Everyday Meditation

order out of chaos: barrel cactus @ the Getty 

This is going to be a short post because I’m experimenting with something new: finding focus and presence in the little moments that life presents us. I have been scattered and anxious lately, fallout from my father’s death and life on the hamster wheel with two small children, one of whom is a newly mobile nine-month-old. I know I’m too busy when I don’t have time for writing practice or learning to cook, both of which tether me in a reassuring way to the present moment, where I can slow down and breathe and find a stillness that grounds and exhilarates me.

A few days ago, a wise person offered me some advice: Stop depending on peace and quiet to meditate and write and breathe Sure, it’s nice to sit in the deep stillness of the house while two girls sleep and listen to the refrigerator hum and know that the dishes are washed and the surfaces of my brain are neat, wiped clean and open to whatever arises. But, let’s face it, those moments are fleeting and increasingly rare. So instead of wallowing in resentment, wishing for something that no longer is, he suggested in all seriousness that I find stillness in the chaos and meditate in the madness.

I had to laugh, picturing Pippa in the bathtub and me sitting in lotus on the floor, zoned out in a mama trance while she flings her duckies and squeals with laughter and flaps her little legs, splashing water all over me and the floor. Even as I was laughing at the lunacy of it, though, I knew he had a point. It’s easy to write and be mindful when small children aren’t underfoot, but it’s essential to do it when they are. This is the practice of parenting, and if I had to guess, I’d say it will be the biggest challenge of my life.

I tried it the other day. I didn't really have a clue what to do, so I improvised. We were going out on an errand. Maisy was already strapped into her car seat, while Pippa insisted on climbing in on her own. (“I do it!” is her mantra these days.) I was impatient, hurrying her along, when it hit me: This is what he means. I could rush the moment with my own maternal heavy hand, blowing dragon-mama steam out my nose, or just breathe in and out and let her be. So I thought, Who cares? and stood there gazing out at the fattening buds on the elm tree as she went through her little routine, retrieving her pacifier from its net, peering in at Maisy, and then finally swinging her legs in under her and plunking down in her seat. I got in two or three deep breaths. It was shockingly restful—a microscopic oasis in my day. I didn’t write a single word or have a single creative idea or sit cross-legged repeating my mantra with a drowsy half-smile on my face. I just stood there, looking out at the world and letting her be who she was at that moment.

I liked it so much I think I might try it again. And in the meantime, I will shove the Sunday newspaper off the dining room table and prop open my laptop in this brief 20-minute window before doing the dishes and going to bed and write a few words and breathe….