Image source: Eyesclosed.org
For years, I was skeptical about meditation. I have a few friends who are obsessed with it and they were relentless, constantly telling me that meditation would cure all of my ills. In this culture of quick fixes, I’ve got an army of red flags poised to go up at the slightest provocation. How in the world could just sitting there solve my problems? How could breathing fix my anxiety, my phobias, and my lack of motivation? It sounded absurd. I wasn’t about to pay some guru to talk while I sat on a wood floor for an hour contemplating my navel. It sounded like a racket and I wasn’t buying. Then, about a year ago, I suffered a major loss. I was devastated. I couldn’t get up in the morning. I couldn’t eat. I was spiraling downward fast. It was a time when I had nothing to lose.
Image source: Sites.duke.edu
Memory is a mysterious beast. Some things we remember so vividly. We can call them up in a daydream: we can see the wallpaper, the shoes, an entire meal; taste the key lime pie; recreate every pause in a conversation, every laugh. These memories never fade. They stay with us through relationships, mishaps, successes and mistakes. They flood the space behind our eyes at the strangest times. Years seem to have no power. The mind can make a childhood morning feel like yesterday. Then again, other things refuse to stick. They flit through one ear, bounce around, and exit stage left. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can’t remember a new name. I forget how to get to a friend’s house or what I told my husband to pick up for dinner.