I often feel a bit sheepish admitting that my daily yoga and meditation practices aren’t rooted in a desire to be spiritual or virtuous. Let me walk you through my typical day.
This past Monday kicked off like any other. I enjoyed a cup of coffee, courtesy of my partner, as we sat together in his living room tackling emails. During a lengthy story I was sharing, he gently interrupted, gesturing at his screen to remind me it was work time. Surprisingly, I felt uplifted by his boundaries. Who doesn’t appreciate a partner who knows when to draw the line?
I wrapped up the second half of an essay that I thought was quite decent. The sun was shining, but rain was on the horizon—a welcome prospect given the ongoing drought here in California. While you might not care about the drought if you live elsewhere, it’s worth noting that it could eventually affect food supplies. But for now, it felt like a weight had been lifted, knowing the situation was being addressed.
Contrary to popular belief, I don’t dread Mondays. I actually enjoy my work. Though I sometimes think I’d prefer to be doing something else, writing truly brings me joy—just in moderation. I believe five hours of writing a day strikes a good balance; it allows time for reading, observing, and socializing with those who make me laugh. A little tidbit: my divorce stemmed from realizing I didn’t have time for a partner whose humor didn’t resonate with me.
However, my pleasant Monday took a turn when I stepped out for toast and encountered what could easily be labeled the worst cappuccino I’ve ever had. It was a grainy, unpleasant concoction that left me reeling. I had never experienced a subpar cappuccino before, and it felt like a betrayal.
In a fit of frustration, I turned my cup into a scene from a crime drama, shoving a napkin into it with a jam-covered spoon. When the barista asked if I was finished, I snapped, “Oh yes, I’m DONE,” while forcing a smile that screamed, “I’m better than this.”
Afterwards, I headed to my shared office, which is home to a quirky mix of people, including a black Labrador whose soulful eyes often serve as my anchor during tough days. I sat down to work on a pitch for an editor who intimidates me with her serious demeanor. Despite my efforts, I struggled to get anything down on paper. I thought about sending the incomplete draft just to have something to show for my time, but that thought was quickly dismissed.
As the hours dragged on, the temptation to skip yoga loomed large. I often wonder if it’s worth it to prioritize work over my practice, but skipping yoga often leads to regret—especially when I see the clock tick away and realize I’ve accomplished nothing.
Eventually, after an unproductive afternoon and a craving for a hamburger, I indulged myself. Returning to the office, I shot an annoyed glance at the innocent Labrador and muttered about his disgusting toy.
Determined to write, I returned to my work, caught in a cycle of producing mediocre content. I pondered whether it was humility or arrogance to continue writing despite my lack of inspiration—humility in treating it like a job, but arrogance in believing brilliance would come to me soon.
By late afternoon, I was in a foul mood, dreading another hour in the office followed by yoga. I craved the freedom of venting to friends or enjoying a drink, but the fear of wasting time drove me to class. I paid my $16 and rolled out my mat, attempting to prepare myself for an hour and a half of yoga.
The instructor began with his usual motivational speech about the beauty of being alive, which irritated me, despite my affection for him. I moved through the poses half-heartedly, barely engaging. When the meditation portion stretched longer than usual, my mind wandered to mundane worries, and I found myself ruminating on financial concerns and the latest Apple product release.
When class ended, my friend Lisa excitedly remarked on how amazing it was, but I shrugged, unconvinced. I headed home, made myself fried eggs and toast, and finally took the long-awaited bath I had yearned for earlier. As I soaked, I found myself crying, overwhelmed by my tendency to be ungrateful and discontent. Yet, I began to chuckle, realizing how absurd my frustrations were.
In that moment of clarity, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. How fortunate am I to have the luxury of a warm bath?
The next day unfolded much like the previous one, but I did manage to find a barista who made a decent cappuccino. I’ve learned that if you neglect the practical aspects of life, the spiritual side tends to falter. For anyone exploring options for pregnancy, take a look at this informative resource. And if you’re interested in at-home insemination, check out this helpful post. For those looking into plant-based beauty, this site is a great authority on the subject.
In summary, my daily practice of yoga and meditation isn’t about spirituality—it’s a means of navigating the ups and downs of daily life. Through the chaos, I’ve found moments of clarity and joy, reminding me that even the small things can lead to profound gratitude.