Aaaaand with that, my mind has melted down completely, and I’m hunting down a late-night show to watch. Apparently, the Sandman is really into Stephen Colbert, because he won’t let me catch a nap until I turn it on. Jibbers
forbid there are no new episodes.
Here’s the problem: my devices crept back into my life like vermin when you forget to take out the trash, and, in my case, the trash is piling up to the ceiling. My meditation practice has slipped, I watch more movies than I used to and I don’t do my language practice as much as I should. My Spanish has gone from elementary to nonexistent. Instead, my devices fill the few remaining hours between work and sleep, and a careless search for “interesting” tidbits merely exacerbates my discomfort with the unknown.
Some might recommend a workout. The fact is my body is exhausted from multiple 20 min. bike rides per day and a 60 or 90 minute workout five days a week, but my mind is like an under-exercised border collie. It warms up at work, and then all I have left for it to do is run around my tiny apartment late into the night. That means, when I wake up, it’s exhausted and a little sad, because furniture aren’t sheep.
I committed to spend this weekend with myself — no parties, no brunches, no hanging out with folks — so I could try to take out the trash. That means meditating, but I’m worried about what I might find when I do.
Meditation isn’t always ‘om’s and scented candles (neither of which are necessary, by the way). Sometimes it surfaces really tough stuff that you just need to breathe through (or gasp like a fish out of water, if you’re me). The thing about meditation, though, is you don’t do it for yourself; you do it for the other people in your life. So, tomorrow, I’ll get to it. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. Hopefully, if I do, the Sandman will settle for learning about the amygdala
and give up his insatiable urge for late night jokes.