I’ve started meditating.
So much has happened since the last time I visited this place. Funerals, illnesses, food allergies, declines, good stuff, bad stuff, horrifically-embarrassing-and-yet-I-still-compulsively-tell-the-story stuff. But that’s the news I bring to you today. I’ve started meditating.
No, not like that. It’s not a prayerful meditation, although I guess you could look at it as such. It’s dryly referred to as “Clinically Standardized Meditation” and was recommended to me by my therapist.
Oh yeah, I’ve gone and gotten one of those, too.
I’ve started meditating.
It’s a few minutes a couple of times a day, just me and my nonsense mantra quieting down my overactive, never-shuts-up, dude-there’s-a-serial-killer-in-the-next-county-and-I-swear-that’s-him-at-the-door mind. My therapist finally recommended it after about three sessions of me coming up with more and more complex, creative, far out ways for our recent trip to London to culminate in absolute disaster and probable apocalypse.
Hi. We had fun in London. We didn’t die. We didn’t even get slightly wounded. Except for my pride, but, eh. That’s par for the course.
I didn’t start meditating until we got back. I should have started before we left, but there were far too many things to wring my hands and worry about to bother with trying to get my brain to shut the hell up already. Seriously. Somebody has to think of these worst case scenarios so somebody is prepared to deal with them. Otherwise we are all going to die. Don’t you see this??!!??!
Turns out, luck was on my side. And not Michael Jackson’s, apparently. The King of Pop is dead, long live The King. So sad. Tragic, really. Shocking. Surprising, though? Not so much. It happens. And sometimes you expect it and sometimes you don’t, but when it happens, there are times when you kind of shrug and say, “Wow. Can’t believe that happened. But I can completely believe that it did.”
So I’ve started meditating, and you know what? It’s better than the anesthesia that supposedly killed Michael. I’ve only started to poke at the iceberg with a stick, but I can already feel the hardness, the stress, the tension, the worry, the on-edgedness cracking.
It’s very very nice.
