Is Mindfulness Only for the Wealthy?

Discovering peace without emptying your wallet on a 10-day yoga retreat

Thank you to all my wonderful subscribers who have joined me since last week. I hope you enjoy reading my posts and get some value out of it, that makes your life a little better.

As I begin to write this newsletter, I realize how blessed I am to have some things in my life that are often neglected. Like I’m educated enough to form these sentences in a language that isn't my native tongue.

I have the financial means to own this laptop to write this newsletter. I've been fortunate to travel, meet diverse people, and gain experiences that have shaped my personality and mindset, enabling me to share my thoughts with others on this wonderful platform called Substack.

These are the basic privileges we often overlook and take for granted. Yet, you and I are among the fortunate few.

I'm fortunate enough to have my basic needs met so that I can speak about mindfulness, and you are fortunate to read about mindfulness.

But not everyone in this world shares this privilege, right?

Some people don't even know about Substack or even the concept of 'mindfulness.' The majority of the world's population is simply struggling to make ends meet, navigating life like a product on a conveyor belt, moving through predetermined stages without control or choice, and just hoping to make it to the end without getting discarded or damaged along the way.

Wake up in the morning, put on decent clothes, commute for hours to reach the workplace, work tirelessly all day, and return home exhausted. Then scroll aimlessly through Netflix, perhaps watch a random episode of Friends for a few laughs before falling asleep, only to repeat this cycle the next morning—until Friday evening arrives. Unaware that there is something called mindfulness that can help them be more alive every day, and not just exist.

But what about the millions of people living in poverty, deprived of basic needs like food, water, clothing, and shelter?

The homeless, the underprivileged, those living on the side of the road, dressed in rags, searching for scraps to eat—can I, in good conscience, tell them to meditate?

Could I ask someone who hasn't eaten in two days to sit down and practice pranayama? The answer is clear: no, I couldn't.

As human beings, our basic needs must be met first. Hunger, shelter, and safety are fundamental, and without them, the pursuit of mindfulness can seem like a distant dream, reserved only for the privileged.

Why does mindfulness feel so fancy these days?

In recent years, mindfulness has become quite the buzzword. Without delving into its deeper meaning, many people often associate it with luxurious retreats designed to 'reset' the mind—retreats that cost a month's rent, high-end yoga classes, wellness apps, and coaches who can charge as much as $5,000 just to teach you how to meditate.

With so many snake oil salesmen at every corner, mindfulness often feels like an exclusive privilege. For an average person with just enough salary to pay their rent and buy groceries, mindfulness can look like buying a limited edition Birkin’s bag—reserved only for the elite.

This commercialization, while it has made mindfulness more accessible to some, has also alienated many. It sends the message that to achieve a mindful state, one must have the resources to invest in it. But this is a distorted view of what mindfulness truly is.

The Vegetable Vendor who shifted my perspective

On a warm Saturday morning, I went to the vegetable market, as I often do. The street was bustling, with the honking of cars blending with the chatter of passersby.

While most vegetable shop and cart owners had crowds of customers around them, one unusual vendor stood out to me—with no customers at all, just sitting there and observing everything around him with an amusing smile on his face.

He didn’t even have a cart or a stall, just a colorful cloth spread out on the pavement, adorned with fresh vegetables—bright tomatoes, green chilies, drumsticks, and spinach, all laid out in neat little piles.

I moved toward him, mainly to avoid the crowd and with a slight sense of heroism, hoping to be that one customer who’ll make his day.

The old man behind the display, dressed in a white kurta-pajama, radiated a sense of joy that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. His face was lined with years of hard work, yet his eyes sparkled with a lightheartedness that caught me off guard.

He greeted me with a wide smile and a playful comment, “Ah, you’ve come to buy the finest tomatoes in all of India! I picked them myself from my imaginary garden just this morning.”

I laughed, taken aback by his humor. “Imaginary garden?” I asked, playing along.

“Yes, yes!” he said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the notion of anything ordinary. “In my garden, the tomatoes sing, the chilies dance, and the coriander does yoga every morning. That’s why everything is so fresh!”

While most other shopkeepers had grim expressions on their faces, this old man carried an infectious smile and cheerfulness I could only dream of having at 11 in the morning, in this noisy street.

