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The earth spins so fast
— “Spinning,” Jack Cuoco
I feel it moving underneath me
But I can’t see what’s ahead
In hindsight, a week-long silent meditation retreat was a bad idea.
I just wasn’t the kind of person who could appreciate silence for more than ten seconds. Or not talk for longer than that.
I’d started out with good intentions. My plan was to go, reflect on my months of travel, then get into the habit of regular meditation to rewire my brain. I’d come out feeling calmer and better able to concentrate.
Except it hadn’t turned out that way.
After less than a day, I was itching to talk to Tate about how bored I was. Then Trinity had died two days in and I couldn’t be there for her because I was on another continent.
We were allowed to speak in the reception area, which doubled up as a co-working space. So sometimes I went there when I needed someone to talk to. That was how I’d found out about Trinity.
“Did you hear about Trinity Gold?” one of the receptionists had said to her colleague.
“No, what happened?”
“She fell off a balcony in Barcelona.”
Her colleague’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Dead as a doornail.”
I listened in, probably staring, my mouth hanging open. Were they right? Was Trinity really dead? Rumors could get out of hand quickly. Maybe she was just in the hospital. I’d just known I needed to speak to Tate.
So I’d grabbed my phone and used the little battery I’d had left to video call her. A part of me still wanted to go to her in Barcelona, but there was nothing I could do, and she insisted she was fine. She’d have hated it if I’d cut short something I was doing for myself for her or Trinity. Especially if it really could switch off my mind. Once I got over the worst of it.
I was probably too new to meditation to handle the transition. And, because it was a silent meditation retreat, I couldn’t ask anyone for advice. Sigh.
I really wanted to enjoy the mindfulness aspect of it, but it turned out that days of mindfulness were a stretch for my brain, as it behaved a lot like a drugged hamster on a wheel. The more I tried to slow it down, the harder it was to actually slow it down.
There were about twenty other people at the retreat. Everyone arrived in their own time, so I had no idea how long anyone had been there, but I could guess based on how bad their caffeine withdrawals were. Those who looked the most serene had probably been there around a week and were over the worst of them. I wasn’t one of those people. I needed caffeine. No amount of herbal tea could fill that gap.
It hadn’t taken more than a few hours for me to start craving conversation. Or caffeine.
Any electronic devices were banned except for in the reception area, so I couldn’t even text someone. And I didn’t want to cheat (again) by going there to check my messages. That defeated the point of why I was there.
But I was getting jittery. A small voice in the back of my mind was craving a drug for stimulation. Any drug. But they were all banned.
I could read a physical book, but I found it hard to concentrate on one for more than a page at a time. Turned out I had the attention span of Moxie when she was eight weeks old.
Water drizzled over my shoulders as I meditated under a fountain. It relaxed my muscles, the trickling sound broken up by the birds and bugs in the flora surrounding me.
A few years ago, I hadn’t really liked the outdoors. But Astin’s accident had made me realize life was too short to stay in my comfort zone.
So I’d spent the last few months traveling to work out who I was without alcohol. It had been a part of my life for over half my life. Being on my own, particularly in quiet places like the retreat, helped me ponder the question without relying on other people to answer for me, and therefore cloud my judgment or decisions.
The hot weather and the travel had been amazing. Lonely at times, but I always found someone to talk to.
Except when I was somewhere designed to be silent.
My thoughts went back to Astin and how different he’d become after his accident, since he hadn’t been able to exercise as much. His grandparents had gotten him into fitness as a way to channel his anger into healthier outlets. It’d improved his moods, concentration, and physical health. It’d opened up multiple career paths for him, too. Was he on to something with the fitness thing after all?
As the kid who’d always been picked last during any sort of sporting activity, I didn’t particularly like the idea of anything sporty.
But Tate exercised relentlessly to maintain her figure and she swore it helped her mental health too. That was two of the people I cared about the most insisting it helped them. It still felt like too much effort to me.
As much as I loved the water cascading down my body, I wanted to move.
So I stood, hung up my drenched yellow sarong on a hook behind me, and went for a walk in my green swimming trunks. I couldn’t stay out long as I’d left my sunscreen in the room and the water had washed it off, but I could enjoy it for a moment.
