This weekend, after finishing what felt like a marathon of a month at work, I was determined to (make an attempt) at clearing my head of the stresses that accompany my daily hustle and bustle. I’d been hearing all sorts of buzz about “meditation”, namely from my sister, who just began her new job at the Chopra Center.
Last night, I crawled into my bed and laid flat underneath the comforter, arms at my side, determined to give it a try.
With no professional instruction whatsoever, I closed my eyes and inhaled. I attempted to think of nothing other than the rise and fall of my chest. A second later, I was bombarded with the fear that I had forgotten to lock the front door of my apartment. I silenced the worry. Before long, I was creating a mental reminder to send an email to my client in the morning. I brought it to a hault, but only for moment, as I caught myself generating a grocery list for the week.
Why was it so difficult to rid myself of every thought?
I retired to the fact that I wasn’t about to accomplish anything and drifted off to sleep.
About 11:00am this morning I walked to my car with the intention of visiting my favorite gluten free bakery for a bite. For whatever reason, I opted to forgo the breakfast pastry and merge onto the five instead.
I wasn’t quite sure where I was headed. Impulsively, I chose a route unfamiliar, and forged East.
I took a few sips of my coffee, as I pressed through the stop and go. Slowly, traffic began to ease up.
As I entered into the Snoqualmie Pass, I found myself eyeballing the abundance of Evergreens lining the highway. I enjoyed the occasional speck of yellow, and pockets of red. I gazed loosely as the gusts of wind sent Fall leaves into a flurry. In the distance, thick clouds were rolling through the mountains.
Before long, I wasn’t thinking about anything, other than that was directly in front of my face.
A downpour surfaced out of thin air. All that could be seen through the wipers racing feverishly across my windshield were the drops of water bouncing off the asphalt, three feet in front of the hood of my car. The sky was dark. I gripped the steering wheel, focusing intently on the painted white lines along the road to guide me.
After some time, the pavement had dried, and the surroundings were once again visible. The sun began to peek through dark grey clouds. A streak of blue sky, long forgotten, was resting on the horizon. The sea of green had been replaced by stretches of brown and a scattering of windmills.
As the time passed, the canvas of sky became adorned with splashes of purple and puffs of milky white.
There was something so incredibly soothing about being alone on the road with no destination in mind.
I trekked on like this for a few good hours.
I was about 100 miles West of Spokane when the sun began to disappear. I decided I’d had enough.
It suddenly occurred to me that my stomach was growling. I took the nearest exit to who the hell knows where, and pulled into the parking lot of Dairy Queen. Although it was thirty-nine degrees outside, I selected a chocolate milkshake. I hopped back into my little white Civic, cranked up the heat, and proceeded to follow the signs leading back to Seattle.
Tomorrow, I will return to a voicemailbox full of, “I need this yesterdays”. I’ll spend the day making unhappy people happy again, and prevent the ones who are not angry from becoming it.
But, I’ll be ready for it.
I may suck at meditation; but I suppose, sometimes all you need is a little ride on the road to nowhere, and absolutely nothing, to get your mind right.