It’s always pleasing when you stumble across early hunches or philosophies that match up with modern science. The excerpt above appears in What A Young Woman Ought to Know (first published in 1889, my copy is from 1905).
My meditation tracker tells me that today marks fifty days in a row that I have sat in meditation – and I can attest that there was no cheating either: I sat in meditation for twenty to sixty minutes first thing in the morning on all of those days – which far surpasses my previous record of nineteen days in a row last summer. I’m not sure how much it matters except that it indicates to me that morning meditation has become such a central part of my daily routine that I do not even skip it on Saturdays anymore (which I frequently used to) – like coffee, it gets my day headed in the right direction. Which isn’t to say that it’s always glorious, or insightful, or restful – but it’s available to me to drop into like a comfortable seat, and who doesn’t want that in their life?
Yesterday I went to the Mountain Rain Zendo for the first time in about a week and a half. Sadly, I couldn’t be there for the half-day retreat, but showed up for the AGM in the afternoon. Being new to this community and practice center, it was important to me that I attend the meeting, if only to understand better the day-to-day operation of the society and its community. I have been a part of many organizations in my life, and have also sat on the boards of non-profits and unions – and far from that being enriching or enjoyable, all that experience has made me somewhat gun shy of joining anything, ever again. Here I am reminded of the time I was encouraged to run for the board of a local media co-operative, and once elected discovered that as a society Director I was at least partially responsible for finding $50,000 in operating funds that the organization was short. Had I known how dire the situation was beforehand, I would have never run for the board (and thus, I learned to pay attention to the financials of things).
But when I sat on the meditation bench at the zendo yesterday, joining a circle of others there to discuss the concrete matters of the organization, I felt myself brimming with strong and positive feelings. Partly I think it’s because I’ve missed going to the Sunday meditation and service, but also because I’ve gotten to know many of the people there over the past several months and it was nice to sit down with them in community discussion. Since the first (very rainy) day last December when I entered the storefront space on Wall Street – I have felt welcomed and encouraged by the people I have met there, and I don’t think it’s any coincidence that during that same time, I have developed a much stronger daily practice.
Yesterday we broke into small groups for conversation about the current state of the organization and where we would like to see it go. During the first part of that, I gave my reflections on the zendo as a newcomer – how I had found it to be supportive of my practice and how impressed I was by its self-sustaining nature. One of the other group participants asked me why I thought that was so – and I was honest when I said that I thought that it is because we have so many people who come from various community and social justice background and are open in sharing their own personal stories, knowledge and time. Our teachers are the anchors, but over the months of attending I see how many people shoulder the organization together – with a much higher rate of people participating than I ever saw in my activist and non-profit work (most of which was characterized by a lot of people needing to speak at every meeting but not taking much actual responsibility for getting things done).
I have had a lot of things fall apart for me in communities and I am aware that things always look bright in the beginning – so I’m wary of my own first impressions here. But the material signs are so far good – financial solvency, a physical space that is well taken care of, competent people who take care of one thing or another as their skills permit, an ethics policy designed to deal with harassment and abuse. And the practice of careful listening that we work with each week in tea circle, most obviously carries through to other types of discussions and meetings – with much given for the work that people undertake. It’s because of this that I joined the community council yesterday – the body which takes care of some of the more practical aspects of community life (leases, donations, membership, registrations and more). This may be premature, but I feel drawn to giving my skills to this community so that in some way I can help it to continue being this bright spot in my life and the lives of others.
In Buddhist service we often chant the refuges (sometimes in Pali, sometimes in English) in which we affirm our home and safety in the Buddha (or symbol of enlightenment), the Dharma (the teachings), and the Sangha (the community). When I first began going to services, I would simply read from the text and follow along, but lately I’ve noticed that some of the vows, the chants, the offerings have started to resonate inside me, long after the service is over. The notion of taking refuge and the places in which we find them is one of those things that keeps rattling around inside me, and each time I drop into my meditation seat at the zendo I feel at home in the companionship of silence. That is a true refuge, each and every time I seek it and I am so incredibly grateful for it.
* The above photo was taken in 2007 at Storm Bay, BC in a little meditation spot at the top of a hill overlooking the water. I discovered it while reorganizing some photo files and thought it appropriate for this post…..
