Month: April 2016

Mastering the Art of Meditating

I was so excited when I got the email from Oprah and Deepak inviting me to another Free 21 Day Meditation Experience. I promised myself this was going to be the time I meditated all 21 days in a row.

I got off to a good start. Day 1, 2, and 3 went really well. I could feel myself finding the lightness in my life and I was beginning to become emotionally balanced, I’m sure of it. But then I began to taper off and Days 10, 11, and 12 were all completed back to back on the same day. And then…well.

It’s just that meditating isn’t exactly my forte. I want it to be but I don’t really get it. My mind wanders all over the place and it kind of stresses me out just sitting there trying to focus on my breathing.

My typical meditating process goes something like this:

While Oprah gets me motivated with her words of wisdom, I organize myself in a very meditative position complete with thumbs and middle fingers pressed lightly together, face up on my knees (Deepak says I just need to make myself comfortable but sitting like this makes me feel like I know what I’m doing). I close my eyes and take a deep breath. All is well as I follow along with Deepak, repeating what he says out loud to be sure I have it before silently doing it in my head.

Then it’s time to meditate on my own. Deepak assures me he’ll mind the time. I’m good to go at first but it isn’t long before thoughts of all the shit I need to get done begin to fill my head and my heart starts racing. I try to bring myself back with my centering thought but I can’t remember my centering thought even though Deepak just said it. I try to recreate how it sounded when it rolled off his tongue but it vanished. (Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?)

Relax, I tell myself. Stop freaking out. My centering thought will come to me…wait, maybe it’s the mantra I’m supposed to be repeating. Crap! Frustration begins to set in and all the shit I have to do comes flooding back into my mind. Centering thought, centering thought–wait! It IS the mantra I’m supposed to be repeating but the hell was the mantra? I think it was Om something. Deep breath. I got this. How essential is the mantra, I wonder? I think it’s the breathing part that really matters but concentrating on trying to remember my centering thought/mantra surely must count for something. Right?

Namaste? Is that it? No, that’s the end part. I could probably use Namaste, though. At least I’d have something to focus on other than all the shit I have to do and trying to remember my whatever the hell it is. Wait, what if Deepak isn’t minding the time? Inhale panic, exhale panic. Repeat. Maybe I should start over so I’ll know what the mantra is–maybe even write it down– but I can’t start over because there isn’t time. Deep breath. Deep breath. Do people really fall asleep while meditating? Is that even possible?

And then Deepak rings the bell and tells me to open my eyes when I’m ready, (which is immediately, obviously) and I’m not sure if I’ve meditated or had a panic attack but I know I don’t feel very relaxed and I still have a lot of shit to do.

I think that’s probably the reason I’m not very consistent with meditating.

Two seconds after I’m finished “meditating”, my mantra comes to me.

Om Supra Niti Swana

And my centering thought isn’t far behind.

I am guided by my self awareness.

I’m very aware that I haven’t mastered the art of meditating but that’s ok. I’m going to keep at it so that next time the Oprah and Deepak Free Meditation Experience comes along I’ll be ready to give it another go and maybe, just maybe, I’ll complete all 21 days in a row.

And you know what? That counts for something.

Namaste.

What Kind of Museum Does Your House Hold?

Spring is in the air! Well, more or less. Warm weather, coupled with Elizabeth Gilbert’s Question of the Day, motivated me to open the windows, let in the fresh air, and begin some serious Spring purging.

While taking inventory of what to keep and what to toss, I discovered quite unexpectedly, that I haven’t been living in a Museum to Grief, as Liz suggested, but instead a Museum of Failure. Every broken thing I haven’t gotten repaired is one more thing looming on my To Do List. Every outfit in my closet that doesn’t fit is one more pound I haven’t shed. Every reminder of a life that no longer exists keeps me in a holding pattern of What No Longer Is.

So the time has come to ask myself, why in the hell am I keeping all this shit?

First off, I came to the realization that if something was in need of repair, I was kidding myself that it was ever going to happen. The fact that I had lived without it meant one thing: I didn’t need it. I tossed that failure right into the trash, and, man, it felt good. Larger items got stored for the upcoming Spring Clean Up where, I am quite certain, someone will snatch it up off the curb, repair it, and make it their own.

Moving right along.

My bedroom closet ended up housing an alarming number of clothes waiting patiently to be worn but that no longer fit. It occurred to me that when I look for something to wear, I come face to face with clothes I plan to fit into “one day”. On a daily basis, I am unconsciously reminding myself that I have failed: Failed to lose the weight, failed to fit into something I once wore, failed to reach a goal I set for myself. I needed to accept those clothes weren’t ever going to fit me again and to give them to someone who could use them. And that’s exactly what I did.

Then came time to address the things I have desperately clung on to that simply had to go.

At the top of the list was the terracotta pitcher I received at my bridal shower from someone who meant the world to me. I had convinced myself if I kept that pitcher, I would be able to hang on to the friendship. The truth is, some friendships rely heavily on proximity and this was one of them. I decided to sell it on Varagesale. When the woman who bought it from me held it in her hands as if it were an Academy Award, I knew it had found a good home.

The multicolored chairs I loved so much and where so many important conversations in my life took place were the next to go. They were designed for the life I created while I was married and had no business being in my new home. Not only did they not match anything, they served as a constant reminder that the life I spent cultivating didn’t work out. It pleases me to no end knowing they went to a lovely couple who lost everything they owned in a fire right before Christmas.

The more I purged, the more I wanted to purge! Things that had been haunting me were no longer around and had found homes where they could be appreciated. My Museum of Failure had turned into a House of Great Rewards! I not only felt emotionally rejuvenated, I had some cash to boot.

From now on instead of surrounding myself with things that remind me What Could Have Been or What Might Be or What Isn’t, I am going to start living in a place of What Is.

And, of course, be grateful.

What kind of museum does your house hold?