Meditating has helped me realize that I was living my life at the front of the line. The front of the line usually has a positive condonation but there’s also a frenzied alertness that comes when you’re next in line — there’s that wide eyed, almost frantic concentration that comes with knowing you’re about to be called on, that you’re almost “up”.
Meditation has helped me move to the back of the line, where I can see what’s in front of me and what’s around me more clearly.
A way of not only zooming out but also surrendering to the wait, to the present.
With this exhale and new vantage-point comes clarity. Not only can I see what’s in front of me, I can name it; like I’m on the side of the road watching cars speed by — there’s my anger, there’s my joy, there’s my resentment, there’s my hope, there’s my grief.
I’m not immersed in any of it, just taking notice and letting it move along at its own pace, not mine.
My meditation the other day drew the comparison of feelings to the weather. When it’s raining, we don’t go outside and plead with the sky — we rest knowing that we may get wet but that we can also dry off and that the rain, like everything, will eventually stop. Impermanence. In Al-anon we say “feelings are visitors”. Just like the weather.
And so I’m noticing, observing, taking notes, witnessing. Not making any judgments, not grasping at any one thing, welcoming all of it like I would a new day. Like I would a visitor.
