Finding My ‘Ohm’ Moment

Because I am prone to anxiety, and the anniversary of my mother’s death has apparently pulled the scab off that wound, I’ve decided to seek refuge in meditation. Since I know nothing about it except what I saw on an episode of Eight is Enough a million y ears ago, I visited Google and my first click was rather informative, aptly named How to Meditate.

This seems surprisingly like the teachings of my Totally Unique Thoughts guy, Mike Dooley, who taught me the laws of attraction on 12 CDs that my sister so graciously sent me a few years ago. Unfortunately, I didn’t strike it filthy rich the last time I tried to coax the Universe to grant my wish of winning the lottery. But I guess the big difference is that I’m not suppose to focus on myself when I meditate, like, in the real fashion, whereas the Universe lets me pretty much do as I wish. The Universe rocks.

That said, when Truman loses his cool, I will tell him to “find your center.” This got some strange looks at the T-ball field a month or so ago. But, it seems to work somehow. Truman finds his center in being quiet in “time out” and, I suppose, pondering what he can do to settle his feathers. That’s got to be some kind of meditation, right?

I haven’t formally meditated yet, but I’m putting it front-and-center on my to-do list for tomorrow. I’ll think of the few of you who actually read this and wish you well, since I’m not allowed to think of myself. I’ll also think really hard how to settle these frayed nerves. One day I’ll master them, I swear. But for now, if I can go a day without thinking I’m going to drop dead, I’ll be doing great. Once I’ve got that meditation thing down and I’m all happy and in a good place, I’m going to focus on being grossly wealthy and having a beach house and writing a novel in that window of time when Truman and Rick and I aren’t catching crabs at sundown on our private beach or drinking too much wine while we grill the Journey fish-o’-the-day. Until then, ohm to you.

Photo, Flickr, HaPe_Gera