I had meditated maybe a dozen times when I went from flirting with meditation to a committed relationship. Logically, I was rushing in too fast. I shouldn’t be committing to an entire year of practicing a new skill every single day when I was a green neophyte.
But I kept seeing all these meditation success stories about people like Kim Thai not losing their shit, coupled with people I know from other facets of my life coming out of the woodwork and saying: Yup, that’s totally how it works for me, too.
I’d signed up for dating apps with less convincing testimonials, so — what the hell — why not try?
Why does everything in life these days come down to core muscle strength?
By day fifteen of continuous daily practice — this was May 3, if you’re keeping track — my first observation wasn’t so much on how the practice affected my life but on how posture affected the practice.
Sitting without a headrest is best for me. When I have to encourage muscle in my core to keep a posture, it’s easier for me to focus my mind. How wondrously odd is that?
I am constantly feeling that way in this practice: Like I am picking up slightly pockmarked stones, turning them over, and what I find underneath sparks the wholehearted, delighted thought, how wondrously odd.
The thought never ends with an exclamation point or a question mark; it is only punctuated with awe.
The oiled piglet problem
Frequently, I fight for concentration while meditating. It slips out of my hands — not like sand gently streaming away, but like an oiled piglet that just wiggles out and is gone, carried by fast little legs and a desire to cavort in mud and whatnot.