Deliberation

Flying back from Nepal to India I was seated in business class, next to a man who, it turned out, worked for the WHO on global food issues. He really wanted to talk to me, and went so far as to wake me up several times throughout the flight to try and engage me in conversation. Unfortunately I was mind bogglingly hung over, possibly still drunk, and it was all I could do to focus on not throwing up. The book I am currently trying to write would, no doubt, have benefited greatly from that conversation. Instead all I am left with is a deep regret that I had over indulged the night before and missed such a fantastic opportunity.

I wish I could say that's the only time it's happened but I actually have an extensive list of moments not seized, or fully lived, because of a smashing headache and tilt-a-whirl stomach. There's the trip to New York and the matinee viewing of "Cabaret" at Studio 54. Neat huh? I think I fell asleep for about ten minutes before intermission despite a heroic attempt to fight the all encompassing hangover stupor.

I am not an alcoholic. I like to joke about my love of wine and spirits but I have never in my life felt compelled to drink (unless I've already had two or three, which is about when I begin mindlessly refilling my glass- but this isn't about my need to find an AA meeting), and now that I am in my 30's I, more often than not, have a few drinks in an evening and wake up fine the next morning. Still, in retrospect, I have deprived myself of far too many satisfying, potentially rewarding, experiences simply by losing track of where I'm at in terms of drink consumption and paying for the poison the next day. There's been family events, weddings, even romantic possibilities all reduced to vague and blurry memories obscured by an unrelenting pounding head and cotton mouth.

But, I've come to realize this affliction is even more deeply rooted and insidious than I've suspected. Inspired by Joseph at Somewhere in Dhamma I've started to add five minutes of simple sitting meditation to the end of my yoga sessions. It usually goes something like:

One, one, two, two (I count both inhales and exhales), three, I'm thirsty...oops, four, five, I think I forgot sunscreen aaack, seven, eight, eight wow, my distractions aren't very deep, I am an incredibly dull person, oh crap... fourteen?

But a few days ago I had a moment on a ten count inhale where my wandering mind said, this is the only time you will breathe this breath. And in that moment I suddenly understood, profoundly, something I've known, which I mistook as understanding, for a long time.

So I'm trying to take my life more seriously. I don't mean I'm abandoning my absurdist views and exuberant gratitude and joy. I think I already live richly and well, passionately and creatively. But more than that I hope, from now on, to live deliberately. No more surfing the web while I unappreciatively eat a bountiful breakfast. I am going to revel in every bite of garden fresh tomato and sweet potato hash browns. No more toss away responses to half heard conversations. I am going to relearn the lost art of listening. No more lost hours or days. No more meandering motion and wasted words.

At least not unintentionally. After all, it was a liberated, not deliberated, mind that brought me here.