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Meditation, Mindfulness, and Parkinson’s

Mike High presenting his poster on meditation, mindfulness, and Parkinson’s at the World Parkinson Congress.

A WPC Poster Summary

At the World Parkinson Congress, I presented a poster exploring meditation and mindfulness practices in relation to Parkinson’s disease. This page offers a plain-English summary of the poster, along with key takeaways, limitations, a gentle starting practice, and links to additional resources.The topic matters to me personally. As someone living with Parkinson’s, I am interested not only in how we treat symptoms, but in how we live with greater presence, steadiness, meaning, and intention.

Plain-English Summary

Parkinson’s disease affects movement, but it also affects much more than movement. Many people with Parkinson’s experience stress, anxiety, sleep disruption, mood changes, fatigue, changes in attention, and the emotional weight of living with a progressive condition. Care partners often carry their own version of that burden.Meditation and mindfulness practices do not cure Parkinson’s, and they should not be viewed as substitutes for medical care, movement, medication, physical therapy, or other evidence-based supports. But they may offer something important: a practical way to relate differently to stress, uncertainty, discomfort, and change.The research reviewed in this poster suggests that meditation and mindfulness-based practices may support quality of life, emotional regulation, stress reduction, attention, self-awareness, and coping for some people with Parkinson’s. Practices studied across the literature vary widely and may include mindfulness meditation, breath awareness, body awareness, compassion practices, yoga-related mindfulness, and structured programs such as mindfulness-based stress reduction.The evidence is promising but not definitive. Many studies are small, use different methods, and vary in how they define the practice, measure outcomes, and follow participants over time. More research is needed, especially larger studies with clearer protocols, better long-term follow-up, and more consistent reporting of disease stage, practice frequency, and participant experience.The practical takeaway is modest but meaningful: meditation and mindfulness may be useful as part of a broader approach to living with Parkinson’s. For some people, these practices may help create a little more space between stimulus and reaction, between symptom and identity, between fear and the next faithful step.

Key Takeaways

Why This Matters for The Accelerated Life

The Accelerated Life is about living fully when time no longer feels assumed.Meditation and mindfulness are not magic cures, and they are not replacements for medical care. But they may offer practical ways to meet uncertainty with more steadiness, awareness, compassion, and intention.For me, this work sits at the intersection of science, lived experience, and the deeper human question: how do we live well in the life that is actually here?That question is at the heart of The Accelerated Life.

A Gentle Starting Practice

Sit comfortably.Let your attention rest on the breath.Notice one inhale and one exhale.When the mind wanders, return gently.Begin with two or three minutes.The goal is not to stop thinking. The practice is returning.This is not medical advice. People with Parkinson’s should adapt practices to their own needs and consult appropriate professionals when needed.

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The Accelerated Life

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One Step at a Time

Climbing Kilimanjaro with Parkinson’s—and Learning What Preparation, Help, and Possibility Really Mean

Mike hiking among volcanic rocks with the snow-covered summit of Mount Kilimanjaro behind him.

Kilimanjaro had fascinated me for most of my life.
I have always loved high places. I have always loved hiking up mountains—not technical climbing, but the steady work of putting one foot in front of the other and gradually rising above the world below.
By the spring of 2022, the thought that had lived in the background for decades became much simpler:
I had better do it now, because the time will never be better.
I was living with Parkinson’s disease, but the diagnosis did not determine the decision. I did not begin by asking whether a person with Parkinson’s could climb Kilimanjaro. I began with the understanding that this was something I had always wanted to do—and that postponing it would not make the opportunity better.
Six months later, I was in Tanzania with my daughter Rachel, her friend Paul, six people we had only just met, and an extraordinary team of Tanzanian guides and support personnel.
We were about to begin the Grand Traverse of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Nine hikers began the Grand Traverse at Londorosi Gate.

