23,489 Minutes of Practice

What’s on my mind?

Meditation isn’t calming—it’s seeing.

When I started a meditation practice eight years ago, it was after my therapist encouraged me to try it. She thought it might help with my internal negative voice—the one that spent a lot of time beating me up.

One of the phrases that used to loop in my head was: “You can’t do anything right.”

It still hurts to write that.

I’ve always tried to be perfect. And it wasn’t until I had kids that I really started to recognize how much pain that perfectionism caused me. Watching my kids try to be perfect—then get discouraged and beat themselves up—has been more painful than doing it to myself.

That’s what drove me to sit down and try to watch my breath. Over and over and over.

When I started, I couldn’t do it. I thought meditation was sitting and emptying your mind.

It wasn’t until I heard Dan Harris explain it in a way that finally made sense to me:

Meditation isn’t stopping the flow of thoughts. It’s stepping back just enough to see them for what they are—thoughts. To notice them. To observe them. And then ask:

“Is this useful?”

Is thinking about not watering the plants for the 109th time useful?
Does it change anything?
Does it make you feel better or worse?
Will it magically water the plants?

As I’ve grown the worm farm—and grown as a person—I’ve noticed something about myself:

I love to push. To see how far I can go. It amazes me how far past my “limit” I can actually go.

And I’ve also learned this: my thoughts are often the most limiting factor in my life. My beliefs.

Which brings me back to my kids watching and learning from my actions.

Yesterday we were in the car driving through a parking lot, and I hit a curb.

Not like a little tap.

I bounced solidly over a curb.

Everyone laughed—including me.

A few quick comments about ruining the wheel and “let us know next time,” and then we parked… and it was past us.

A few years ago, that exact moment would’ve spun me hard. I would’ve gone straight to: “You can’t do anything right.” I would’ve taken every laugh as a stab to the heart. And my frustration would’ve come out in every direction.

But yesterday?

All the same thoughts showed up. All the same negative stuff.

This time, I could see it for what it was: thoughts. Just passing through.

And in that microsecond, I got to choose what story I was going to live inside.

So I chose to laugh with my family about their goofy dad—so excited about being on the way to pick up the gaming PC for his son’s Christmas present that he cut the turn too short and bounced everyone in the car.

Same situation.
Different outcome.

And I don’t think that was luck.

I think it was reps.
23,489 minutes of reps.

Turns out, I’m not practicing calm.
I’m practicing the moment right before I ruin the moment.