Day 118: Free your mind…

I’ve never quite grasped the concept of meditation. Here is an excerpt, verbatim, from a conversation I once had with my boyfriend:

Me: I don’t understand what meditation means.

Him: It’s emptying your mind of all thought.

Me: I literally do understand what that means. 

So, yes, as we’ve established before — not a namaste girl here. But the goal here is to try new things, to learn, and maybe to give something of a fair shake to concepts I’ve outright rejected in the past. 

I’ve been to yoga classes, but anytime we got to the meditation part, I typically used the time to either nap, or think about what I needed to get done, or sometimes just to contemplate what happened on the most recent episode of “Mad Men.” When I’ve listened to meditation recordings, it’s been strictly with the goal of a soothing sound to put me to sleep. I’ve just never actually tried really following any sort of guided meditation.

That said, I’ve been feeling very stressed and anxious lately. I’m a person with a lot of anxiety, so I try to find ways to keep that at bay. Sometimes that means music, or a funny movie. Sometimes it’s sleeping. Sometimes it’s having a drink, or going for a walk. I know a number of people, however, who tout the value of meditation, so it seemed like a good time to take a real whack at it.

First things first. This photo is not representative of my experience:

I do not have a beautiful, grassy hill upon which to meditate in solitude at my disposal. Sure, there are plenty of lovely places in the park, but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable trying to close out the world around me in public in New York. We’re kind of taught awareness.

So, my bedroom it was. I had to start the recording over ten minutes into the process because it was hard to avoid concentrating on the back pain from trying to sit up extra straight. Fortunately, a prone position is acceptable (score). 

Here’s what I discovered: Meditating is really hard. For something that sounds very simple (clear your mind), it’s really freakin’ complicated. Trying to actually just follow the instructions of deep breathing, without letting a million thoughts and worries fly through the air, or trying to concentrate on what the lady on the recording is telling me that I’ll be “ready to face the world with (my) new positive and confident smile.” 

Dude, that’s a lot of pressure. And “no thoughts”? Who has no thoughts? When someone tells me to not have thoughts, I have more thoughts. But I swear, I was trying. I was trying really, really hard to just focus completely on my breathing, and on what the recording was saying to me. 

And then, just when I felt like I was at least doing okay at repeating what she was saying in my head, and not thinking about other things, she told me to imagine a beach. I get where she was coming from. Sand. Oasis. Ocean. Sunset. Maybe some seagulls. I think the image that came to my mind was the Hamptons in the summer. Crowds. Bikinis. Children. Umbrellas. 

That is not relaxing. It is not peaceful. It is why I do not like beaches in summer. It is definitely not freakin’ meditative. But I still tried. 

And then the god damn phone rang. Seriously?!

Okay, clearly I am not a peaceful, zen person by nature. I am, however, a stressbug nitwit, and would therefore appreciate having some more techniques of self-soothing at my disposal. So, for those who have found various sorts of mediation or reflective breathing, or whatnot helpful, perhaps you might share some tips or insights? 

For your own sake, I advise against using words like “goddess,” “chakra,” basically any word that indicates you are pretending to be an enlightened person, because I will be forced to mock you, and while that’s very fun for me, it’s not especially new. 

 

 

Day 100: Something Meta

100 days. 

I wish I had something big and exciting to mark this milestone, but in truth, the newest thing that happened today is that this is the first time I’ve consistently done something, with intent, for 100 days in a row. I’ve never stuck to Weight Watchers, or gone to the gym, or worked on a novel for 100 days in a row. There are things I’ve done for 100 days in a row — talked to my boyfriend, written emails, things like that — but I don’t have to make a point of doing those. So Day 100 of The Something New Project is marked by achieving Day 100 of, well, anything. 

In actuality, there were a number of new things I learned today, but they were all related to networking meetings  I had, as I am currently on the job hunt (joy), and thus it would not be prudent to discuss anything I learned as a result of those meetings. But, you know, just trust me.

I want to look back on what I’ve learned over the past 100 days, where I’ve succeeded, and where I have room for growth.