A Goal Bigger Than the Diagnosis

Before I left, the mountain represented a major goal and something powerful to anticipate.
It also represented a declaration—to the diagnosis, to the world, and perhaps to myself—that I had not become a different person.
I was still me.
Parkinson’s was part of my life, but I was not willing to grant it authority over every decision I made. The mountain was not an attempt to prove that Parkinson’s did not exist. It was an affirmation that my life, my curiosity, and my appetite for challenge still existed too.
No friend, physician, physical therapist, or trainer told me the climb was unrealistic. The people who knew me and understood my physical condition were pleased for me rather than alarmed.
That confidence mattered. But it also reflected something important: I had been preparing for this kind of challenge for years, even before I knew Kilimanjaro would become the goal.

Preparation Without the Illusion of Control

We committed to the trip in approximately June 2022, leaving only about six months before the expedition.
I did not radically change my life. I was already exercising consistently and had years of hiking and backpacking experience. I added several longer hikes and carried a day pack weighing about twenty pounds. I practiced using trekking poles, particularly because I have always respected the risks of descending steep or uneven terrain.
I reviewed my medications and made sure there were no known conflicts with the medication prescribed to reduce the effects of altitude. I paid attention to sleep, hydration, weather, equipment, and the realities of spending many consecutive days outdoors.
But I did not pretend that preparation gave me control.
In the Air Force, we used to say that no plan survives contact with the enemy. On the mountain, the principle is similar: no plan survives unchanged once the climb begins.
Preparation does not guarantee that events will unfold as expected. It gives you a stronger foundation from which to respond when they do not.
Fitness mattered. Experience mattered. Equipment mattered. The guides mattered. The team mattered.
Control was largely an illusion.
Readiness was not.

The ten-day Grand Traverse route across Kilimanjaro.

No One Climbs Alone

There were nine hikers in our group. We were supported by four guides and a large team of porters and expedition staff.
I knew only Rachel and Paul when we arrived in Tanzania. The other six hikers became companions almost immediately. The guides and support team became essential to everything we did.
Food appeared at remote camps. Tents were ready when we arrived. Equipment traveled ahead of us. Routes were assessed. Weather, pacing, health, and morale were constantly monitored.
The photographs may show the hikers at the summit, but the achievement belonged to a much larger group.
That lesson became increasingly clear as the terrain grew harder. There were boulder fields to cross, creek beds to descend into and climb out of, and places where an extended hand made the difference between an awkward struggle and a safe step.
I asked for help.
So did everyone else.
The mountain made asking for help feel less like weakness and more like participation in a shared undertaking.

One Step at a Time

The Grand Traverse was a ten-day expedition, with our summit occurring on the eighth day.
For much of the climb, our attention narrowed to the next few feet of trail. We moved through forest, moorland, volcanic rock, mist, cold, and increasingly thin air.
The summit remained the larger goal, sometimes visible in the distance. But the mountain itself was experienced one step at a time.
That is one of the clearest memories I retain: the tension between keeping sight of a great destination and remaining fully attentive to the ground immediately in front of me.
Looking too far ahead could become overwhelming.
Looking only at the next step made the mountain manageable.

Much of the mountain was experienced one step—and a few feet of trail—at a time.

Summit Morning

We left our camp at approximately 3:00 in the morning.
For about three hours, we climbed in darkness through rocky volcanic terrain, following steep switchbacks by the light of our headlamps.
It was difficult, but there was no moment when I believed we would not make it.
Then the sun began to rise.
Even now, the memory brings back the sensation of that morning—the light growing over the mountain, the cold air, the dark ground becoming visible, and the understanding that a moment imagined for decades was approaching.
We first reached the crater rim. It was not yet Uhuru Peak, but emotionally it felt almost like the summit. Once I reached that point, I knew we had it.
The final stretch required another hour or so along the rim of the volcano. Snow and sleet began to fall. The trail became icy. Despite being January in an equatorial region, the summit environment was unmistakably severe.
And then we reached the sign.
Uhuru Peak.
19,341 feet.
The highest point in Africa.
It is difficult to approach that sign without emotion.
I had wanted this for most of my life. When it became real, the tears came easily.

