I hit a wall at some point during the last week of March when for the 4732264267th time that month (an impressive number to achieve given the 31-day, 24 hour-per-day restriction), I felt like there was hot lava oozing out of my head, down my shoulders then grazing my elbows and falling to the ground. It took a second, but I realized that this is what burning out feels like. So my partner-in-the-bedroom recommended that I take more seriously a technique he’s been practicing since late 2014 called Transcendental Meditation.
Here is where I could begin to tell you that I was dubious about meditating, positive it wouldn’t work for me, yadi yadi ya until I finally flipped a 180-degree switch like the subject of a diet-pill infomercial and began evangelizing with the conviction of dentist at a flossing convention about meditation, about how “enlightening” it has been to shut down for twenty minutes, twice a day, to allow my body to fall into a state of metabolic rest, but the fact of the matter is: I’ve only been doing it for three days. I don’t know what that will mean for the rest of my life, or even week, but I do know that 1) I have become more trendy by the standards of downtown New York 2) more atheist by the standards of most Jewish mothers and 3) less inclined to chew gum. I don’t know if there is actually a correlation there but I’m going with it.
And for that reason alone, I’ve submitted myself to complete a 30-day challenge — a long-form Man Repeller “diet,” if you will.
So, I’m on the Contemplation Trail (similar to a campaign trail but less suits, more caftans) through May 11th and you’re coming along for the ride — cool? Of my infantile experience thus far, I have this to say:
At 2:36 p.m. today I tried to find a quiet corner in my office building to engage in my day’s second meditation and found that just next to the large dumpster in the stairwell across from the communal bathroom was indubitably the place. About 3 minutes in, our superintendent saw me — legs laying out flat, eyes closed and head tilted forward. He panicked and yelled for Amelia: “I think she’s dead!”
“I’m just meditating,” I told him, and so was born the best excuse for falling asleep in inappropriate places.
See you at the two-week check up!
Curious, though, how many of you meditate? Share anything in the locutionary dumpster below.
Curious to read an update on Leandra’s Meditation Journey Click here.