“One must still have chaos in oneself in order to give birth to a dancing star.” –Friedrich Nietzsche

My grandmother taught me the secret of sleeping. When I was about seven, I got sick at her house and was put on the living room couch to sleep. I was extremely restless, and from her chair, she told me to close my eyes and lie still and I would fall asleep. And it worked. It still works. Now, whenever I can’t fall asleep, I just lie completely still and soon sleep finds me. This simple trick has helped me to fall asleep in the strangest places—on school buses, on the floor of a university’s business school, sitting completely upright in a kayak. But the most important lesson my grandmother taught me that day was not how to sleep. Rather, she taught me that being still is important. If you are still, whatever you are waiting for will come.

Even at the age of seven, I was restless. I couldn’t stop moving. Now, as I type this, my foot is jiggling. It’s nigh on impossible for me to sit completely still. Funnily enough, the more I sleep, the less I move. In class, I can always gauge how tired I am by how many time I switch position in five minutes. It annoys me just as much as it annoys the people sitting next to me. I wish I could find more stillness in my life, but as with many things, there never seems to be enough time.

Of course, there’s always the adage, “Don’t just sit back and watch your life go by.” But what are you missing if you are always chasing after life? What is the important things follow after you, but you’re too busy rushing onwards for them to catch up? Shouldn’t we use some of our life to see what happens, like Forrest Gump on his bend, and just wait, live, experience? What do we have to lose by stopping to smell the roses or living the moments now? Yesterday is a memory, tomorrow a vision, today is the only thing holding the two together. Being still allows life to take its time. True, there are only 24 hours in a day, but spending them in a rush creates a constant feeling of having only 23 or 22. Stillness, to some extent, allows for the full enjoyment and expression of all 24 hours.

But why stillness? Why is it so important? D.H. Lawrence wrote, “One’s action ought to come out of an achieved stillness: not to be mere rushing on.” Stillness brings inspiration; it allows one to be able to think more clearly and be more conscious of one’s ideas and actions. As a person with a cluttered mind, it would be nice to be able to sort through my thoughts in order to make sense of them, like Mrs. Darling in Peter Pan. Because I foresee that it will be difficult to achieve, I want it even more. We always want what we do not have, and I wish to gain stillness all the more because of its absence in my life.

I’ve been a student of yoga for about a year and a half now, goaded into it by my mother but continuing because of myself. When meditating, the practice is to not simply ignore the thoughts that come, but rather to acknowledge them and then return attention to the breath. I’ve tried this and depending on the day of the week, it works. Not always, but sometimes. It’s important to recognize that there are distractions in life, but to take time to be away from them and just be. However, my main trouble is always coming back to the breath. Throughout the day, my mind is always running, but in fits and starts. I think one task at a time, but one task leads to another and by the end of the day I have fifteen different things written on my hand. It’s kind of like that commercial with Ellen DeGeneres. When I try to clear my mind, suddenly all the things I have to do are laid out in front of me and I can see from one task to the next, rather than a jumble of things that will later be smeared across my palm. This is the exact opposite of the stillness I am trying to achieve, and simply leaves me feeling frustrated. Why can’t I quiet my mind? Why isn’t stillness of the mind as simple as the stillness of sleep?

The only thing I can think of is that it’s going to take time. Just as I have to wait for sleep to come after I’ve decided to be still, I’m going to have to practice quieting my mind in order for true stillness and peace to come. For now, I’m going to be thankful for the peace of mind I do have, and appreciate all the little things that make my life so full, loving the chaotic soul that I am. With time, the mind-quiet will come. As with anything, it’s just going to take some time.

Zen-fully yours,

S.

P.S. Great song.

“Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” –Arundhati Roy

“Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath.” –Michael Caine

It is becoming increasingly clear to me that the second of anything is always the hardest. The second day of work, the second date, the second time cleaning a bathroom, the second day or year of school. On the first day of work or school, you are not expected to know anything. You’re expected to just sort of figure out what you’re supposed to do as you go along. Everyone tells you what you need to know and you just follow. But on the second day, you’ve had some experience. They’ve told you everything you’re supposed to know at least once, and you’re expected to remember. You’re expected to know where to find things and how to get places. The first day is all about the learning. The second day, you’re suddenly supposed to be the expert.

Now, I’m having all these feelings about my second year of college. I’ve done this once before, so I’m supposed to know what’s going on. I’m supposed to what to do and how to act, only I feel just as oblivious as before. I try to remember everything that happened last year and apply it to this one, but suddenly the rules have changed. Everything has shifted and it’s all sliding on top of me. I study, I go to class, I sleep, I eat, I try to remember to smile, but it never seems to work. I still feel unbalanced and confused and as if I’ll never catch up to whatever it is that I’m chasing.

This is not the first time I’ve felt this way. The last time it was this dramatic was three years ago, my junior year of high school. Although it was my third year of high school, it was my second year of “real” school. Because I was a junior, I was expected to learn and do and know a lot more than before. My classes were suddenly harder. Everyone was talking in a weird language of PSATs and APs and it seemed I was expected to suddenly be fluent. October was the worst. That month, I threw up almost every day before, after or during school. I was persistent in my worries. I cried a lot. I studied constantly. I always felt as though I was on the brink of flying apart into a thousand pieces that would probably poke someone in the eye and then I’d have to worry about being sued for damages. I couldn’t breathe. By the end of first semester, I was exhausted, but it also seemed easier.

Now, my symptoms are similar. I’m not making myself sick, I’m not crying, but I worry about the same things over and over. I don’t sleep much. I’m still studying constantly, but nothing I ever do seems to be enough to put me back where I feel safe. It’s like I’m constantly playing a huge game of paintball. I’m getting shot at from all directions, and I have absolutely no idea in what direction I should shoot. Not to mention I have absolutely no idea what color I’m supposed to be. The minute I think I’m purple, I get hit in the arm with purple. It’s a constant, nagging worry, a feeling that I can’t shake. There’s always something there, and as soon as I finish one thing, I have no choice but to move on to the next class, the next paper, the next thought.

And this is the part where I miss home. This is the part where I want so much to begin sobbing with a great wailing and gnashing of teeth. This is the part where I want to curl up into a ball on the floor of my closet and just hide there until someone finds me and tells me it’s going to be okay, everything is going to work out, don’t worry. I want to run and hide so badly. I want to just lie there while it all passes by.

But here’s the thing. If I did run and hide, what would that help? I would just feel horrible the whole time I was hiding and when I decided to return to the world, I would have more problems, more things to face, more mess to fix. I care too much about happening to life rather than letting life happen to me. Everything is too important to miss. Who knows what I would miss while I’m sitting and waiting for someone to find me and tell me I’m going to be okay. Because I can tell myself. If I know the statement “It’s going to be okay” is true, then I have nothing to fear. I need only have faith and believe in my own innate goodness and the innate goodness of life. Max Ehrmann writes, “whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should[…]in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.” My life is infinitely noisy and confusing, but somewhere inside, I can feel the peace, the knowledge that all of life, even the noisy part, is good. And that makes up for everything else.

Namaste,

S.

“I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today.” –William Allen