I like teaching it in part because for four weeks I have to keep a daily log of mindfulness activities, just like the students, and this built-in accountability helps convince me to cut the crap and just sit down already.
Even so, I missed Friday and Saturday's required ten minutes of practice, but I did think about it, specifically when I could create a regular, sustainable time in my day during which to meditate, and came up with a great idea: after dinner, I would leave my kids cleaning up the kitchen and slip upstairs to my bedroom, settling onto the floor in the carpeted alley between my bed and the window overlooking my back door and deck, facing the pothos sitting on the bedside table whose drawer holds Mike's watch and cologne and glasses, the plant that once hung from the ceiling in a tasteful macrame net and that I haven't been able to - or rather even tried to - rehang after the plaster fell away around the ceiling hook. While I sat with intention and awareness, the kids would learn to get it done, as I often suggest they do, just get it done please, without me there to complain to when one child is perceived to be avoiding her duties or the sink is full of pre-dinner dishes that none of them apparently have created and eschew all responsibility for. It would go so much better if I weren't there urging them on, and I would be motivated to practice if it meant a smoother post-dinner clean up.
So after our frittata and tomatoes and cucumbers I explained that I simply had to meditate, and I would be back in ten minutes to help them finish up. I ran up the back stairs to my room and shut the door. I slid Mike's meditation bench out from beneath the table that holds the plant, and opened Insight Timer on my phone. I set the time and proceeded to slide my shins beneath the bench, straighten my spine, and exhale. Yes. Meditating. Making time for me. I love this. Right? I love this.
Within about thirty seconds my children began reciting Hamilton lyrics together at the top of their lungs. Their voices floated out of the open kitchen door below and filled the cool air around our house. The sound, along with clinking dishes and running water, traveled up to me in a way that made their voices sound particularly human, particularly like themselves. I laughed. Oh my god, I love them. They are so funny.
Wait! Wait just a minute, I'm meditating here. Inhale, exhale.
They then blasted the actual soundtrack to sing along to. I felt vaguely jealous that I was missing out on the fun scene in the kitchen. I couldn't stop my brain from singing along silently too.
Brah, brah I'm Hercules Mulligan/Up in it, lovin' it, yes I heard your mother say come again
Oof, no. That is, I guess, something I will label thinking.
I heard Ramona roll against my closed door and commence methodically chewing away on her squeakiest toy.
Hello, breath. Back to the breath.
I heard Beatrice scream at her brother and sister to turn it down, they were being too loud.
I noticed my back aching. Like, all over. Oh man. Does anyone not start to feel extremely uncomfortable about 94 seconds into seated meditation?
My phone chirped many times in a row, in such a way that I knew the texts were from the man I am dating as his staccato voice-to-text style always comes through in multiple parts.
Thinking, Meagan.
Don't modulate the key then not debate with me/Why should a tiny island across the sea regulate the price of tea?
I tried focusing on the feeling of my hands resting on my thighs instead of my breath.
I then felt the air whoosh against my back as my bedroom door suddenly flung open behind me and Beatrice ran in, standing over me, her long hair tickling my shoulders.
I am sorry Mama, but there is an emergency right now and you are still just SITTING HERE meditating!! Ramona pulled the modem off the shelf by its cord and now the internet is probably broken!
I mustered all my focus and kept on noticing that I was breathing and tried not to smile and kept my eyes closed.
Mama!!! Come ON!
Beatrice, I quietly responded, I am still meditating. My timer has not gone off yet.
But you've been up here for at least an hour!
Then I did smile. And told her I'd be there just as soon as my ten minutes were up. She ran out, exasperated.
But while we were engaged in this exchange, the door was open, and Ramona ran in and leapt onto my bed next to me, her panting face level with mine. That made me remember I still needed to put clean sheets on my naked mattress.
Thinking! Another thought!
I heard Beatrice yelling again, about something indistinguishable. She sounded like she needed help. Suddenly I couldn't stand it anymore. I opened my eyes to find Ramona's inquisitive sweet doggy face inches from mine, and looked down at my phone. Somehow I'd missed the soothing chimes indicating the end of my session and had been sitting there for six extra minutes.
Woah. I felt like a total meditation pro. I went downstairs, turned off the music in the clean kitchen to much protesting, and felt my heart animating my chest curiously, with a flutter and an ache.
Later on, in the course of getting-ready-for-bed conversation, Frances casually observed that I have a low bar for life, which is why I'm so happy all the time.
You'd probably make a really good Buddhist, she said.
That made me laugh. Oh, totally. I'd be an amazing Buddhist. Just wait til I hit that bench tomorrow.
