this moment, including its fear and its uncertainty.
When Your Neighbors Are Afraid
There's a specific kind of fear that moves through communities when people don't feel safe. When families worry about being separated. When the knock at the door carries a different weight.If you're not directly affected, you might be tempted to look away. Or you might feel overwhelmed, unsure what to do with the heaviness in your chest.Both Watts and Thich Nhat Hanh would say: stay with it. Not to drown in it, but to let it teach you something about your own capacity for empathy.Watts spoke often about the illusion of the separate self—the sense that your suffering is yours and their suffering is theirs. "You are something the whole universe is doing," he said, "in the same way that a wave is something that the whole ocean is doing."When your neighbor is afraid, that fear is not separate from you. Their children are not separate from yours.
The Practice of Presence
Thich Nhat Hanh's teaching always returned to the breath. Not as escape, but as anchor."Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I smile. Dwelling in the present moment, I know this is a wonderful moment."Wonderful doesn't mean pleasant. It means full of wonder—even when that wonder includes grief, anger, or fear. The practice is to be present to what is, without numbing ourselves or becoming so overwhelmed we can't function.This is harder than it sounds. It's much easier to scroll, to catastrophize, to argue with strangers online, to pour another glass of wine. The practice of staying present—really present—takes courage.
But What Do We Actually Do?
Here's where I think these teachings get misunderstood. Presence isn't inaction. In fact, Thich Nhat Hanh would argue that true presence naturally leads to compassionate action.When you're really present to suffering—your own and others'—you can't help but respond. But your response comes from clarity rather than panic, from love rather than fear.Some ways this might look in practice:Know your neighbors. Actually know them. Learn their names, their children's names. In communities where people feel invisible or afraid, being seen is its own form of protection.Show up locally. Attend community meetings. Support organizations doing direct work. Volunteer. Not as a way to manage your anxiety, but because your presence matters.Be a calm presence. When fear is contagious, so is groundedness. The most helpful people in a crisis aren't the ones with the most information or the loudest opinions. They're the ones who can hold space without adding to the chaos.Educate yourself. Understand the systems that create fear. Know your rights. Know your neighbors' rights. Information shared calmly can be a gift.Take care of yourself. You cannot pour from an empty cup. Thich Nhat Hanh was adamant that self-care isn't selfish—it's necessary. You cannot be present for others if you're depleted.
The River and the Boat
Alan Watts often used the metaphor of a boat on a river. You can fight the current, exhaust yourself trying to control the water. Or you can learn to steer skillfully, working with the flow rather than against it.This isn't resignation. A skilled sailor still has a destination. They just understand that the water will do what the water does, and their job is to navigate with wisdom.The current moment will pass. Another moment will come. The question isn't whether we can stop the river, but how we show up while we're in it.
A Final Thought
In one of his last public teachings, Thich Nhat Hanh said: "When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?"I think about this when the news feels heavy. When I'm tempted to retreat into numbness or despair.The best thing I can offer—to my clients, my neighbors, my community—is my presence. Not my panic. Not my performative outrage. Not my withdrawal.Just my presence. Grounded, awake, willing to sit with what is.And from that presence, whatever action is mine to take.If you're struggling with anxiety about world events or finding it difficult to stay grounded, therapy can help. Sometimes we need support to process what we're carrying before we can show up fully for others.