My step-daughter M. graduated from high school yesterday, which coincidentally was also the day that I was supposed to graduate from my Master’s program (scheduling conflicts mean that I will convocate in the fall instead). I surprised myself by feeling both overwhelming proud of M. and also a little bit sad for myself because although I am a grown up and can delay the satisfaction of graduating, I’m afraid that I will be doing it on my own because my friends all went up yesterday. And then I wonder, at this stage of the game how much the cap and gown thing matters anyway. When you leave high school, that graduation is such a big deal – it signifies a whole shift in life and expectations, the beginnings of adulthood, a move away from what is familiar towards unknown (exciting and terrifying) things. An undergrad degree denotes a similar shift – to the world of work, away from the supporting pillars of school life and financial aid, to being taken more seriously (or not). These are big life things, and so we mark them with pomp and circumstance (literally, they played that at M’s grad ceremony yesterday), awards and speeches.
But twenty years into this adult thing, completing a degree is just one more thing you do – for fun or work reasons – and you don’t really expect anyone to get all that excited about it (except my partner, he gets plenty excited and I love him for it).
All that aside, I find myself with a lot of emotions this week – triggered by this whole grad from high school that we marked yesterday. I am so interested to see what M. does next, curious about her way in the world, anticipating her discoveries as she moves into residence at the university in the fall and starts her own academic path. On the other hand, I can’t help but reflect on how different she and I are, how much easier a person she is in the world than I was at her age, how challenged I was upon graduation – how unhappy my life was for many years after that. Yesterday when we drove to the ceremony I told my partner that whatever she does, I don’t really care, but that I hope she can find her way to a happy life. And by that I meant, find her way to a happy life a lot sooner than I did.
Because for some reason I felt like the struggle against myself and everyone else was essential to who I was – anger, sadness, distance were all too familiar in my life to that point. I believed that I was marked for distress and depression and that those things were the *real* whereas any focus on joy or beauty was somehow artificial. And as one does, I reinforced those feelings with drugs and alcohol and sex and low-paying work – until they were all that was true about who I was going to be.
Fortunately, I have a strong life wish – it turns out – so strong that even this delusional state couldn’t keep me from finding things to be interested in. Mostly that interest turned around how I could get a job that paid more than minimum wage – which seems shallow – but it’s what propelled me into college, and then to the city and university. The beaten-down character of my own experiences made me rage for social justice and so I found actual things to focus my anger on (rather than myself). And so rather than fizzling out young, I spent my twenties and much of my thirties fighting the world and healing myself – though it was mostly fighting and not enough healing – growing my capacity for life bit by bit as I advanced along my path. I got the degree and a good job, I played fiddle in a band, and got into long-distance hiking, I bought my first house on my own and learned how to drive, I fought with the police and I got a good therapist, and sometimes I even felt like I was starting to “get it” – which was a long way from where I started on my path to adulthood.
And now I am 42, having learned that it is possible to turn towards joy rather than away from it. Which sounds crazy right? Because who would turn away from joy when it appeared? But we do it when we don’t know any better – and it took me a long time to know better about my worth in the world and my capacity for love. Which doesn’t mean that I have no sorrows, but that I am learning to accept each feeling as transitory – the good and the bad – which makes the world a much easier place for me.
It’s all this which I reflect on as I watch M. grow up, seventeen years old now, thirty in the blink of an eye. She has none of the edges that I did at her age, for which I am glad, but I wonder what *is* programmed in her (by her parents, by society, by media) that will impede her road to a happier life. I wonder if she will (mercifully) figure it out earlier than I did, than her father did. And I hope so much that she *can* get to it sooner rather than later so she can enjoy more of a life with grace rather than resistance. What she does in terms of work, love, children – doesn’t matter so much to me as how she *is* in the world.
But then, it’s our struggles for and against these tendencies which make us whole – and it’s the work of our lives to become fully human. I want an easier time for her of course, but too easy and she might miss the lessons of the journey altogether. I look at her and wish that at seventeen I was as possessed and confident as she is, but I also know that my hardships have brought me into a brighter life than I ever expected possible.
It’s remarkable, these milestones, and what they uncover in us – one by one.
I don’t want to be one to fetishize where I meditate because it feels like one more excuse that gets in the way of practice. My friend, D., for example will only meditate in beautiful (outdoor) spaces. Because we live and work in a city, and getting to a park where one feels safe and private everyday is challenging, my friend only meditates once or twice a month. In the wintertime, it’s probably much less. When I first started sitting, I was determined to fit it in every day, often at home in the morning – but at other times in ugly little rooms at the university or work, facing a corner of my office, trying to find my zen on a pillow in a hotel room, sitting on the edge of a bathtub with the door locked because it was the only place separate from other people. And that really is the point, I think, to bring ourselves into present moment awareness wherever we happen to be – in transit, at home, in cities, or in nature – without waiting for the perfect circumstances that might never arise.
