I often feel a bit self-conscious admitting that my daily yoga and meditation routine isn’t motivated by a desire to be virtuous or deeply spiritual. Allow me to elaborate.
This past Monday started on a positive note. I savored a cup of coffee made by my partner, and we spent the morning in his living room tackling emails. While sharing a lengthy anecdote, I noticed him nodding towards his screen, a gentle reminder that it was time to focus on work. I appreciated his boundaries; they made me feel valued.
I managed to finish an essay that I believed was quite solid. The sun was shining, but rain was forecasted later—something I welcomed given California’s ongoing drought. While you may not find this issue pressing if you live elsewhere, it’s essential to consider that this drought could eventually impact food availability, which is worth noting. Fortunately, for that day, it felt like the situation was somewhat under control, lifting a weight off my shoulders.
I actually enjoy Mondays. I find fulfillment in my work, even if I sometimes fantasize about doing something else. Ultimately, I thrive in a balanced work environment, and as a writer, I believe five hours of focused effort is sufficient. This allows time for reading, reflecting, and enjoying the company of those who make me laugh. Interestingly, this realization was part of what led to my divorce—I recognized I couldn’t maintain a relationship with someone whose humor didn’t resonate with me.
However, my relatively pleasant Monday took a turn for the worse when I stepped out to grab some toast and ended up with what could only be described as the worst cappuccino imaginable.
As I pushed the horrid drink aside, I reflected on how I had never before encountered such a subpar cappuccino. After years of enjoying delightful versions, this was a shocking disappointment. I felt too frustrated to send it back; I could only imagine the awkward exchange: “Did you just wander in off the street and start making cappuccinos?”
It’s frustrating when small grievances lead to petty reactions. Fueled by irritation, I used a jam-covered spoon to jam a crumpled napkin into my cappuccino, managing to make it resemble a scene from a crime drama. When the barista asked if I was done, I retorted with a feigned smile that suggested I was taking the moral high ground, despite knowing I was just being petulant.
I then returned to my office, which I share with a delightful colleague, a gentleman, and a black Labrador retriever. On some days, that dog’s soulful gaze is my tether to reality; on others, I find myself questioning his purpose, especially when he’s busy making a mess of his toys.
I struggled to write a pitch for an editor who, while not necessarily more intelligent than I, possesses a level of seriousness that intimidates me. Although the pitch was straightforward, my thoughts were muddled. I told myself that if I could just jot down the facts, I would make progress. Yet, devoid of personality, those facts weren’t going to cut it. I found myself contemplating the idea of sending my half-baked draft, if only to assure myself that I had tried.
Throughout this frustrating process, I thought about my impending yoga class. I wrestled with the temptation to skip it, hoping that by doing so, I might somehow experience a breakthrough in my writing. Skipping yoga can be the right choice at times, but it also comes with the risk of losing out on the rejuvenation that could enhance my work.
After three long hours of unproductive writing, I realized that what I really desired was a hamburger. So, I indulged in one.
Returning to the office, I cast a disgruntled glance at the Labrador, dismissing his toy as disgusting. Respectfully, he was taken out of the room, though the sounds of his chewing still lingered.
I resumed writing—what else could I do? Writing poorly, taking breaks, and returning to write again is part of the process. I sometimes wonder whether it’s humble to keep pushing through or arrogant to expect that creativity will burst forth at any moment.
As the afternoon wore on, my mood soured. The idea of sitting through another hour of yoga felt unbearable. I craved freedom to vent to friends, post complaints on social media, or indulge in some alcohol, which often promises relief but usually leads to regret afterward.
Besides, I wasn’t in the mood for people. If I had to interact with anyone, I preferred them to be fictional characters from my favorite TV show.
Despite my reluctance, I pushed myself to attend class. I paid the fee, rolled out my mat in the corner, and attempted to settle in for a challenging hour and a half. I didn’t enjoy it any more than I had enjoyed the rest of my day.
The instructor started with the usual motivational speech about the positives of being alive. Internally, I felt annoyed; despite having once found solace in his classes, today, I just couldn’t engage. I went through the motions, lacking any enthusiasm, and his encouragement to invest more into the practice only fueled my irritation.
The meditation segment, typically around ten minutes, extended to twenty. Half of that time was spent calculating my finances and worrying about whether I had left my iPad on my car roof. In between, I grumbled about Apple releasing a new iPad just days after I received mine. When the session ended, a friend raved about the experience, and I shrugged, remarking that it was “not especially” remarkable.
Upon returning home, I prepared myself a simple meal of fried eggs and toast, then sank into a long-awaited bath. I didn’t need the vodka I had thought would enhance the experience; as I soaked, I found myself crying. I felt overwhelmed by the realization that I often approach life with a sense of resentment, perpetually expecting perfection and success. But then, I began to laugh, recognizing the absurdity of my dissatisfaction.
In that moment, I felt elated. How fortunate was I to enjoy the simple pleasure of a warm bath at the end of a challenging day?
The next day unfolded similarly, but I had learned where to find a decent cappuccino. I’ve come to understand that neglecting the practical aspects of life often complicates the more profound, spiritual elements.
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In summary, my daily practice of meditation and yoga has become a crucial aspect of my life, helping me navigate the ups and downs with a bit more grace and humor. Embracing these practices, even on tough days, offers a pathway to clarity and joy.
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