Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

“What’s frustrating you?” I ask.

She sighs, and in the low light coming from my essential oils diffuser, I see her brows furrow.

“It’s too early, for one thing. I just want to fall asleep.”

“That’s fair,” I tell her. “But that’s why we sit up with a straight back.”

“Yes, but then my mind starts racing. I’m just sitting here thinking about everything I have to do today, and I’m annoyed that I have to sit here and wait to do them when I could get started.”

I smile. “I know that feeling. But how many days do you spend frantically running around, thinking you’re getting a lot done, but at the end of it all, you realize you didn’t accomplish much because you couldn’t focus on one thing at a time, and you end up feeling even more frazzled and like you wasted a day.”

Amanda opens her mouth to argue, but then her brows bend in even more, and she closes it again. “I guess I never realized it, but yes… I’ve done that more times than I can count.”

My entire place is dark, save for that small light from my diffuser and the lights of the city sparkling outside my windows. We’re seated on two small cushions on the floor of my living room, where I usually meditate, and I can’t help but think how much warmer my condo feels with her in it.

Reaching forward, I fold my hand over her knee, squeezing until her eyes find mine.

“I know it’s tough. It’s weird. It’s frustrating. That’s all normal. It’s going to take time. They call it meditation practice for a reason — because there is no perfect way to do it, no achievement you can mark off that suddenly makes you a master. You just show up, and you try to be present. That’s it. That’s the practice.”

Amanda’s eyes fall to where my hand is on her knee, so I clear my throat and sit back, removing the touch.

Her shoulders slump even more then. “Why is it so hard.”

I smile at that. “Because we all have monkey minds that want to drag us from the present moment by thinking about the past, or the future, or ideas or thoughts or things we have on our to-do list.”

“And what do you get out of it? I mean, is it just permanent frustration forever?”

I chuckle. “No. It…” I pause, thinking. “Eventually, the more you practice, the more you start to find peace. And not just when you’re meditating, but in everyday life. You can enjoy the present moment more, find more space for gratitude and less for anxiety.”

“You sound like such a hippie right now.”

“Just humor me,” I say on a laugh. “Let’s get through this first session without you calling it quits. Just listen to the guidance. Twenty minutes,” I add. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Amanda sighs, but I smirk, holding up our secret b sign with my fingers curling into my thumb.

She smiles at that, sitting up straight again and cracking her neck. “Fine, fine. It might kill me, but I’ll do my best to be quiet for twenty minutes.”

“Might set a new personal record.”

She peeks one eye open before flipping me the bird, a smile on her face as she closes her eyes once more.

Then, I hit play on the meditation, taking three deep breaths to settle back in.

The female voice guiding us is low and soothing, walking us through focusing on our breath. Every now and then, after a prolonged period of just the music playing, the facilitator reminds us to not get frustrated when our mind starts going, and instead just kindly bring our attention back to the breath or point of focus — which, for me, is almost always my hands.

I feel a distant tingling in them, like a reminder that I’m alive, that I have cells and blood and muscles and organs that make up a human body.

It doesn’t take long before I slip into that calm state of being I’ve come to love so much. My mind clears, settling into a subtle kind of awareness. I’m not trying to force anything. I’m just existing.

I remember what it used to feel like, how I would get bored, agitated, or frustrated with myself for not doing it right. But over time, meditation has transformed for me, bringing me peace, bliss, and inspiration.

A quiet bell rings, signaling the practice is complete, and our facilitator thanks us for joining her and invites us to open our eyes.

When I do, it’s just in time to see Amanda’s eyelids flutter open, and she releases a long, quiet exhale.

“Well, how do you feel?”

She frowns, then smiles, then frowns again, shaking her head. “I… don’t know. I mean, at first, I was just annoyed, honestly. But, after a while, I started to get the hang of it. I think. I mean, I definitely had to keep pulling myself back to the moment, but I wasn’t as frustrated as when we started.”