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Transcendental Meditation

Transcendental Meditation Is Not as Boring as It Sounds 1024 576 Thayer Fox

Transcendental Meditation Is Not as Boring as It Sounds

Do you meditate regularly? If so or if not, are you sick of hearing about meditation? That makes two of us. Listening to anyone describe their meditation practice is on the same level of tedium as someone telling you about their dream. But meditation is an essential habit in my life that produces results. This post is about how I went from being a New Yorker brain NEVER meditator to someone with a forty minute a day Transcendental Meditation practice.

Similar to my belief in God, meditation is my own thing, I don’t need anyone to support or understand it. What you get out of meditation may be different than what I do, and if you practice it regularly, you will get something, guaranteed. As promised, I won’t wax poetic about my profound meditative experiences, but I strongly suggest that you read David Lynch’s Catching the Big Fish. It’s easy to digest and will get you excited.

For twelve years I listened to people discuss their meditation practice at AA meetings. Meditation is part of the 11thStep in the 12 Step program. If you take on recovery the way the founder of AA, Bill Wilson intended, you will come face to face with it at some point. Some people listen to the Headspace app, others have cushions, some meditate on a subway for five minutes during their morning commute. I used to pretend that my park walks counted as walking meditation but after learning TM, I feel the difference.

I am an all or nothing gal which leads to my main reason for signing up to learn Transcendental Meditation: I do well in structure. The four-day course is designed as a springboard to help you create a new habit in a supportive environment. It’s not free, and after plunking down the fee, you feel obliged to see it through.

Pain has always been my greatest motivator, so I signed up for a TM introductory course in the Fall of 2016 after a rough summer with my son.  If you read my previous post about Expansion and Survival Mode, then you know that I experienced post-traumatic something after he had an accident as a four-year-old.

Up in Maine, a year after the doctors declared my son recovered, he cartwheeled down a narrow stairwell while running. I lost it. Thankfully the area was carpeted, and after five hours spent in the ER for observation, the doctors said we could head home. My son barely had a bruise on him, but I wept for days. I use the word wept on purpose because it wasn’t conventional crying, it was frenetic trapped energy passing through me in the form of non-stop tears. My hands shook, and I could barely sleep. Jolted awake periodically by visions of my son rolling out of bed, I started checking on him throughout the night and lining his floors with pillows at 3am. Sleep had been a “thing” before my son’s accident, but this was drastic.

Whatever mental and emotional flooring I had installed that past year fell out from under me. I knew I wasn’t my old self, but I had no idea that I was on the verge of a breakdown. Friends and family asked me if I was getting help in impatient tones. Their empathy had long expired. My husband was the only one concerned. We are both stoic creatures, and he knew my behaviors were far outside my baseline character.

A week later, on a playdate with a new mother friend, I opened up and explained why I couldn’t focus on a conversation with her while watching my son fly around the yard with her boys. She asked me if I had ever heard of Transcendental Meditation and suggested I check it out when I returned to New York in the Fall.

A month later, I was seated in a comfortable chair at one of the centers on Madison Avenue. The instructors are out of central casting, talking slowly in soothing tones and I felt like I was in a meditation documentary. To my relief, I didn’t have to sit in the dreaded lotus position, or even entirely still. This has been a past meditation deal breaker for me. You are allowed to wiggle your feet, stretch your arms, and do whatever movement comes naturally to you while you are meditating. In TM, you are given a “mantra”, a meaningless word that produces a sound that helps your mind focus and settle. Your word is your secret, I have never told anyone my mantra.

Overall, the course was simple and relaxing. I did not experience any WOW moments like I had in other workshops but I was intrigued by the data. Nonetheless, after investing the time and money, I took on my new practice wholeheartedly. After a few months, I noticed that I wasn’t as reactive and that doomsday scenarios weren’t domineering my headspace. Navigating daily life felt less weighty, which freed me up to enjoy it more.

Some days I feel like I am fake meditating, using my mantra as a hammer to break up the chatter in my head. Other days I fall asleep in the first few minutes. Occasionally, I sink into a boundless space where my mantra disappears, and I experience a chill that runs up and down my spine. In my assessment, these are the days that I am meditating correctly but my TM teacher Donna said that they all count just the same.

When people ask how Transcendental Meditation differs from other forms of meditation, I don’t have an answer. Whatever works for you regularly is the right form of meditation. For me, TM’s structure and group aspect were essential in getting started and developing a sustainable habit. Included in the initial TM course fee is a lifetime membership to all TM facilities so you can go to group meditation events, lectures and one on one check-ins if you feel frustrated or need the extra support.

I love my mantra. The random word comforts me. I reach for it when my nervous system gets overloaded. If I wake up at 2am with a ticker tape of thoughts, my mantra puts me back to sleep. At the risk of sounding corny, it’s gives me access to a safe place inside myself that I never knew existed. That alone is worth it.