Having said all of that, this weekend I spent part of my time at the cabin building a special meditation place – pictured above! Just off the back of our property line (the property behind us is lightly forested on the property line and then logged the rest of the way up) – I built this little piece of flat ground out of a pallet and some scrap wood left on the site by our work crew, and rocks collected around the deer trail that it’s situated on.
As mentioned, it’s up in the trees, far off the road and out of sight from our cabin/outhouse/tent platforms – in a location that I am pretty confident no one ever walks – and it provides a level place to set up my bench or cushion in solitude. It’s a bit of a steep trek up, but once there I am free to practice open awareness to the sounds of birds, insects, and trees moving in the breeze – aware that enlightenment is easy on such mountaintops, but still grateful to carve out a dedicated practice place in the forest.
I guess I just dropped out there for the last ten days or so didn’t I? It’s not like I didn’t know I was going to disappear for a few minutes, because I had big plans that came to fruition over the last ten days, but I didn’t give any warning either. I just stopped posting again – which sometimes happens just because, but this time happened *because*.
Over the last ten days I pulled together a fabulous cocktail party for Brian’s birthday, drove up to our cabin at Link Lake for three days, and then left on Thursday for a four-day meditation retreat on Denman Island. It’s this last item I’m going to write about now, the other two adventures will be the subject of blog posts later this week (though the photo above was taken at Link Lake, I was not taking any photos while on retreat!)
Originally, my friend K. stated a desire and intention that we do a silent meditation retreat together – this was about a year ago, when I was pretty new to meditation and didn’t have any particular practice/tradition/sangha except an interest in breath-focused, sitting meditation – so I did what we all do in such circumstances: Google. In my searches I had discovered The Hermitage on Denman Island, and was caught in particular by the teaching description of Dr. Cheryl Fraser, a professional therapist and a Dharma teacher who was offering a meditation workshop suitable for beginners in May 2014. Without enough notice, my friend and I could not attend, but I kept my eye out for the 2015 spring program and when it arrived online early this year (or late in 2014), I noticed the same teacher and a similar sounding workshop and let my friend know to which she replied a definite yes! to going.
So I signed up and around the same time (at my friend Carmen’s suggestion) I got involved with Mountain Rain Zen Community which is close to my home and has some great teachers (the local teachers are fantastic and the head teacher Norman Fischer is full-stop amazing). After a fashion I learned that there was a non-residential retreat with Norman Fischer scheduled for the first weekend in May, and my friend K. was showing signs of not having signed up for the retreat on Denman (as in, she never confirmed that she had signed up – I had a feeling it wasn’t happening for her). So I was thinking I would cancel because it was out of the way for me, because I was getting a different retreat opportunity and so on and so on.
But then! My friend C. signed herself up at least partly at my encouragement, and so I didn’t cancel. Instead what ended up happening is in the month of May I had my first two significant meditation retreat experiences – and I regret neither.
This past weekend marked a bunch of firsts for me including: first residential retreat, first retreat more than two days in length, first meditation sitting of up to two hours, first time not absolutely hating yoga (but I still don’t like it very much). And even though I was entering something pretty new to me on one level (all meditation all the time, no phone, no reading, no writing) – the fact that I have a daily practice, belong to a meditation community, attend my zendo weekly, am used to sitting in small and large groups, and have spent lots of time in alternative communities – meant that I felt pretty much at ease from the very first sit to the last. Not that I was comfortable most of the time – I am not someone who finds meditation physically easy, and there are certainly lots of emotional ups and downs in any practice – but the setting and discipline didn’t freak me out at all.
That was not true for everyone, and I realized (for the billionth time) that even though I have only been at this for two years, I am not longer a *beginner* meditator. I’m not super experienced, mind you, but I’ve stopped asking myself why meditate (I know the benefits first hand), and I’m not worried about my ability to sit through discomfort the way I used to be. That’s a start anyhow.