Noticing that he was still working at such an advanced age, I casually inquired about his family. He shared that his wife had passed away nearly twenty years ago, and his only son, a construction worker, lives in a city a thousand miles away. He lived alone in a small cottage and earned his living by selling vegetables every day.

I couldn’t resist asking, “You seem so happy. How do you do it?”

He paused for a moment, his hands busy tying up my bag of vegetables, then looked at me with a smile that reached his eyes. “Why not be happy? Life is like this road—sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy. If I focus on the bumps, I’ll miss the beauty of the journey.”

He handed me the bag and added with a wink, “And besides, I have to keep my customers entertained, or they’ll go to the boring vendor down the street!”

As I walked away, I realized that this man, with no cart and only a few vegetables spread on the ground, had more peace and joy than many who had far more.

His humor, his mindfulness, and his contentment were not tied to what he had, but to how he saw the world. It was a lesson I carried with me long after I left that busy street.

What separates us from the vegetable vendor?

While I know not everyone in his situation can be as happy as he was—we're human after all, we feel things and experience bad stuff but at least most of us aren’t fighting for the basic necessities, right?

We have a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and a pile of clothes in our cupboards. Mindful living is certainly easier for us than a lot of others who are suffering for survival.

Yes I know, there are breakups, work stress, financial pressures, and the myriad struggles of daily life to deal with. However mindfulness allows us to navigate these difficulties with greater awareness. I can say this from experience.

Practicing meditation and breathing exercises has helped me in accepting my true self, with all its darkness and light. So when I feel overwhelmed or anxious, I don’t beat myself up for it. It's all part of the human experience—and we must experience everything to realize the greater truths of life.

"When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky." — Buddha

Mindfulness doesn’t require wealth—just a commitment to practice. The vegetable vendor understood this intuitively. He didn’t need a yoga mat or a meditation app; his life was his practice, and he lived it with a palpable awareness.

While commercialized mindfulness may seem out of reach for many, true mindfulness is accessible to all. It’s about finding peace and joy in the simple moments, regardless of one’s circumstances.

Mindfulness for Everyone

If you can afford it, please go ahead and enjoy that 10-day retreat in the mountains, or hire a mindfulness coach to solve your life problems. There is nothing wrong with it. It might actually help you pull out of the rut, the matrix you have been caught up in for so long, and help shift your perspective.

But it’s on you to remain in that state for life. If you're still dreading returning to your normal life on the last day of your yoga retreat, then I’m sorry to say, you wasted all your money.

Unless and until, this perspective shift isn’t ingrained in your mind, you will only experience temporary relaxation and not long-lasting bliss. This consciousness and awareness will only come with deep retrospection, understanding yourself to the core, and letting go of everything that’s holding you back.

How do I do that?

By constant practice.

Start by practicing a 5-minute meditation for a week and extend it to more as you go.

Practice breathing exercises like Pranayama, especially when you’re anxious or overwhelmed. Teri Leigh has wonderfully explained the power of breathing in one of her posts.

Allow yourself to heal by letting go of your traumas and negative experiences.

The simplest way to practice mindfulness is to enjoy the most mundane activities in your life. Like taking a shower, washing the dishes, or cooking your food—feel the sound of chopping, notice the layers of the onions as you peel them, the sizzling of the butter in the pan, and the smell of fresh seasoning on top and how it lands on your food as you sprinkle like little snowflakes on a tree.

Being fully aware of what’s happening around you and what you’re doing will send you into a more mindful state than a lot of others.

To answer the question, Is mindfulness only for the wealthy?

No, it isn’t. While the industry may cater to those who can afford it, the true essence of mindfulness remains accessible to everyone. I have realized that it’s not about what you have, but about how you choose to live. It’s about finding peace in the present moment, regardless of your circumstances.

The vegetable vendor, with his warm smile and silly humor, taught me that mindfulness is not a luxury—it’s a way of life. It’s available to anyone willing to be present, to breathe, and to let go of the need for more.

His life, though filled with challenges, was rich with the kind of mindfulness that no amount of money can buy. And that is a lesson worth remembering.