So, looking back at the posts and my meditation timer app, it would seem that I have done this for 35 days. I have missed 4 days, so, yeah, 31 days of ass on the pillow, with a two day gap and two one day gaps. Two streaks of ten days or more.
I have attained a perfect state of enlightenment. My life is now all that I wanted it to be. I have lost ten pounds and I am volunteering in soup kitchens, filled with loving compassion for all of humanity, including anti-vaxxers, Trump supporters, and people who honk their horns behind me when I am stopped at a red light.
Not really.
Can’t say I feel any different. The habit of meditation has not been really created, I don’t think, as I was meditating at 11, after a short run in the rain to try to fill my apple rings, both with a midnight deadline so I could keep streaks going.
My friend Ron has suggested a meditation timer, a standalone device, which would be cut off from social media functions, my app’s pitches for paid services, and thumbnails of people meditating near me. I’m considering it. Using it would reduce my cell phone habit by 15 minutes a day. Heh.
I could, gasp, leave the phone somewhere, and just use the timer.
Looking into 12 step on the various forms of tech addiction. My son, the younger kid, is a video game, uh, user; the perfect child for the pandemic. Only online friends. Only gaming friends. Dislikes restaurants and doesn’t care about movies. Who now is in desperate need for some sort of intervention.
Then there’s me, trying to model better behavior.
I think I’ll stick with the app and try to keep this streak going, even if it means sitting in the dark at 11:30 at night. Maybe it will help me get to sleep, right? One thing at a time.
Fast. Exercise. Meditate.
I wrote 1600 words of, uh, stuff, yesterday, and spent 5 hours or so on the SF course I am working on with my friend Mike McComas. And did the three things above. So. Good day, right? Why don’t I think that? Why do I focus on all the stuff I didn’t do?
Coffee almost finished. TIme to sit. Bumped the timer up to 12 minutes, 4 interval bells of 3 minutes each. Three minutes is a pop song. Twelve minutes half a sit-com. A quarter of my green fitness ring.
And an endless abyss of quiet, boredom, and escape.
The one and only thing you can’t do poorly. As long as you actually do it.