And it’s where I started from this past weekend, which doesn’t mean there weren’t internal struggles (I had the happy fun times experience of working with judgement for at least two solid days), or that it was easy (I felt fucking heroic at the end of two hours of sitting, let me tell you). But I did realize after sitting for four days that somewhere along the past two years of practice, I have “leveled up” and I am not only able to sit, but also to accept the teachings that go along with meditation. Which is to say that I am at a point in my life where I don’t simply listen to the dharma talks in order to get the meditation instruction, but I go to meditation practice in order to hear the dharma. Or to put it another way, it has become increasingly apparent that meditation is just the gateway drug and it’s got me hooked into something much more potent (which is not magic, which allows me to continue in my atheism, and which has psychology and neuroscience as its basis – so don’t worry, I haven’t gone crazy).
I don’t want to detail about all the many things that passed through my mind as I was sitting, walking, or lying down in my cabin – they probably aren’t much interesting to anyone but me – but the most revealing aspect of the depth of my experience on retreat came as we left the grounds towards home. It turned out that after four days of meditation, C. and I were so relaxed that we made a two-ferry, long-weekend, six-hour journey with a one-sailing wait trip home to Vancouver without a word of complaint, a feeling of frustration, or a whisper of disappointment. For real. Mind blown.
I’m back at work today and still feeling a little of the afterglow (I increased my daily sitting time by 15 minutes this morning and was startled when the timer went off because it seemed like no time at all) but also a bit fragile, a bit afraid of the demands on my attention, the requests I must fulfill. To compensate and to boost my spirits, this afternoon I booked the time off for two weeks of vacation and two more retreats in the next few months (July and November) – things I had planned before this last weekend, and which allowed me to leave retreat a bit more easily. Which means I’m going back, as soon as I can pretty much make it happen, it really was that good – but not in any way I can really describe.
Yesterday I was waiting for the bus on Nanaimo Street when a car pulled up alongside me and a woman got out. She approached (I was the only one there) and said, “Excuse me, we’re going around the neighbourhood asking a question of our neighbours – do you have a minute?” To which I said yes, thinking perhaps it was about the increase in break-ins or some new development that was making people unhappy. I did not notice that her hands clasped a small bible, but even if I had, I would have said yes anyway.
“Do you believe that all the suffering in the world is caused by God?” she asked. To which my unconsidered response was “No, I do not believe that. I’m a non-believer,” and as the pained look spread across her face I said, “I hope you have a good day.” Then she got back into the car her friend was waiting in, and they drove away.
The exchange took perhaps only one or two minutes, and as they left I realized how inadequate my response was – for it is not true that I am a non-believer. I do believe in the miracle of science, the capacity for humans to change themselves, the wonder of natural beauty, and the tenacity of life struggling to survive this time and place. And more to the point I have faith – faith that the sun will rise tomorrow, that mostly we will continue to do our best to fix things, that I will find the strength to exist even in times of great suffering, that my love – though physically finite – reverberates through the people with whom I connect.
I sold myself short by saying “I don’t believe,” when really I meant, “I don’t believe in God”. I don’t believe in a world controlled by an entity. I don’t believe in the limitations set forth in the books of any religion. But that’s such a small part of what there is – I would rather be understood as turning toward instead of turning away from.
Yesterday I had to go the hospital for my (now) annual thyroid ultrasound. Readers of this blog will know that there was a little thyroid cancer scare over here a few years ago which turned out to be not much more than benign growths, but I have a cautious doctor and so I am on a regular check-in schedule just to make really, really sure that there is nothing to be worried about.
ANYhow….. I left work at lunchtime and went to the gym, and then took the bus up Burrard Street to the hospital. Somewhere between leaving the gym and going into the hotel next door to grab a coffee, I was seized with a great and loving feeling. The substance of that feeling was something along the lines of how grateful I felt to be going to the hospital, where I would get care and attention; how impressed I was that inside the huge city system in which I live, that I could be singled out for assistance; how full of great feeling I was that I existed inside a network where people cared for one another and willingly took jobs in helping professions.
It was a feeling I’ve had before, but usually brought on by the nostalgia of music or the largess of art and performance, sometimes by the tremendous courage of people in struggle – but never triggered by the function of a public institution. I’m pretty sure my feeling was just welling up there on its own, and I happened to notice it long enough to direct it towards the thing next in front of me.
On previous visits to the hospital I have been a fear machine, an anger machine, a pain machine – which are the conditions in which many of us end up needing hospital care – as suffering machines. But yesterday I got to experience St. Paul’s as a loving machine. Which was pretty awesome because I went into my appointment super-relaxed after having eaten a macaron cookie and chatting up several hospital staff. My technician showed me all the pictures from before and told me that nothing had changed for the worse (which they aren’t supposed to, but she did anyway).
