Maybe there’s a psychotropic drug that separates your thoughts with the accuracy and dedication of a 19th-century California gold miner.
But in the meantime, there’s meditation. Which is cheaper.
As of this morning, I’ve meditated for the past 100 days in a row.
Not me. I outsource this recordkeeping to the lovely Insight Timer app. As you accrue days you earn little stars. It’s oddly motivating.
Daily meditation is my only recent change. And life is more fluid up there in my head. Now I watch useless thoughts rumble toward me like a freight trains. Observe painful emotions charge like bulls. Sense an impending tsunami of sadness in my bones.
But the best way to survive these threats is avoidance. Meditation and scribbling in the notebook are the equivalents of jumping off the tracks, leaving the ring, or catching the last plane before the waves hit.
Stepping aside in a nick of time isn’t weakness. It’s preventing engagement with useless feelings.
Personally, loud people are less annoying. Ladies smacking gum in yoga class, which is disgusting, wrong, and stupid on 72 distinct levels, is no longer enough for me to lose my cool.
Yesterday, as I waited for my rental car (long, boring story) to be washed, I marveled at how fluidly everything went. I breezed in, snagged the tiny, spotless car I wanted, and politely evaded the representative’s attempts to sell me extra insurance. I’m so calm right now, I realized. Everything’s fine.