I feel like this project has encouraged me to both explore and notice the world around me more. I’ve taken the time to stop and observe interesting things. I might have otherwise been inclined to walk past certain subway performers, like Miss Union Square. I’ve also been more inclined to venture into different places, like the White Horse Tavern. 

I’ve also made a point of exploring more cultural opportunities, including seeing a performance by the wonderful Stolen Chair Theatre Company. I’ve had some new culinary adventures. 

Some ventures were more long-term. Going gluten-free for a month was very successful, I’m happy to report. I felt significantly better. I really need to get back to that. It made a big difference in my life. Other ventures, unfortunately, were not as successful. I regret to say that I was not able to follow my plan to give up unhealthy sleeping habits for Lent, and I’d like to apologize to my Catholic friends for that one. If I attempt to follow the terms of Lent again, I will give up something more tangible, like chocolate (perish the thought). I’ve also not been consistent about recording moments of happiness or gratitude. I would like to resume my practice of gratitude. 

Here are a few of my goals, large and small, for the next 100 days of this project:

Spend a day in silence

Try bikram yoga

 

Go somewhere I’ve never been

Bake a lemon meringue pie, from scratch

Get a new job 

As always, I am open to suggestions, feedback, critique, etc. In fact, I implore you to talk to me more. For everyone who is following along, thanks. Thanks a lot. 

 

Day 73: Taxicab Meditations

I hate taking cabs. No disrespect to cab drivers, but they’re too expensive, traffic is ridiculous, blah blah blah. The subway is just more efficient. 

So that’s probably one of the reasons why I’ve never encountered the philosophizing cab driver before, at least, not in my memory. But I had reason to cab it today, and as it happens, I got into a taxi driven by one Kwame Fosu, once featured in the PBS documentary, Taxi Dreams.

Mr. Fosu, a native of Ghana, has been a student of yoga and philosophy for 40 years. He spoke of the importance of meditation, which is something else I’ve never done (and something I have no real understanding of what it means). 

He spoke for the entire time I was in the cab, and I wasn’t taking notes or recording, but these are the three main points he kept coming back to:

– material possessions are not the way to happiness

– give love 

– be true to yourself

I was tempted to ask how he can manage to maintain a meditative spirit when he drives a cab in freakin’ New York City. I can’t drive more than five blocks in New York without wanting to… do something that I should not say on the record. 

Mr. Fosu keeps a composition book in his cab, in which he has written “homework” for his new friends:

He gave me a bit of a quiz: If the wisdom of the world has been hidden away, where has it been hidden? 

What do you think the answer is? 

Day 50: Going with the flow

Having no idea what “hatha flow” yoga was, I approached the instructor at the door.

“I don’t particularly like yoga. I’m not flexible, I fall down a lot, and I am just not a namaste girl.”

She laughed and put her hand on my arm. “Come on in.”

During the small class (six students), she guided us through a series of postures and stretches, making sure to tell each person how to adjust for their needs. One man wanted to work on opening his hips. I need to be careful with my damaged spine.

Donna, the instructor, kept the atmosphere light and conversational, even humorous.

“A fellow yoga instructor once told me to imagine love emanating from your fingertips,” she shared as we stood in Warrior Two pose. “The ‘not-a-namaste-girl’ must really hate that.”

I loved it. Not the emanating love part – what is this, a zen Care Bear stare*? But the good-natured teasing. I honestly don’t get people who can’t take a gentle ribbing.

Sorry, that joke was so 2013. And mocking a 20-year-old girl, or however old Taylor Swift is, is so not namaste of me.

While I know that yoga has its benefits, my previous experience has not been positive. Part of it is physical — someone tell me why I have any need to do the splits or put my legs over my head at this point in my life? The other part is very mental. I cannot be in a room and listen to a skinny blonde 23-year-old tell me to connect with my inner goddess. Seriously.

I told Donna, who is 59, as much. “I’m very glad you can appreciate 30 years of teaching experience,” she replied, with a smile.