I’d started meditating after Astin had gone home to Texas. He’d been reeling from his breakup with Hollie. I still didn’t know if my attempts to pick up the pieces had worked, but I doubted anyone could help him except himself. Which he was too masochistic to do.
With no one else to help, no drugs to take and no parties to go to, I’d been restless. Laney, my AA sponsor, had suggested I try meditation. I didn’t want to, but she’d sworn it’d helped her and a couple of others she knew.
I threw myself into it, using it as a coping mechanism whenever I got anxious while traveling. Having visited so many countries the last few months, and actually gotten the chance to explore them rather than just see the sights from the window of a plane, I had a new appreciation for the outdoors. It really did feel peaceful to be away from the buzz of everyday life.
But cutting out caffeine had been a step too far. It was like going through alcohol withdrawals all over again.
Not that I’d realized that when I’d booked my ticket. I’d had no idea how difficult a detox from the outside world would be.
Or how poorly timed.
But I was desperate to feel calmer. Anything to slow the restless hamsters that seemed to be in control of my brain all day and night.
I’d thought throwing myself in at the deep end would be what I’d needed. Maybe it actually was and I was still adjusting.
But for someone who was used to the constant stimulation of travel and city life, being somewhere so secluded where I couldn’t even drink coffee or complain about the lack of coffee to someone was exhausting.
And gave me more headspace to relentlessly worry about Tate or think about Trinity. How would Trinity’s death affect her? Her emotions, her decisions, her career? Just because they hadn’t spoken in years, didn’t mean Tate didn’t still care about her. She pretended like she didn’t, but I could see it in her eyes. The last remnants of hope that one day, their friendship could be repaired. Despite the hatred between them that was so strong it felt like a physical force sometimes. That level of hatred only came about because of love.
Now their friendship could never be repaired. And I couldn’t help but wonder if actually, that was what Trinity had wanted. She’d seemed to relish in being angry. Like negative emotions fueled her. It wasn’t a healthy place to be.
I knew that better than most. Giving too much space in my brain to negative emotions was what had led me to drink so much. It was the only way I’d known how to suppress them.
If the last few months had taught me anything, it was that it was OK to be happy. To feel those positive emotions. To sit with them. To smile.
But I could only do that if I let the pain in, too.
I lay back on the wooden stargazing bed. Fish splashed in the pond nearby, a soothing soundtrack to my quiet contemplation.
I pulled my baseball cap over my face to block out the super bright sun. It was getting to its highest point, but there was a gentle breeze which took the edge off the heat.
The retreat was secluded but had some places to explore, like a labyrinth, rice fields, and a vegetable garden. I liked the vegetable garden the most. It was a novelty concept to me to eat the food that was grown where I was staying. And I enjoyed walking past and seeing the different speeds at which each vegetable grew. Some had grown surprisingly fast just since I’d arrived while others hadn’t changed at all.
It felt like a metaphor. Everyone in life grew and matured at different speeds. Sometimes they slowed down for a while, or looked like they did, but really they were just forming deeper roots. Others had beautiful flowers but were easily broken.
Maybe the retreat was going to my head.
Soothing music echoed from the village nearby, complementing the buzzing of insects. I stood for a moment to listen to it. It wasn’t quite meditation music, but it added to the calming atmosphere of my time there.
I couldn’t completely block out the outside world, but maybe I could find a way to change my experience of it. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by everything going on around me, if I focused on one or two areas, I could get more done.
Was that the point? Ooh. It was the point.
The retreat was meant to be a hard reset on how I experienced the outside world. I’d already done that with rehab to a degree, but this felt even more extreme because of the disconnect from literally everyone and everything around me. At least rehab I’d still had access to movies and music. And caffeine.
I walked over to the white tent that was used for yoga. No one was in there, so I took my white Birkenstock sandals off—smiling because Tate had bought them for me before I’d left—then lay back on the wooden floor. The wood was comfortably warm against my bare skin. The air was too, with a hint of humidity that would’ve been frizz central for my hair if I hadn’t shaved it all off before leaving for my trip.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Another storm was coming.
But as I lay on the wooden platform listening to the insects, thunder, and soporific music, truly embracing them, being in the moment, I finally found the mental peace I’d been looking for.
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