 

Expansion or Survival Mode: Where Are You Located? 640 399 Thayer Fox

Expansion or Survival Mode: Where Are You Located?

Do you experience stretches of time when your brain feels like an old English manor filled with dozens of doors leading to unexplored rooms? Other times, does your brain feel like a cramped studio apartment? And like a Twilight Zone episode, you can be transported from the manor house to the studio in minutes? You can also spend years in the studio due to one traumatic event.

After my son fractured his skull three years ago, I spent two years in survival mode. Once the initial triage period spent focusing on my son’s recovery ended, I realized that the landscape of my brain was different. Assuming that my head would heal with my son’s, I sunk to a new depth when the doctor announced, “he can officially resume all normal 4-year-old activities” and all I felt was a claustrophobic dread.

When I am frustrated or threatened, my default setting is to use force so I picked up every heavy object I could find and banged it against the studio walls, trying to create an exit. When this didn’t yield any results, I reached for my AA tools. Surely I could coach myself out of this space after so many years of personal development work. This approach failed too because I still lacked acceptance.

Finally, a year later, I surrendered and saw a trauma specialist after reading The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk. This book is easy to digest and should be on a universal required reading list. After a traumatic event, there is no returning to an old way of existing, the trauma must be integrated. If it isn’t, we subconsciously customize our life around it or numb out with the vice of our choice.

I was instructed to give up my warrior way and simplify my life so my brain could relax. Taking a break from triggers like crowded playgrounds was required so my brain could settle. Growth wasn’t possible if I was always cycling through some stage of recovery.  I started to read fiction again, upped my AA meetings, drank tea, walked daily and consciously reframed the way I spoke about my son’s accident. Internally and externally, I had said “the time my son almost died” hundreds of times. Trauma cannot be healed by talk therapy, retelling the dramatic version of the story creates deeper brain grooves, not relief.

I started meditating which was a never for a New Yorker like me. Desperate, I took a friend’s suggestion and signed up for a Transcendental Meditation class. I will write a thorough article about that experience next because the subject warrants more than one sentence. Slowly, something started shifting, and some days I was able to stop by the manor for an hour or two.

It doesn’t take a traumatic event like my son’s accident to activate our reptilian brains. They can switch over into survival mode at any time, registering small events as significant threats. Our amygdala’s get hijacked regularly by everyday occurrences. My children press all my buttons and by 8 am some mornings, I am already seated smack in the middle of the studio. Other days I am there due to a bad night’s sleep or an argument with my husband. What makes the difference is re-orienting myself as quickly as possible.

By identifying my location regularly, I can usually avoid prolonged periods in survival mode. Because my thinking is curtailed in the studio, delaying decision making as much as possible and scaling back on potentially triggering activities ensures that I don’t unknowingly extend my lease. Once I settle into the cozy simplicity of the studio, my journey back to the manor can begin.

I love feeling expansive and long to inhabit my manor house brain always. I have to watch my tendency to feel entitled to permanent residency due to my optimal routine and habits. Shouldn’t daily meditation, exercise, healthy diet, and service work provide consistent access? Doing these things regularly guarantee that I will one day return, but it’s a day by day invitation. Time in the manor house is a gift that I can never take for granted.

Judgment or Reality? 640 432 Thayer Fox

Judgment or Reality?

How many times have you made a decision based on an abrupt judgment? Do you feel confident that the way you see things is reality? Do you explain some of your judgments as instinct?

I’ve been off lately, barely able to sit through my two daily meditations because of the creepy crawly energy under my skin. The voice in my head has been relentlessly antagonistic. I could chart and study the chain of minor events that lead me here, but that would be a waste of time.

Looking for relief, I walked into a midday AA meeting in my neighborhood. Finding a seat in the first row, I adjusted the angle of my chair repeatedly, so I wasn’t too close to my neighbors in any direction. That’s the nature of the mood I can’t shake. Finally seated, I stared at my phone pretending to read something so no one would engage me in the usual friendly AA fashion.

Looking up at the clock, I cased the room, every person looked crazier than the next. Why did I think this was a good idea? How the hell could these people help me when they were all tearing at the seams?

No one sat in the leather speaker chair yet; there was still hope. I prayed a wise female version of Gandalf would plop down and say something astonishing.

A few minutes before the start time, a robust, dark-haired man took the seat. His sweaty face looked familiar. Then it hit me how I knew him. Struggling for over a year now, he could barely pull together ninety days of sober time before going on a bender. Thoroughly agitated, my instinct told me to bolt; no way this messy man had any sage advice to pass on.

Before I could gather my stuff, he introduced himself and began speaking. Debating whether I dashed for the door now or waited until he finished, I realized as I put a water bottle into my backpack, that the dark-haired man was staring only at me. Before I had time to be uncomfortable, he paused and pointed at me, “I know you” he said loudly.

