Several years ago, I read a blog by a writer I was unfamiliar with at the time and it changed my life. The writer was Dani Shapiro, her blog is called On Being. In her post “On Beginning Again,” she writes about how writing and meditation are similar in that with each we must continually begin again. Each time we face the page or come to our mat is a new beginning, which can be daunting, but “We remain willing to feel our way through the darkness, to stop, take stock, breathe in, breathe out, begin again. And again, and again.”
I wasn’t writing much at the time. My husband had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I had put aside writing and teaching to take care of him and my children. What appealed to me was this idea of beginning again. Being able to reboot throughout the day. I bought her memoir, Devotion, and read books by her teachers, Jack Kornfield in particular. When I took up meditating, it was frustrating. I became aware of how much my mind wandered into the past and into fantasy. I watched my thoughts try to take over again and again. Each time I would say to myself, “It’s okay, begin again,” giving myself little moments of forgiveness repeatedly for fifteen minutes a day.
I was certain that I wasn’t making any progress. Of course, that isn’t the purpose of mediation. That is why they call it a practice and not a mastering. But I showed up every day. And by showing up and being with whatever my mind presented, I was changing outside my practice. I forgave myself in small ways throughout the day. I found I had patience where I hadn’t before. Most importantly, I found acceptance of what was happening.
Meditating was instrumental in helping me live with the dying, knowing that this could be the last movie we watch, the last time we see these friends, the last time we have a romantic dinner, last birthday, holiday, kid’s soccer game or ski trip. It taught me how to stay present in the very last days, when the past didn’t matter and there was no future.
Almost two years after I started, meditation is still frustrating. I rarely find that I’ve calmed my mind or cleared my thoughts. My mind is still overactive; I have to bring it back to my breath hundreds of times, but I show up. And I have found that makes all the difference. Show up and be with what my practice is for the day.
Now as I come back to my writing after my husband’s death, I am learning the same about my writing. Just begin again, breathe. And most importantly, show up each and every day and be with what my writing practice has in store for me. Even if I write for fifteen minutes and it’s utter crap, I showed up. And whatever I discover in that time, follows me throughout the day.
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