There’s something about silence that kind of bothers me. Whether it’s an awkward lull in a conversation, the eerie rustling of a sparsely trodden street, or even the dull pangs of boredom, I find silence can actually be quite deafening. In fact, it can be terrifying: The gaping, expansive, cavernous space? The emptiness that threatens to swallow me whole? I’m starting to think silence should be outlawed.
But what bothers me most about silence?
How my mind chooses to fill the space.
What’s not being said? And why? What are the infinite ways I can read into this situation? And why am I starting to feel twitchy all of a sudden?
These are the thoughts of a cluttered, noisy mind.
In some aspects I thrive on the peaceful, quiet moments where I can unplug, sign off Zoom, and settle into the raucous chorus of my thoughts. These are the opportunities where I can truly digest my musings, reflect on my day, and make sense of everything around me. But here’s the catch: In the past year, I’ve found this increasingly harder and harder to do. These days, there has been a lot of downtime and a lot of silence. I’ve found I’m more “in my head” than I’ve ever been, sometimes in very unproductive and frustrating ways. Instead of embracing the silence and leveraging it as a spacious gift, sometimes I feel like it has become a thunderously loud cacophony of unending noise.
So, in the spirit of trying new things, I decided to embrace silence in the scariest, most direct way possible: I’d take up meditation.
A practice that has been around for centuries, meditation uses techniques such as mindfulness and mantras to retrain our attention and achieve heightened awareness, clarity, and stability. There are many styles of meditation, but every approach is centered in establishing a sense of grounding that leads to a more expansive perspective. Meditating allows individuals to gain control over stressful situations, manage errant or wandering thoughts, reduce negative emotions, focus on the present, develop patience, and even foster a more robust imagination.
Despite all the very clear mental, physical, and emotional benefits, I remained skeptical. Afterall, doesn’t meditation seem a little—I don’t know—hokey? Is lying on a mat, closing my eyes, and crossing my fingers really going to bring me greater peace and clarity? And what about all that silence? No thanks.
Despite my numerous doubts I was curious what all the hype was about, and I decided to give meditation a go. I chose to start with a Peloton class with Kristen McGee that focused on kindness. The description said Kristen would play calming music and lead me through the practice with a grounding mantra. And it was only 10 minutes. That sounded doable, right?
Let me tell you: I think that was the longest ten minutes of my life.
The experience went a little something like this:
Kristen: “Take a moment to let go of the exterior…”
Me: “Alright, Kristen, consider me Elsa from Frozen: I’m letting go.”
Kristen: “…And the rough edges we often build up around ourselves.”
Me: “Speaking of rough edges, I think it’s about time I invest in a better yoga mat… This thing is super thin and uncomfortable…”
Kristen: “Let your jaw release. Let your forehead soften.”
Me (actively unclenching my jaw): “Let my forehead soften? Doesn’t that sound… dangerous? Or unhealthy at the very least? I don’t want my brain to turn to goop! What kind of witchcraft is this?”
Kristen: “Build an intention in your belly. In your arms, your legs…”
Me: “Now you want me to build things? With my eyes closed? That seems difficult.”
Kristen: “Just let the breath move through you. Deep inhalation. Deep exhalation.”
Me: “Okay, we’re breathing. I can do that. Breathe, Katie, breathe.”
A minute or so passes where I’m actively focused on my breath.
Me: “God, I’m thirsty. I don’t think I’ve had a sip of water in like five whole minutes.”
Kristen: “Once you feel a little more settled and anchored in the moment, bring your awareness to the place behind your heart.”
Me: “The place behind my heart? Like…my…back…?”
Kristen: “What does that space feel like? Breathe more fully into that area.”
Me: “Okay, maybe I am supposed to be breathing into my back after all? But that sounds weird…”
Kristen: “Kindness is seeing the best in others even when they can’t see it in themselves.”
Me: “Oh, I like that. That’s actually quite nice.”
Kristen: “Stay connected to that space behind your heart. We are coming to our centering thought: ‘Inhale love, exhale kindness. Inhale love, exhale kindness.’”
Me (breathing stupidly loudly): “Inhale love, exhale kindness. Inhale love, exhale kindness.”
Kristen: “Let’s be quiet for a moment as we meditate together. If your mind wanders, come back to your breath.”
Me (still breathing stupidly loudly): “Inhale love, exhale kindness. Inhale love, exhale kindness. What a fun little chant.”
A mostly quiet minute passes.
Me (still breathing, this time less stupidly loudly): “Wait, this is actually kind of nice. My lungs feel cool and weirdly bigger? I’m doing it! I’m actually doing it: I’m meditating! Wait, it’s kind of like that Dua Lipa song, but instead of “I’m levitating,” I can repurpose the lyrics to say “I’m meditating!” (At this point I start singing to myself…) “You want me, I want you baby. My sugar boo, I’m meditating!”
Kristen: “If your mind tiptoes away, bring it back…”
Me: “Oh f**k.”
You get the picture.
Like I mentioned, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that first experience felt like the longest ten minutes of my life. But, despite the surprising difficulty and intense ADD you just witnessed I came away from the exercise feeling noticeably better. I was calmer, more grounded, and my lungs did strangely feel more expansive. In all honesty that was probably the most oxygen my brain had received in a long, long time. Despite the discomfort I promised myself I would do this again and see how it stuck. After all, adversity brings growth, and I wanted to experience the calm after the storm.
Although it still isn’t easy to this day, I’ve kept with the habit and have been regularly meditating once a week since this initial session. If I’m being honest, I don’t love it, but I know I feel better afterwards so I force myself to do it anyway. And while I still struggle to concentrate and my mind still definitely wanders down the most curious of rabbit holes, I’ve found that the ten minutes now move a little more quickly than they once did. I’m able to center my focus more intentionally, and I’m finding new ways to access my breath that both surprise me and make me feel more whole.
So, is meditation my jam?
Not quite.
Do I consider myself a “meditator?”
Absolutely not.
Do I plan to go on an extended meditation retreat any time soon?
Aside from the opportunity to travel, that literally sounds like my nightmare (so no).
But do I feel a bit calmer?
I actually do.
And am I able to better navigate the silence so it’s a little less deafening?
You betcha.
I’ve found there’s a magic that happens when we decide to try new things. There’s a calm that pervades when we allow ourselves to let go. And there’s a beautifully loud clarity that comes to light when we choose to embrace—and even appreciate—the silence.
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