You forgot how to play
You finally made it. You planned the trip for months. You worked out every detail: what to see each day, where to shop, where to eat. And here you are, tense and anxious, trying to keep to the schedule and wondering why the grandchildren are cranky, the heat is too much, and nothing is quite the holiday you pictured.
What went wrong?
You were so busy running the trip that you never really arrived on it.
What meditation is for
The goal of meditation is simple. It is being in the present moment. You are not going over what has already happened, and you are not waiting for something in the future to bring you peace and happiness. Right here is exactly where you need to be.
Many of us over 50 decided long ago that we cannot meditate because we cannot sit still. But being fully present does not require you to be still. It only requires you to be in the moment, and play is the easiest form of meditation there is.
What children know
Watch a child at play. They smile and laugh, and nothing else exists in their world. No past to haunt them, no future to worry about. Only the game, and the certainty that it is the most important thing happening right now.
Somewhere along the way adults forget how. We get consumed with staying ahead and planning for later, and we hold on to anger or guilt about things that happened long ago. By the time the house goes quiet, plenty of us have not really played in decades.
One hour
When did you last play a board game, kick a ball around, or read a novel without stopping to check your messages?
Play means experiencing the moment, whatever it is, fully and completely. So take one hour today and play. A game of pick up in the neighbourhood. A movie in the afternoon. Dress up with the grandchildren, or a hand of cards with a friend. It does not matter what you choose, as long as you are in it for the whole hour.
Do not think about the past. It has already happened. Do not think about the future. It is going to happen anyway. For one hour, stop thinking, let go and play.
Badly is fine.
From the archive. First written for my journal years ago, and rewritten for life after 50.
