Why do we struggle so much to sit still? Not in our bodies, but in our minds. I’ve started and abandoned more “mindfulness” programs than I can count. This morning, I tried another.
Up early at five in an attempt to acclimate ourselves for Japan, Coral and I got a rare and quite peaceful morning before my work day began. Of course, as my cats took their rightful positions on my lap, I found myself antsy. Phone? Across the room. Book? Too far out of reach. So, I turned on the TV and started yet another program.
As I closed my eyes and breathed, I let the sounds of my surroundings creep in and out. The sound of Coral making me breakfast. The soft snorty purr of Lionel. Kevin shaking an itch before rolling in to a more comfortable position.
As the program ended, our collage of photos filled up the screen. Sanibel Island – so filled with seashells it created a complete blanket of broken color. And one of my favorites, a little yellow crab from Puerto Rico.
Animals live by stillness. The cat melting into your lap. The dog’s slow lean after locking eyes. The cheetah crouched, waiting. Stillness keeps them alive.
Humans fight so hard for survival that we often forget the simplest mechanism that sustains us: to stop, to see clearly, to breathe.
I don’t quite know how to describe the feeling in these moments of still. It is almost as if the fog has been wiped from my glasses and everything slowly comes into focus.
Maybe survival isn’t always about motion. Maybe sometimes, it’s about learning from the crab — sitting still long enough to see the ocean.
My therapist said I should journal 
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