I walked out of the hospital and through the downtown with a feeling of total weightlessness. I went to a bookstore and talked to a clerk. I had nice words with the bus driver who drove me home. I put some thought into last night’s meditation group and offered up something useful (I hope) and then I came back into the house to find out that the province of Alberta is a better place than I had previously predicted. I listened to Notley’s acceptance speech and nearly cried when she mentioned Alberta First Nations.
This morning I told my partner that we were both loving machines with a place on our dial just for each other – and as silly as that sounds, I meant it – because we cultivate love every day in a million small ways and are conscious about doing that. It’s the reason I live with much greater equanimity now than I did eight years ago – because together, my husband and I have rewired our dials* so that we have more settings for love and less for fear, cynicism, and anger. It’s the reason that when I get surges of positive feeling, I no longer shove them down in order to maintain my steady state of outrage, but I bring them up into the light and turn them this way and that to get a better look.
Going to the hospital yesterday reminded me that we are all loving machines, and that it is possible to cultivate those feelings towards even the most impersonal of institutions – in my case, a large hospital in a big city on a busy afternoon. We do not need to seek perfection in order to feel good, and once we make that happen in ourselves we take it out into the rest of the world with us.
* Partner interactions have the capacity to rewire the brain of the other – couples literally rewire each other through the neuroplastic responses to stimulus. This goes both ways – we can create more shared joy and a stronger sense of secure connection, but just as easily we can co-create a more distrustful and angry pattern. How we communicate directly impacts the wiring patterns in the brain of our significant other. John Gottman talks about this in his work, but it is also covered in the brilliant text A General Theory of Love.
On Wednesday evening, just after supper, I was at home alone working on this wee meditation pillow when my shed was broken into from the back alley side. I know that it happened after I got home because I had taken the garbage out when I returned from work, then made dinner and then settled into my sewing room. My neighbour from across the alley knocked on my door at 8:30 to tell me that the shed door was open. When I went outside to check two things were apparent: 1) the handle was still locked, as though the door was forced, and 2) the mitre saw I borrowed from one of our land-partners was gone.
I had a moment of distress and not knowing what to do – but then I closed the shed, made sure the studio was also locked, went in the house and called the police (I normally wouldn’t call over something that small – but I wanted it recorded for insurance). Then, as I waited for an officer to return the phone call I returned to finishing the pillow. After nine, I started working on piecing a quilt for my daughter’s graduation/moving into residence gift – figuring that it was unlikely that I was going to hear back from the VPD at all. At ten, an officer called me and was outside of my house – he came through and took a look at the shed, showed me how it had been forced and said “lots of break-ins around here, but for the record, very little violent crime – get a deadbolt”). It was a simple transaction, I got my file number, and at some point I need to call it into our insurance company. The officer seemed apologetic that there wasn’t much to be done – but as we both knew, that saw was already on its way to the scrap metal yard across the bridge.
My partner is away for work, Wednesday was his first night gone, and I was surprised at how un-upsetting the whole thing was, despite the fact I was alone and had to deal with the interruption on my own. I let the neighbours know, made sure the house, studio and car were locked up tight, and I went right back to what I was working on. I’m going to have to replace that saw and that annoys me, and a deadbolt will get put on the door – but otherwise? A small event, incongruous with my calm and quiet evening, but still nothing to get upset about.
I have been home with a cold for the last two days which has given me the luxury of a little time that I would not ordinarily have had. On the other hand, I slept pretty much all of Sunday night and straight through to yesterday afternoon, so a good half of that time was given to rest. Today, I have been reading and thinking about meditation, in addition to engaging in some mindful cleaning of both our sleeping space and our studio space – both of which needed focused attention. Perfect when I am feeling ill and have nowhere to be, a slow tidying up of things is right up my alley. I’m thinking that I might even tackle my sewing area while dinner is on the stove in a little bit.
Even though I was coming down with this thing, I spent all of Sunday at the Zendo that I attend – it was my first half-day retreat, followed by the jukai ceremony for two members of the community. Jukai is like an initiation where the lay practitioner of Buddhism formally receives certain precepts (admissions to a way of life that encourages clear mind). By the time we got the ceremony I was feeling pretty ill so I didn’t take it in as much as I would have liked, but the morning retreat – an extension of the regular Sunday service – was a gentle opening up of practice and a reminder that I can sit even when I am feeling a lot of physical discomfort (something I couldn’t do a year ago).