Uhuru Peak, 19,341 feet: the culmination of a lifelong goal.

At the Summit

What surprised me most was how good I felt.
I was not seriously short of breath. I was not overwhelmed by cold or fatigue. I felt strong, present, and deeply grateful.
We remained at the summit for perhaps thirty minutes. I could have stayed longer, but the summit was not the end of the day. We still had many hours of descent ahead before reaching the next camp.
Parkinson’s had remained mostly in the background throughout the expedition. I did not experience the climb primarily as “a person with Parkinson’s climbing Kilimanjaro.” I experienced it as myself climbing a mountain I had long wanted to climb.
Other people saw something additional.
Our new companions told me that they were inspired. The guides sometimes treated me with a little extra deference. They understood the diagnosis as a meaningful part of the accomplishment, even when I had not been thinking about it that way.
That may have been the first time I seriously considered that simply continuing to live my life could become a source of encouragement to others.

The summit belonged not only to the hikers, but to the guides and support team who made the expedition possible.

The Long Way Down

A summit is dramatic. A descent is practical.
After the photographs, congratulations, embraces, snow, and emotion, we had to start walking again.
The mountain still required attention. There was no magical transport back to comfort. We had to descend through loose rock, changing weather, fatigue, and the accumulated strain of the previous days.
That is another lesson easily forgotten: reaching a goal does not remove the need for patience, judgment, and continued effort.
The summit was a moment.
The expedition was the whole journey.

When the View Opened

After leaving Kilimanjaro, we spent one night in Arusha. The following day, we flew from the smaller Arusha airport west toward the Serengeti.
I did not want to leave the mountain and immediately enter a crowded international airport for a journey of more than twenty hours home.
The Serengeti gave us time to decompress, absorb what had happened, and move from effort into wonder.
On Kilimanjaro, we had often watched the ground five or eight feet in front of us.
On the Serengeti, the view opened across enormous plains.
Instead of concentrating on the next step, we sat quietly and received what was around us: lions, elephants, giraffes, cheetahs, wildebeest, zebra, and distances that seemed almost without end.
One of the most vivid encounters was watching three lions chase down a zebra. It was beautiful, terrible, natural, and immediate—a powerful reminder of what is often called the circle of life.
The mountain and the Serengeti were not competing experiences. They completed each other.
One demanded effort.
The other invited attention.
Both required presence.

After the close attention demanded by the mountain, the Serengeti opened the view.

What Kilimanjaro Taught Me

Kilimanjaro did not teach me that everyone should climb a nineteen-thousand-foot mountain.
It taught me that many of us are capable of far more than we assume.
We often sell ourselves short before circumstances have asked us to prove anything. We confuse uncertainty with impossibility. We wait for confidence before beginning, when confidence often arrives only after we have begun.
Preparation matters.
Support matters.
Medical judgment matters.
Experience matters.
And asking for help matters.
But absolute control is neither available nor required.
We prepare as honestly as we can. We choose a worthy direction. We begin. When conditions change, we adapt. When the terrain becomes difficult, we accept a hand. When the goal feels distant, we return our attention to the next step.
To summit is a verb. It means to reach a high point, but it can also mean accomplishing something that once seemed beyond us.
The summit does not have to be a mountain.
It might be completing treatment, rebuilding a relationship, beginning to exercise, traveling again, caring for someone you love, writing a book, entering a new season of life, or simply refusing to surrender the day in front of you.
The lesson of Kilimanjaro is not that limits are imaginary.
It is that we should not invent them before we encounter them.

A Question for You

What have you been postponing because you assume the time will be better later?
What might become possible if you prepared carefully, accepted help, and began with the next step?

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