In my younger days, I was an unconventional seeker of meditation. My motives were far from pure—I'd frequent yoga studios, drawn not by a quest for inner peace, but by the allure of attractive women. My desire to be seen meditating overshadowed any true intention to quiet my mind. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I was distracted from the start. I thought meditation was simply about closing your eyes and somehow connecting with the cosmos, gaining sudden enlightenment. I didn’t grasp the true purpose, and my practice was haphazard, more a show than a sincere effort.
As I grew older, those patterns lingered. Even when I tried to meditate in places like Central Park, my mind would drift to the people passing by, wondering if they were watching me. My intentions were shallow, my practice sporadic at best. Meditation was something I did because others told me it would help me stay sober, but I missed the essence of relaxation and awareness. Anxiety, though unspoken, was a constant undercurrent, a baseline emotion I hadn’t yet named.
Anxiety was, ironically, the very thing that kept me from truly understanding it. It fueled my distractions, driving me to seek solace in material things instead of the stillness within. I look back on those years as the unconscious years of meditation—years marked by laziness and a lack of persistence. Only when life became overwhelming would I turn to meditation, but even then, it was out of desperation rather than genuine intent.
A turning point came when I stumbled into a hot yoga class by chance. The regular studio was closed, so I decided to give it a try. To my surprise, I found the intense heat and challenging postures to be exactly what my restless mind needed. The physical demands forced me to focus, and for the first time, I found myself truly breathing—deep, slow breaths that calmed my mind in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It was as if the heat burned away my distractions, leaving only the pure act of breathing and being present.
As I continued practicing, I began to understand that this was the key for me: the combination of physical exertion, focused breathing, and a mindful intention to meditate. The superficial motives that once drove me fell away, replaced by a genuine desire to reach the center of my fear and anxiety. I realized that fear had always been a constant in my life, normalized and unacknowledged. But now, through this practice, I could shift my mind from a state of fear to one of relaxation.
It wasn’t easy—meditation for someone like me required effort, discipline, and a structured approach. But over time, as I learned to observe my thoughts rather than be controlled by them, I found a new sense of peace. The old distractions lost their power, and I became more connected to myself and the world around me.
Reflecting on this journey, I see that I was never truly prepared to receive the benefits of meditation in my younger years. My mind, maturity, and circumstances weren’t aligned. But I’m not attached to the story of my past ‘failures’. They are just part of the process that brought me to where I am today. I can now get into this relaxed state throughout my day, therefore I can see clearly how my actions shape my mind and my world, and I continue to practice letting go, ceasing obsessive thinking, embracing the present moment with gratitude. One day, one hour, one moment at a time. I lose this space often throughout my day. The fluctuations from relaxed to stress are dramatically reduced. Hallelujah!