And I do, very much. If I’m going to be open to some sort of an ancient practice, like yoga, I need my leader to be someone who has a lot more life experience than I do, who’s had more joy and more pain, and who has had more of an opportunity to develop empathy. By the same token, I don’t really want a 30-year-old psychotherapist either. That might make me ageist, but I can live with that.

The past 50, and the next 315, days of The Something New Project will hopefully teach me some things about myself, including what I like and don’t like. The goal is to learn to not assume I won’t like something because I don’t anticipate being good at it. What’s that irritating saying? Life begins at the end of your comfort zone? On one hand, I want to learn to get out of my comfort zone, but on the other hand, I’m looking to find a newer, wider zone. I like being comfortable. I don’t feel a need to change that about myself. I just think there’s room for my comfort zone to grow, and for me to grow within it.

Tell me one thing you’ve done to expand your personal comfort zone.

*Apparently, according to Urban Dictionary, a “Care Bear stare” can be taken to mean a lusty, intense gaze from one gentleman to another. As I am not a gay man, I did not intend the term in this manner. Apologies to anyone who is disappointed.

Admin. Note: I have started a Twitter feed exclusively for The Something New Project. Please follow along at @sthgnew2014. I will still be posting updates on my personal Twitter at @hollyleber. Please follow me there as well, because like 99 percent of people who have blogs, I am desperate for attention and validation. 

Day 36: If you are an easily offended yogurt (person who does yoga), you might not like this one.

I’m beginning to think the elderly are a key to my finding exercise I can enjoy. In Chattanooga, I sometimes played water volleyball, and was typically the youngest person by about 40 years.

Sometimes I feel like my joints are about 30 years older than I am. My shoulders crunch, my ankles crack, my knees snap, my hips pop. I’m like a friggin’ bowl of Rice Krispies. So when I saw that the New York Sports Club I just joined had what they call “Silver Sneakers yoga” (translation: yoga for old folks), I thought “well, maybe they’ll let me do it, too.”

Three reasons I’ve never liked yoga:

1) I am not a namaste girl. I am not zen, or centered, any of that other crap. The concept of meditation is completely elusive to me. And I definitely do not need some skinny 25-year-old blonde telling me to “connect with (my) inner Earth goddess,” or some such claptrap.

2) I am not flexible. I can’t touch my toes. I can’t do the splits. I can’t put my legs over my head. I see no reason why I should ever need to do that last one at this point in my life, but in general, yoga classes just make me feel like the slow, fat kid in gym class.

3) I am the slow, fat kid. I’m not lithe, or skinny, I’m not fashionable when I work out. And I’m not saying that it’s right or fair to judge women on looks when they work out, and I’m certainly not saying that people who are not skinny have no place in yoga classes. Believe me, I’m not looking to be this girl. In fact, if I had a friend who was my size or larger who expressed a similar discomfort, I would be sympathetic and encouraging. However, when it comes to myself, I am judgmental and harsh, and I’ll get over that whenever I’ve completed the process of getting over it.

So to get to the point, they welcomed me into yoga for the elderly and decrepit (in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a lot of use for political correctness). And you know something? It was actually a really good class.

There was a lot of stretching and focus on the joints, which is good for someone like me who feels stiff and achy all the time. Much of the work was done on chairs, which helped to maintain better posture than I would have had on the floor. And there was a minimum of the sort of namaste-hoopla.

In fact, the instructor actually had a sense of humor. She made jokes. She was relaxed and chatty. She didn’t use an irritating zen retreat voice. I approached her after the class to thank her for the first yoga class I’ve ever actually enjoyed.

It was my first chair yoga class (and my first old person yoga class), and while I certainly wasn’t sweating or working up my heart rate, it did feel like good exercise, like an hour of healthy stretching. I wasn’t worried about the fact that I can’t do inversion poses, or feeling frustrated by my lack of sisterhood with Gaia, or self-conscious about my weight, or my clothing. That was nice.

Of course, I still fell down. So some things don’t change.

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