This is totally off script, a speaker never addresses anyone in the audience during the twenty-minute opening talk. Without responding, I tilted my head giving him a quizzical look. He continued anyway, “I was counting days when I heard you speak at the 79th street workshop, you know that big Sunday 11th step meeting?” I nodded, I had spoken there recently. The speaker smiled, “That was the best qualification I’ve ever heard. I wanted to drink badly but stayed sober so I can sound like you one day.”

Sound like me? The judgmental shrew about to walk out as you bare your soul? I looked down, unworthy of his generous words. Today, I was not the woman who gave that talk. My eyes filled up as my heart opened. Putting my hands together, I bowed my head in a Namaste to show appreciation.

Gratitude surged through me, replacing all irritability. One sentence out of a stranger’s mouth smashed the self-centered glasses I had been wearing for days. Humbled, for the rest of the meeting I listened like my life depended on it.

My judgment almost kept me from being able to experience that mystical moment. I wonder how many beautiful minutes, hours, days, years have been stolen by snapshot opinions masquerading as instinct. God/ a higher intelligence/ destiny connects with us through other people. The most important job I have every day is to make myself available.

 

Win the Day With a Morning Ritual 1024 768 Thayer Fox

Win the Day With a Morning Ritual

I love the expression “If you win the morning, you win the day.”

I first heard it said on a Tim Ferriss podcast, and then another variation of it at a Tony Robbins event. Every day can be extraordinary if we consciously set that intention through our actions. The creation of key steps combined amounts to a morning ritual. Morning rituals stack the deck in your favor because they plug you into deeper consciousness shortly after waking.

The critical component in creating a morning ritual is to be true to you. Don’t try and mimic others who sound like they have it all figured out. It MUST be enjoyable and something you look forward to doing. I have a knee-jerk aversion to anything with the word “morning” in it. As I mentioned in my Bulletproof Coffee post, I am NOT naturally a morning person. I could sleep til nine happily if I didn’t have children who needed to get to school. Creating a morning routine that works for your schedule and biochemistry is essential. The thought of waking up at 5am makes me anxious and miserable. Most people who share their morning rituals talk about waking up and meditating as the sun rises. Great for them, and no thank you. I look forward to my morning ritual because it works for me.

I wake up between 6:30-45; this is the latest I can sleep and get the kids to school on time. I make my bulletproof coffee while I feed the kids and then put it into a Yeti cup, which I am obsessed with because of their size and functionality. Here it is:

https://www.yeti.com/drinkware/rambler-30-oz-tumbler/YRAM30.html

I only drink water with lemon squeezed into it at that time. The kids eat, and I leave the Yeti on my desk before I walk out of the apartment with my son at 7:45. His school is close to our apartment, so I am back home by 8. I then check my phone and return any texts or emails that are a priority or that I must address to clear my headspace. People that say they don’t look at their phones in the mornings don’t have young kids. Next, I make my bed. Then I sit in a comfortable chair in my bedroom or living room. For the next 15-20 mins, I either do Transcendental Meditation or I Prime, which is a Tony Robbins guided meditation. I select which version according to how I feel that particular morning. If my head is noisy and negative, I do TM (growth story about TM to come). If I feel down or tired, Priming gives me the energy and gratitude necessary to shift. Here is the link to the Priming mediation:

 

Tony Robbins: Priming Exercise

Then I take a quick cold shower (not wetting my hair) and listen to “Rise Up” by Andra Day. I highly recommend finding a theme song that you play every day. “Rise Up” makes me feel courageous and expansive. Yes, it’s corny, and it works. To get into the cold shower, I make a few power moves which I describe in Power Moves or Crazy Lady post. Then I sit down at my desk to drink my bulletproof and write. I have found that drinking coffee before meditating prevents me from sinking into a more expansive space, which is why I wait until after to drink it now. It’s around 8:45, and I write for the next 3 hours.

The days that I take on my morning ritual entirely and the ones when I half-ass it are remarkably different. Of course, I don’t always “feel” like doing it, and my AA training becomes invaluable at this juncture. When I first stopped drinking and working with my AA sponsor, she would tell me regularly when I complained that my feelings weren’t facts. If I wanted to see results in my life, I had to put 100% effort into getting sober. She said I needed to develop smart feet that would take me to meetings even when my head didn’t want to go. Day by day, my life started changing because I went to AA meetings, called my sponsor, and read the literature- no matter what. These were all simple action steps that done daily created enormous change in my mental state and life. I view my morning ritual the same way that I did my early sobriety, it’s a no matter what. When I am traveling or have an early start to my day, I do an abbreviated version that still gives me a boost.

Great days add up to great years and produce great lives. Thirty minutes is well worth this equation.