I often feel a bit sheepish admitting that I don’t engage in yoga or meditation for the sake of spirituality or to be seen as virtuous. Let me share my reasoning.
This past Monday started off quite well. I awoke to a steaming cup of coffee, courtesy of my partner. As we settled in his living room to tackle emails, I began recounting a lengthy tale. He subtly pointed to his screen, signaling it was time to focus on work, which surprisingly uplifted me. Who doesn’t appreciate a partner with clear boundaries?
I managed to finish the latter half of an essay that I believed was decent. The sun was shining, although rain was expected later. I welcomed that news, considering the drought afflicting California. While those outside the state might not see it as pressing, it’s worth noting that prolonged droughts can impact food supplies everywhere—just something to keep in mind. But for the moment, it felt as if the drought was somewhat under control, easing my worries.
I don’t dread Mondays. In fact, I enjoy working. I often think I’d prefer to be doing something else, but in reality, writing brings me the most joy—within reason, of course. I believe five hours of focused work is ideal for a writer, which isn’t laziness but rather a way to carve out time for reading, reflecting, and socializing with those who bring laughter into my life. Interestingly, this realization was part of my decision to end my marriage; I needed time to be with someone whose sense of humor I could appreciate.
However, my relatively pleasant Monday took a turn for the worse when I ventured out for toast and inadvertently ordered what might be the worst cappuccino I’ve ever encountered.
As I looked at it, I realized I had never even experienced a mediocre cappuccino before. After indulging in countless delightful ones, the shock of this abomination was overwhelming. It was thick and gritty, reminiscent of a wartime ration. Sending it back was out of the question; I was too flustered. What could I have possibly said? “Excuse me, did you just stumble in and start making cappuccinos?”
It’s embarrassing when our trivial frustrations lead to petty actions. I resorted to using a jam-covered spoon to stuff a crumpled napkin into my cappuccino, effectively turning it into what looked like a crime scene. When the barista asked if I was finished, I snapped, “Oh yes, I’m done!” and forced a smile that communicated a mix of disdain and sarcasm.
Arriving at my office, which I share with another woman, a man, and a black Labrador retriever, I found solace in the dog’s soulful eyes, which often help me cope with the day. Some days, however, as he chews on his favorite toy, I can’t help but wonder why he’s there.
I attempted to draft a pitch to an editor who, though perhaps not more intelligent than I, possesses a level of seriousness and organization that intimidates me. The task at hand wasn’t particularly complex, yet I struggled to find the right words. I reminded myself that jotting down facts could lead to progress, but they lacked any flair. More than once, I considered sending my incomplete thoughts to the editor just to take a step forward.
Throughout my lack of productivity, thoughts of my evening yoga class lingered in my mind. I knew that if I didn’t accomplish anything, I might skip it in favor of clinging to the hope of a sudden breakthrough. Sometimes, forgoing yoga for work is the right choice, but it’s a gamble; you risk realizing it’s late, you’ve made no progress, and you’ve also missed an opportunity to rejuvenate your mind.
After three frustrating hours of poor writing, I concluded that all I really wanted was a hamburger. So, I indulged myself.
Returning to the office, I shot a disapproving glance at the innocent black Lab and remarked, “That toy is disgusting.” His owner promptly led him away, and while I could still hear the revolting sounds, at least I had gained some respect.
I tried writing again, knowing that even poor writing is better than no writing at all. It’s hard to determine whether it’s humble or arrogant to persist when you’re not producing quality work. On one hand, it’s a recognition that writing is a job, and diligence leads to completion. On the other, it’s a delusion that brilliance is just around the corner.
As the day wore on, my mood soured further. The prospect of sitting in another room for an hour and a half of yoga felt unbearable. I longed for the freedom to vent to friends or unwind with a drink, which promises relief but often leads to regret. The thought of being around people at yoga was daunting; I wished they were all characters from my favorite show.
Yet, that familiar fear of squandering time compelled me to go to class. I paid my fee, set up my mat in the corner, and braced myself for the session. A couple with matching hairstyles greeted me with exaggerated cheerfulness, and I prepared for an hour and a half of yoga, not expecting any enjoyment.
The instructor opened with his usual speech about embracing life, which only annoyed me, despite my past appreciation for his wisdom. I went through the motions of the class without enthusiasm, and when he suggested we infuse our practice with more heart, it only fueled my frustration.
During the meditation segment, which typically lasts about ten minutes but stretched to twenty, I found my mind racing. I calculated how many checks I had written against my bank balance and worried about whether I had left my iPad on my car. I even fumed at Apple for releasing a new iPad right after I had received mine. When class ended, my friend Rebecca gushed about how amazing it had been, and I shrugged, replying, “Not particularly.”
Upon arriving home, I made myself some fried eggs and toast and ran the bath I had longed for earlier. Climbing in without the vodka I had thought I needed, I allowed myself to cry. I shed tears for feeling perpetually dissatisfied, always needing to dislike something before I could appreciate it, convinced that if my endeavors weren’t constantly thrilling and successful, the world would collapse.
Then, I began to laugh, recognizing how amusing my own discontent is. How fortunate I am to experience the simple pleasure of a hot bath!
The next day unfolded similarly, with a few adjustments. I finally discovered a barista who made exceptional cappuccinos, and it reinforced my belief that when you neglect the practical aspects of life, the spiritual ones often fall flat.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares her experiences and thoughts on meditation and yoga, highlighting their role in her life amidst daily frustrations and challenges. Through a series of humorous events and realizations, she navigates the complexities of work, personal expectations, and the importance of finding balance in life.