I’m a New Yorker. I thrive on the frenetic pulse created by its 8million inhabitants driven by our individual stories of ambition, hope and success as much as our apathy, desperation and failure. We get things done quickly, purposefully and with an exclamation point. We don’t pause. We don’t take deep breaths. We just keep moving.
I kindly and gently pushed my way through the Union Square crowd with a deceptively friendly smile while muttering expletives under my breath at the aimless pedestrians creating sidewalk congestion. I was gonna be pissed if they made me late for yoga!
For me, meditating is like having bad sex. It fulfills a need but I'm bored, my mind wanders and I can't stop wondering how soon it'll be over. But unlike bad sex, I know that meditation is a good and necessary evil. Why? Well, I've noticed that I've got these preconceived, new-agey ideals about appropriate emotional responses to life's experiences and traumas.
It was the 21st day of the Chopra Center 21-day Meditation Challenge and I was still on meditation #15. To cram or not to cram? That was the question. I could've meditated all night to make up for my lack of commitment over the last week. But that seemed counter-intuitive to the whole process and purpose of creating a consistent daily practice.
