My first foray into meditation began when I signed up for a class called, "Mind, Self, and Society" while at Chapman University. Colloquially, the class was called Buddha Camp as it involved a period of pre-study before spending 10 days at the Shambhala Mountain Center (SMC) engaged in an intensive meditation retreat.
On one of our first days at SMC, we spent what seemed like 10 hours in meditative practice. Sitting meditation, walking meditation, chanting meditation, meditations around certain colors, meditations in nature, and more.
I had no idea what to expect when I sat down to meditate for the first time. As someone with a religious studies degree, I had taken plenty of classes on Buddhism and Hinduism, but I couldn't wrap my head around what was supposed to happen during meditation. When thoughts come up, you are supposed to just label them as "thinking" and let them go. I was ruthless with myself, and continuously became frustrated when I couldn't just sit down and stop thinking.
At the end of the week, I had gained a wonderful community at SMC, and had learned the value of sitting down and giving yourself space. While I had never been able to stop myself from thinking, I began to see the value of learning to be still. I would absolutely recommend SMC to anyone who is looking to participate in a weekend or weeklong meditation retreat.
Over the next several years, I occasionally tried to return to meditation to regain the sense of calm I had experienced at SMC. However, those multiple hours of daily meditation at SMC were replaced with attempts to sit still for 5 minutes, and I still couldn't do it. The minute I would sit down to meditate I would set a 5 minute timer, close my eyes, sit still for 2 minutes, and then look at my phone because I was sure that I didn't set the timer and I was going to be late for my next task.
I have never been good at sitting still. I remember as a child when people would bring up the idea of being a Type A personality or a Type B personality I would always say Type B. Type A left a bad taste in my mouth. Type A meant anxiety, stress, and competitiveness, while Type B meant an ability to adapt. In short, I behaved exactly like this:
It wasn't until well into college that I began to accept my own personality as a rational form of being. I am never going to be the go-with-the-wind personality of the group. The idea of tackling a project (or heck, even a day) without a plan makes me want to break out in hives. I live off of to-do lists, and that is how I thrive. I am high achieving, but also high stress.
So how does someone like me manage to make the transition into adulthood? From taking care of my apartment during a cockroach infestation which lasted for 8 months, to delivering more than 100 speeches per year for my job, to the daily routine of being a 20-something in a new city, I needed to find a plan.
It was in that mindset that in September 2016 I signed up for a meditation studio in Santa Monica. At the time, I was growing concerned about my lack of a self-care regiment, and I wanted to make a decision that would positively impact my mental health. Unplug Meditation offered a fairly inexpensive package, and after years of attempting to force myself to sit down and practice, of podcast meditations, of trying to meditate over Youtube, I knew that I needed to go to a physical studio. In addition, I also love that Unplug doesn't allow phones in the studio, so I knew there was no way for me to distract myself with the wonders of the internet.
Over the past several months, I tried to attend approximately 2 sessions a week at Unplug. While that unfortunately may not be the reality some weeks, attending classes at Unplug has been an important step in learning how to control when anxiety starts to rise, and how to make more mindful decisions in my life.
Before I begin going over specifics of how a meditation practice has altered my mental state, I want to bring your attention to one specific meditation class and how it changed my view of life.
In early January, I stumbled into a guided meditation class from Paul Teodo. Every teacher leads the class in their own unique style, so every time you attend a meditation class with a new teacher, it is a wholly unique experience.
As the class was beginning, Teodo started by describing that there are two different types of joy. There is extroverted joy, like a heavy belly laugh, where your stomach hurts from laughing so much. There is also introverted joy, an internal joy which can be accessed from quiet practices such as meditation. Both of these types of joys are necessary for a joyful life.
I was currently in the middle of reading a book called, The Book of Joy, which is comprised of a series of conversations between His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. I could not think of a better connection point for this meditation then that book, which focuses on these two great change-makers. Both have great senses of humor, and there are quite a few photos of them laughing together, extroverted joy. However, through prayer and meditation they also regularly practice introverted joy.
