Five years ago this Thursday, I sat down to start my meditation journey in earnest. Up until that point, I had played with the idea some in both group settings and by myself but there was a fear bubbling there, something that made the very simple act of sitting quietly feel almost paralyzingly intimidating.
In classic human style, it was a deeply jarring experience that got me to take the bull by the horns. Or, you know, set my backside on the cushion. I had done a TEDx Talk and blanked right smack in the middle. I recovered and, truth be told, it was ultimately that very horrifying part of the talk that was the most compelling and meaningful to the audience.
To me, it was a wakeup call.
I stood backstage after the gracious in-person audience applauded and I felt myself literally trembling. Adrenaline and super-charged gremlin voices were coursing through me as some little voice of wisdom rose up and said: This terror is the result of perfectionism; this is where your work is right now.
In the midst of an intense shame spiral, I skipped the celebratory stone soup dinner following the event and retreated to fuzzy pajamas on my couch where I searched for resources to help me navigate what I had just learned. That night, I ordered The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown and a compilation of essays on meditation called The Art of Just Sitting edited by John Daido Loori.
Each morning, I read one essay from the book with three intentions: First, naturally, to learn about meditation. Second, to create time in my schedule for meditation. And third, to emotionally prepare myself to be with whatever the undefined fear was that I would be facing.
The TEDx talk was on April 27, 2013; I finished the book and sat myself down to meditate on May 31. As so often happens, once I dragged my vague sense of fear out of the shadows and into the light, it shriveled. It didn’t disappear, mind you, but rather its fangs turned into toothless gums that gnawed on me annoyingly rather than shredding me into human confetti.
Since then, I’ve meditated regularly, not daily, and explored all sorts of variations, techniques including metta or loving kindness meditation, heartfulness meditation, the Tibetan meditation on death, moving mediation, mantra meditation using mala beads, Focusing, and tonglen, a beautiful meditation practice that turns our pain into compassion. I’ve read more books, watched videos, listened to podcasts like Tara Brach’s darma talks, and participated in local group meditations. Recently, I met an incredible human, Sacil Armstrong, who offers a free, Facebook live meditation each Sunday night through her group, Meditations for the Resistance; I haven’t had a chance to participate yet and I’m excited to feel the vibe she creates for so many people.
Want to play along? That’s why I included the links!
So, I get the resistance you might be feeling to giving meditation a go. I get that vague, undefined fear that can crop up, and I’ve heard so many of you when you’ve said you can’t meditate. (I even wrote about that in my post One Big, Bad Misconception About Meditation.)
And yet I feel all sorts of confident that you could not only make it happen, but that you would also find a calmness and self-awareness there that you might not even be able to imagine right now.
Sure, I could bolster my argument with a bunch of links to neuroscientific research on the benefits of meditation, and to countless testimonials from famous people who swear by meditation. But I’d rather offer a suggestion for the easiest, lowest-risk, lightest-commitment starting point that I can imagine: Brushing your teeth.
Nope, cushions are not required for meditation. Neither are massive chunks of time. What is required, perhaps the only requirement, is intention.
All it takes – really and truly – is deciding that you’re going to do your best (not your perfectest but your best) to focus only on brushing your teeth for those two minutes. Notice the way the tube of toothpaste feels in your hand while you squeeze it onto your toothbrush; notice the sound and look of the water as you wet your brush. Notice the feeling of the bristles on your teeth and gums, and of the foam filling your mouth. Thoughtfully brush every tooth and rinse with equal thoughtfulness. Notice the smooth, silky feeling of your teeth when you’re done.
And most of all, know that you will almost definitely not hold your attention on brushing your teeth, not even for two minutes. Your mind will wander, likely lots. This is not failure; this is being human with a brain that thinks constantly, even incessantly.
Success, in this case, is redirecting time and again with self-compassion.