It’s on days like this where I feel the most lost. On days where the sky is bright but grey, and the quiet I hear is not the quiet of nature – leaves rustling in the wind or a gurgling stream of water – but the quiet of isolation, of containment to a controlled environment.
This isn’t every day – far from it, actually – but it does represent the waves of my life, changing nearly as often as the ocean tide comes in and out. It’s something I struggle with—finding meaning and purpose each day. For each day of blissful enjoyment, it seems there is another where the monotony of life creeps back in, reminding me that this is really nothing new.
Although I’ve been able to build strategies against these sorts of days from years of trial and error, they still come up. Perhaps the most disheartening part is that some days, I don’t even have the will or desire to change it—this coming from someone who, in an honest assessment, was gifted with more drive and determination than the average person. “Apathy in action” might be a fitting line.
In all of this, though, hope never fails to come through. Whether it be in remembrance of a beautiful, indescribable moment, or through the gateway which I find meditation to be, I can always find my place of rest—I just need to be willing to put everything aside. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I’ll say.
I think of meditation not as a battle to be won, but to be surrendered. The life-giving rest that I find does not come through grit and perseverance – through which many of my supposed “greatest accomplishments” have come through, but through a complete and total surrender of my will and intention on the reality around me. “Come, sit, rest” says the voice inside me, an invitation to be held in love, where, even if only for a moment, I am able to connect to my purpose once again—simply to be alive.
Meditation never ceases to amaze me, to the point that I’ll often open my eyes with a smirk, my chest moving from a slow chuckle that escapes my lungs. “Wow,” I’ll think. “How do I so often forget this?”.
I think that perhaps this is part of my journey, to learn that amidst whatever circumstances surround me, I will always have a space to be ok, to let go, and to once again partake in the miracle which is my life. With even greater surrender, I’m sure tears of joy and gratitude would come with that chuckle. It’s something I’m working on.
Contrary to my introverted nature, I think that maybe these feelings come from lack of connection. While social interactions can be incredibly draining on me if not balanced with solitude and alone-time, I think there is part of me that needs to share in an experience of humanity on a regular basis. Not just any simple interaction, but a deep, heartfelt connection, even if expressed without words. Again, it’s something I’m working on.
I also find some peace in writing these thoughts down, or at least recording them in some fashion. I’d like to be able to look back upon these in many years and see the person I was, and how my experiences will continue to shape my own personal evolution.
In closing, I’ll end with what the voice in my head continues to echo: “It is in our silence where we remember who we are.”
