Updated: Jun 2, 2019
Like most people, I laid out a bunch of goals for myself at the start of 2019, both for my business and general health + well-being. One practice I've never been great about is meditation. I've read the research on why it's so great for you, I've experienced the immediate calming effects, but for some reason I just haven't been able to incorporate it regularly into my life.
Well, if at first you don't succeed...etc.
One of my wellness goals is to do a little bit of movement every day, either at a studio or just by myself, at home on my mat. Being a dancer and having taught Pilates, I'm lucky to know what movement is good for my body and how to do it safely without supervision. I decided that my daily movement practice would be the perfect way to try incorporating meditation into my life again.
So this morning, after my quick diy Pilates session, I set a timer, sat up tall, and closed my eyes. Only problem is that my meditation coach is quite inconsiderate: he's my dog.
Whenever I roll out the yoga mat, Moon thinks it's playtime. I can't really blame him. I mean, I'm on his level, moving around on the floor. But for him, playtime involves picking up his favorite toy of the moment and dropping it on me until I toss it for him. I literally have only myself to blame: I actively taught him how to play fetch.
So there I am, soft atmospheric music drifting in, trying to get my zen on, and my dog is romping around my immediate vicinity squeaking his toy happily and thumping it against my back. He drops it into my lap and waits for me to throw it. When I don't, he picks it up and squeaks again, then chooses a different (louder) toy. I feel a pressure on my shoulder and I squint one eye open. He's got the toy pressed against my right shoulder for leverage as he chomps on it, happy as can be.
I couldn't help it, I laughed. Because can you think of a more perfect metaphor for life?! There we are, trying to follow our agenda and check off all our boxes, and life is like, "nahh, you should probably play for a second instead."
It's not wrong.
By the time my timer went off bringing me back to reality, Moon had lost interest in playing (of course) and was curled up in a square of sunlight. I know that I could train him to leave me alone when I roll out the yoga mat, but it doesn't bother me enough to put forth the effort, at least not right now. The distractions are great practice as I try to quiet my mind. Because honestly, when is life ever going to be silent for us?