Meditation and I have a complicated relationship. It’s like my relationship with kale—I know it’s good for me, I’ve tried to love it, but we’re just not meant to be.
Every time I decide to meditate, it’s like my brain throws a party. The second I close my eyes and try to “empty my mind,” it offers me every possible distraction:
“Remember that embarrassing thing you did in 1987?”
“What should we have for dinner?”
“Is that a new ache in your left knee?”
“Did you turn off the stove?”
“WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?”
Empty mind? Mine’s like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
The One Technique That Actually Worked
After years of failing at traditional meditation, I discovered something that actually worked. I imagine myself as a cat sitting by a mouse hole, thinking: “I wonder what thought will come out next?”
That playful curiosity—that actually kept me mentally quiet longer than any guided meditation ever did. Instead of fighting thoughts, I became amused by them. Like watching Lelu, Morticia and Steve Chicks (my chickens) do ridiculous things.
Suddenly, meditation became less about achieving some mystical state and more about being entertained by my own brain’s chaos.
The River Method (My Other Semi-Success)
The other technique that sort of works: picturing my thoughts as leaves floating on a river. I’m not the leaves—I’m the steady current underneath. The thoughts float by while I just… exist beneath them.
This works for about four minutes. Then I start wondering if the leaves are biodegradable, if the river has fish, whether I remembered to pay the water bill…
You see the problem.
What Research Says (And Why I Both Love and Hate It)
Science shows meditation literally changes your brain. Increases gray matter. Reduces anxiety. Improves focus. Slows aging.
Great. Fantastic. But here’s what research doesn’t tell you: what to do when you’re terrible at it.
It’s like being told running will change your life when you hate running, your knees sound like Rice Krispies, and the only time you run is when you hear the ice cream truck.
My Accidental Meditation Practices
Here’s the plot twist: I actually meditate all the time. I just don’t call it that.
Dutch Pour Painting
Watching paint flow across canvas? That’s meditation. My brain completely shuts up when I’m mixing colors. Three hours disappear. No thoughts except “ooh, pretty.”
Morning Coffee Ritual
Every morning at 6:47 AM, I stand at my kitchen window with coffee in my dragonfly mug. For five minutes, I just watch the backyard wake up. Birds arrive. Squirrels do squirrel things. That’s meditation.
The Chickent Watch
Sitting on my deck watching my chickens be ridiculous? Total meditation. Gertrude investigating bugs with scientific precision. Meredith having opinions about everything. My brain goes blissfully quiet.
Storm Watching
When Florida afternoon storms roll in, I sit on the covered porch and watch. The wind, the rain, the lightning. Complete presence. No thoughts. Just awe.
The Permission I Finally Gave Myself
At 61, I’ve finally accepted: I don’t meditate the “right” way. And that’s okay.
My meditation doesn’t look like the pictures—cross-legged, eyes closed, serene expression. It looks like me covered in paint, or holding coffee, or laughing at chickens, or getting soaked by rain.
But my blood pressure is down. My anxiety is manageable. I sleep better. So something’s working.
What Actually Counts as Meditation (The Rebel’s Guide)
Forget what the apps tell you. These all count:
- Folding laundry without TV on
- Walking without podcasts
- Sitting in traffic without rage
- Washing dishes mindfully
- Petting your dog for five minutes
- Watching clouds
- Coloring (yes, those adult coloring books)
- Cooking without multitasking
- Actually tasting your food
- Sitting outside without your phone
The Truth Nobody Admits
Most of us suck at traditional meditation. We’re too busy, too anxious, too human. Our minds aren’t meant to be empty—they’re meant to be engaged.
So engage them differently. Find your version of the cat-and-mouse game. Find your river. Find your chickents.
Or just accept that your meditation might look like watching paint dry—literally, in my case, with Dutch pours.
Your Permission Slip
You don’t have to meditate the “right” way. You don’t need an app, a cushion, or a guru. You don’t need to sit still if that makes you crazy.
You just need to find moments when your brain takes a break from its usual chaos. Whether that’s through traditional meditation or watching your dog sleep or stirring soup or walking to the mailbox.
It all counts. Even if your meditation looks nothing like meditation.
Mine looks like a 61-year-old woman covered in paint, watching chickens, talking to bats. And you know what? My brain finally shuts up.
That’s meditation enough for me.