I have two retreats coming up – my first “real” retreats – both in May. This is not by design – I signed up for a residential retreat almost a year ago, then I got involved in the Zendo and a non-residential retreat was scheduled for May as well – so now I am having both experiences very close together and am looking forward to them for quite different reasons – though I am also trepidatious because I still feel very much like a novice to this whole experience of meditation. I am reading Dan Harris’ book 10% Happier at the moment (after hearing him on CBC’s Tapestry on Sunday) where he writes about his discovery of meditation, including his first ten-day retreat (as a real novice to the practice) and I have to admit that I feel somewhat more prepared than he seemed to be (in his telling – he’s got self-deprecation down to an art, so it’s hard to know exactly where he was at). The fact he got through the ten days and came out the other side still in the practice is heartening! In fact, I love all the stories of how non-spiritual folks find their way to meditation and to Buddhism because – hey – it’s my experience too! And everytime I go to the Zendo to sit I wonder – is this really me? But it is really me, and it rounds out my life in a very satisfying way. I find with Zen in particular, I am able to participate in a non-judgemental way – because my teachers do not require that I believe magical things or focus on the enlightenment experience (two things I find distracting, and that get in the way of my practice).
I am writing this as I am choosing something to listen to in the meditation session that I lead once a week – we alternate between me guiding, silent, and listening to music. Because I am coldish and cough when I talk – tonight will be sound focused. These sessions are utterly unlike the zen sitting that I prefer for my own regular practice, but they are the kind of meditation gatherings that I would have appreciated when I was just becoming acquainted with sitting. Also, they give me a chance to teach as I learn – which is another kind of learning, and provides me more opportunity to think about what is meaningful in the practice. There are only a few people who come every week – between two and four women – and they have expressed how much this fills a particular need and curiosity. Meditation without ascribed belief. Awareness practice in the company of progressive others who have made a bond over the weekly touchstone of sitting together.
And so it is, that I am sick and spending my days reading and drifting and meditating through my illness – hoping to get back to work tomorrow – but also grateful for a couple of drowsy, dreamy days.
Wow. Started out this week with all sorts of posting intentions – but there have been no extra minutes between my last class, exercise, playing a show, meditating, working, dinner with friends and so on – and now it’s Friday and I am pushing to get more work done so that I have something to show for this rather chaotic week. It’s been interesting too, because often when I am so scheduled I get overwhelmed…. but as I learn to let go of what I “should do” and accept what I “am doing” it has been less stressful to go from one thing to the next. I am seeing the wisdom in the Ghandian quote “action expresses priorities” and recognizing that what I choose to actually do is the priority, the way I am subconsciously (or actively) arranging things. Right now I seem to be prioritizing social interaction, exercise, health-focused activities – and not spending so much time on sewing or crochet projects. The garden has a priority spot only because it’s the season and a now or never type of thing – or else I expect it would be something different outside (hiking!) not more time spent inside wrestling with an extra-curricular activity that doesn’t give me a lot of pleasure at the moment.
These are all just ways that we choose to spend time, none of them life or death requirements, but it’s amazing how in-knots I can be about how I judge the arrangement of activities in my head. No one else judges how I live my life – what I spend my time on, who I spend it with – except me (though I often project onto others like my husband, it is again – entirely in my head). In part, I credit my meditation practice, with the recent ability to actually listen to what I am telling myself over and over and then bringing a close to some of those persistent and distracting thought modes. On Wednesday night, for example, when the show I played went later than expected (much later), I observed myself worrying about how tired I was going to be “tomorrow” which was pulling me away from enjoying the music of a friend who was on stage. Once I gave up on my projection of how I might feel the next morning, I was able to focus fully and breathe out the “what if” of worry. (As it was, the next day I slept in a little later and had to skip meditation, but still managed to walk to work and do a killer weight routine in the afternoon – it wasn’t like a later bedtime incapacitated me for work or anything).
It’s not that I don’t believe in planning, or intentionally prioritizing one thing over another – but when I just experience what falls into place as I organize my days – I can see that there are clear patterns which emerge over time (often in sync with the seasons or other cyclical events) and that it’s perfectly acceptable to simply be in the flow of things rather than trying to push against it with an idea of myself (and who I could be if only I had more time).