This particular class was 45 minutes long, and started out the same as most meditations I experienced in the past. There was an emphasis on grounding, of checking your anxieties and thoughts from the day at the door. We were merely supposed to sit or lay in the stillness.
While many meditation teachers may encourage you to focus on the present moment and physical sensations, Teodo took it a step further.
For the first 20 minutes of the class, we focused only on the sense of touch, and how we were experiencing that sense at that moment: the weight of each individual part of your body touching the mat, the pressure and the temperature of the air as it touches your exposed skin, the subtle movement of air as you breathe, how do your clothes feel against your skin, and on and on. As we did this, we voluntarily shut off all of our other senses, to focus purely on the sensation of touch. I remember at some point, someone about 10 feet away from me coughed and it physically jarred me, as it was so far outside the scope of what I had been experiencing.
For the second 20 minutes of the class, we focused only on the sense of sound: the sound of your breath and the breath of everyone in the room, the subtle electric sound of the lights in the studio, cars driving by on the main street, the muffled voices as pedestrians as they passed by the outer glass door, the sound of your own heartbeat.
For the last portion of class, Teodo played live guitar music. I remember laying there as colorful images swirled in my head, my eyes welling up. During the class a sudden realization dawned upon me. There are thousands of things that happen to me every single moment, not just conversations and interactions, but the feel of the gravel underneath my feet, the air on my face, the sound of my breath. It is impossible for me to capture every single one of these moments as they are happening. While I can be more mindful, my brain cannot process dozens of things happening at the same exact time. I cannot be everything. For someone who struggles with feeling the need to be everything, the need to be perfect, that idea was an incredible release for me.
After the sensory deprivation of the class to focus on certain physical sensations, the walk home awakened a whole new vision of the world around me. As I felt the shifting weight of my body with every step I took, or noticed for the first time the surreal red of a sign across the street, or heard the hustle and bustle of the city, I started crying. These weren't tears of being morose or sorrowful, but just of awareness. I make that walk almost every single day, and yet how many new things did I notice on that walk that I have never seen before? How much of my life have I missed by not paying attention at the right moments? I spent the next hour or so on my bed in my apartment just sitting still and trying to be in the space.
This particular form of meditation may not be for everyone, but it encouraged me to be more mindful of everything in my life. I cannot catch everything that is happening around myself all the time, but I can make it a point to pay more attention. How many times have I grabbed food for lunch at my desk and then I look down and I have eaten the entire meal but have no memory of eating it?
So how has this mindfulness impacted my life?
When possible I try mindful eating, where I sit down and do nothing else but experience my meal. On top of making yourself more full (since you are eating slower) it has allowed me to actually taste my food. Do I always do this? No, but I do try to do it at least a few times a week during my lunch break at work, or if I am eating dinner by myself.
However, the greatest way that I have found mindfulness to impact my life is interrupting the cycle of anxiety. When I get overwhelmed, either due to an external stressor, or even for no reason, when I start to feel my heart rate go up and feel that sensation of dread in my chest, I return back to the physical sensations practice I learned from Unplug. I return back to the weight of my feet on the ground, the air on my skin, the sounds around me. By focusing on physical sensations and other senses that aren't anxiety, I am usually able to ground myself before I start to spiral.
It took me years to finally find a meditation practice that worked for me, to understand that the experience you have each time you sit down to meditate is the one you needed to have that day. One of the things I love most about Unplug is the diverse array of classes on everything from mindfulness practice and breathwork meditation (I will need to write a separate piece on my first experience with breathwork), to aromatherapy and tapping meditations. Ever time I attend Unplug I am blown away by the welcoming of their teachers, and the openness of everyone in the room to experiencing [what can be] a vulnerable act in a room full of strangers. If you ever find yourself in Los Angeles, do yourself a favor and drop by and take a class at Unplug, I promise it will make the drive from the 405 to the 10 in the morning a little more bearable.