To be honest, I don’t meditate or practice yoga out of a desire to be good or spiritual. Let me elaborate on that.
This past Monday started off quite pleasantly. I awoke to a cup of coffee prepared by my partner, and we settled in his living room to tackle emails. As I started spinning a long tale, he gently shook his head and gestured towards his screen, signaling it was time to focus on work instead. Surprisingly, I found comfort in that; who doesn’t appreciate someone who sets boundaries?
I wrapped up a second draft of an essay I thought was reasonably decent. The weather was sunny, but rain was on the horizon—a welcome sight in drought-stricken California. You might not care about a drought if you live elsewhere, but it’s worth mentioning that it could eventually affect food supply. So, for that day, at least, the drought felt manageable, which was a relief.
I don’t dread Mondays. In fact, I enjoy working. I often think I’d prefer to be doing something else, but I find happiness in work—moderate amounts, of course. For me, five hours of writing is ideal; it leaves space for reading, daydreaming, and laughing with friends to steal their jokes. Fun fact: this realization played a part in my divorce; I realized I lacked the time to be married to someone whose jokes didn’t inspire me.
However, my decent Monday took a turn for the worse when I ventured out to grab some toast and ordered a cappuccino that turned out to be the worst I had ever encountered. It was a shock, really; I had never tasted anything but great cappuccinos before. Now, it was like a grim blend of chalky margarine and dirt. Sending it back was out of the question; I was too irritated. What could I even say? “Did you just wander in off the street and start making cappuccinos?”
It’s mortifying how our trivial frustrations can lead to petty actions. I found myself using a jam-covered spoon to submerge a napkin into my half-full cappuccino—transforming it into a crime scene of sorts. When the barista asked if I was finished, I snapped, “Oh yes, I’m DONE,” accompanied by a smile that was anything but genuine, meant to convey that I was rising above my annoyance.
Later, I arrived at my shared office with a woman, a man, and a black Labrador retriever. Some days, the Lab’s soulful eyes are a lifeline; other days, I question why he’s around, especially when he’s working a slimy toy to its demise.
I attempted to draft a pitch for an editor who, while not necessarily smarter, is more serious and organized than I am, which is intimidating. The pitch itself wasn’t complex, but I found myself stuck. I told myself that jotting down facts would help, yet those facts lacked personality. More than once, I considered sending what I had written just to get a rejection and say, “Well, I tried!”
Throughout my struggle, I kept thinking about my yoga class later, aware that if I didn’t produce anything worthwhile, I might be tempted to skip it, clinging to hope for a breakthrough. Sometimes skipping yoga for work is the right choice, but it’s a gamble. You need to be ready for the possible failure of realizing that the clock has struck seven, and you’ve accomplished nothing while missing a valuable opportunity to regroup.
After three frustrating hours of writing poorly, I realized I simply wanted a hamburger. So, I indulged in one.
Upon returning to the office, I shot a dirty look at the innocent Lab and declared, “That toy is disgusting.” The owner promptly sent him into the hallway. I could still hear the revolting noises, but at least I felt respected.
I reluctantly returned to writing, grappling with the idea of whether it’s humble or arrogant to persist in writing when your work is subpar. On one hand, it’s a job like any other, but on the other, you’re banking on a sudden burst of inspiration.
As the afternoon wore on, my mood soured. I dreaded the thought of sitting in the office for another hour before heading to yoga. I craved freedom—to wander around, vent to friends, or indulge in some vodka, which promises to ease the tension but often leads to feeling worse afterward.
Plus, I dreaded interacting with people at yoga. If I had to engage with anyone, I preferred they be characters from my favorite show, The Good Wife.
But the fear of wasting time nudged me into attending. I paid my $16 and placed my mat in a corner, surrounded by a couple with matching mohawks who were clearly enjoying themselves a bit too much. The yoga class, as expected, didn’t elevate my mood.
The instructor began with his usual monologue about how life isn’t so bad, and I found myself wishing he’d just stop talking. Despite my initial enthusiasm for his classes, I was now disillusioned. I went through the motions of the physical part of the class without any real enthusiasm. His encouragement to invest more heart into it only frustrated me further.
The meditation segment stretched longer than usual, and I spent half of it mentally tallying my expenses and worrying that I’d left my iPad on my car. In the moments between thoughts, I simmered about Apple releasing a new iPad just days after I received mine. When the class finished, my friend Lisa gushed, “Wasn’t that incredible?” I merely shrugged, “Not really.”
After returning home, I prepared some fried eggs and toast, ran a bath—finally indulging in what I had wanted earlier—and sank into the hot water. I cried for a while, overwhelmed by the realization of my tendency to approach life with resentment. Why did I always need to despise everything before I could appreciate it? Yet, I also found humor in my own ungratefulness.
By the end of it, I felt euphoric. How lucky was I to enjoy the simple pleasure of a hot bath?
The following day mirrored the first, but this time, I had discovered who made a great cappuccino, and I ordered from her. I learned that if you neglect the practical aspects of life, the spiritual ones can easily fall flat.
In summary, my daily practice of meditation and yoga isn’t driven by spiritual aspirations but rather a necessity to navigate the chaos of life. It helps me process my frustrations, find humor in my flaws, and appreciate the small joys, like a good cup of coffee or a warm bath.
Keyphrase: daily meditation and yoga
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