Today is an absolutely beautiful day, weather-wise, in Maryland. This morning, however, I was having none of it. The dog woke me up barking outside my window at 5:30, then I stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom, then the shirt I wanted to wear didn’t fit, then I couldn’t find my keys, then I got stuck behind a cement truck on the narrow country road I have to take for 12 miles to get to the train station (when I was already running late), then I had to sit inside in my airtight office wistfully looking out at the clear blue sky while dealing with my annoying job…
But yanno what? It’s still a beautiful day. And I have a job, annoying though it may be. And I can, in fact, choose to let the aggravations slide off me like water off a murloc’s back. Mrrgglglrrglrrlggl!
I’ve never been one for meditation – despite being a tree-hugging hippy at heart, I’m not good at turning ye olde braine off long enough to just BE. I’ve read so many books and articles and websites attesting to the rejuvenating powers of om, but I’ve always said “I can’t do that.” Can’t is a pretty horrible word, though, isn’t it? The website Zen Habits had a great article today extolling the virtues of finding moments of stillness amidst the chaos of daily life.
“Take a minute out of your busy day to do this little exercise: pause in the middle of all you have to do, all that’s going on around you. Close your eyes, and sit still. Breathe in, and breathe out, and pay attention to your breath as it comes in and goes out. Just sit still, for about a minute.
…
Stillness calms us. It gives us a small oasis of quiet that allows us to hear our thoughts, that allows us to catch our breath, that gives us room to breathe at all. It is the antibody to the stress and rush we feel daily.”
“Screw ‘can’t,’” I decided. “I can take a minute’s break, the company won’t implode without me in my office for a minute. They can wait.”
So I went outside, to the little tiny-but-lovely greenspace across the street from my building. Dozens of kids screeched and hollered in the daycare playground nearby. A paper-shredding company truck idled noisily on the street. Cars honked, buses spewed fumes. People hurried by.
I found a patch of sunlight on the grass, took off my shoes, and sat down. Closed my eyes. Felt the sunlight warm on my face. Breathed in, breathed out. Slowly, the sounds faded into a comfortable background noise. Breath in, breath out. Warm sun, cool breeze. Breath in, breath out.
There’s a technique in yoga where you visualize yourself grounded on the earth, and you feel yourself solidly on the ground beneath you, your roots going deep into the soil like the feet of a mountain. It’s supposed to help you find your balance and center. I tried to see that as I sat there, breathing slowly and deeply.
Then it occurred to me that my little patch of green was actually on top of a parking garage.
“I am at one with the universe… My roots extend down… down… through the plush seats of this BMW… Hey someone left half a donut in that Toyota!”
The thought made me giggle, and at that point I opened my eyes, and caught the glance of Random Officeworker Guy, walking along the sidewalk nearby, who had looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back. It is, of course, entirely possible that he was smiling because I looked like a freak, sitting there barefoot on the grass in the middle of the city. But I choose to think that he was reacting to the feeling of peace and calm that my meditation was exuding.
I really did feel refreshed, grounded, and ready to face the world with confidence and peace. As I walked back to my office, I mused on another article I read today, a story from 2003 in the New Yorker about people who commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. One of the anecdotes is from a psychologist who mentioned one of the jumpers’ stories that affected him the most.
“I went to this guy’s apartment afterward with the assistant medical examiner,” he told me. “The guy was in his thirties, lived alone, pretty bare apartment. He’d written a note and left it on his bureau. It said, ‘I’m going to walk to the bridge. If one person smiles at me on the way, I will not jump.’ ”
Apparently, no one smiled at him, because he jumped. The thing that struck me about that anecdote, though, was not only the tragedy of that person, trying to find anyone who cared enough to simply smile at him. What I found myself wondering was whether he looked up enough to give them the chance. Did he look at the people around him, perhaps give them a smile, or at least an unhostile glance? Or did he keep his eyes on the ground, unwilling or unable to meet the eyes of those he passed? We have no way of knowing, of course, and either way, the tragedy is undeniable.
I think a lot of us, myself frequently included, go through life hoping someone will take responsibility for our happiness, and blaming external forces for our unhappiness. If only we weren’t stuck at this job. If only we had a little more money. A little more time. If only we were more fit, less prone to headaches, didn’t have allergies. If only someone would smile at us.
But the thing is, we have to look up from the sidewalk and SEE them smiling at us.
The New Yorker article also mentions one of the many people who try to talk jumpers back from the edge of the bridge.
Kevin Briggs, a friendly, sandy-haired motorcycle patrolman, has a knack for spotting jumpers and talking them back from the edge; he has coaxed in more than two hundred potential jumpers without losing one over the side. He won the Highway Patrol’s Marin County Uniformed Employee of the Year Award last year. Briggs told me that he starts talking to a potential jumper by asking, “How are you feeling today?” Then, “What’s your plan for tomorrow?” If the person doesn’t have a plan, Briggs says, “Well, let’s make one. If it doesn’t work out, you can always come back here later.”
Everyone needs a smile now and then; I try, in my daily life, to offer one when I have one to offer. A lot of time, people in cities don’t look at each other. They keep their eyes on the sidewalk, lost in their own problems. But you’d be surprised how many times when I catch someone’s eye and smile, they look somewhat surprised, and then smile back. It reminds us that we’re human. We’re all in this together.
So that’s my advice for today – I’m sure you were all waiting, hoping I’d offer some pearl of wisdom, weren’t you? It’s really two-fold. First, take five minutes to find an oasis of stillness, in which to sit and breathe. The emails and phone calls and TV shows and computer games can wait five minutes, they’ll be there when you get back. Sit, breathe, and find your center. Then, make it a point to smile at five strangers you pass on the street.
Who knows? You might save someone’s life. At the least, you’ll let someone know that you both exist in the world.
