The things in your brain that go tick.

My mom was visiting me this weekend and as our capstone weekend activity we went to a two-hour yoga workshop at the studio I frequent in my neighborhood. It was billed as a relaxing practice with elements of yin, restorative and yoga nidra. The workshop did not disappoint and was exactly what it should have been. A few days later and I'm struggling not to be disappointed in my own brain, though, disappointment that was magnified for me in those two hours.

Since I started yoga teacher training in September I've tried to make an effort to make seated meditation more a part of my everyday experience. I remember seeing a meme on the internet somewhere (... this vague internet ecosystem being where I get much of my philosophy these days) that said something like, "It's not that you don't have the time, it's that you don't care to make it a priority," but a lot more pithy. So I'll save my protestations of not having enough time and concede to the internet wisdom that I haven't quite made seated meditation a priority in the past year.

In the past few months, however, I've tried to sit at least a few times a week for ten minutes. Ten minutes is about the time it takes me to get motivated to put on clothes in the morning so I've tried to convince myself that I'm not robbing myself of any productivity while sitting. It is in fact this obsession with efficiency and productivity, concepts fine on their own but detrimental when pursued to the exclusion of all else, that is a good sign that I need to sit more. Sometimes I've managed to do it, other times I've rationalized needing sleep, other times I've just gone for coffee and called it a moving meditation instead (the things the mind will come up with).

There was a lot of sitting (well, not sitting per se but being in different restorative poses) on Sunday and my brain got louder and more unkind over the two hours. In my life, in all our lives, there's not often an opportunity to be a witness to our mind for two hours at a stretch. Having that opportunity gave me an uncomfortable but much-needed realistic assessment of where my mind is these days. And it's not a kind place, not to itself at least.

Over the past few months, as work has gotten more stressful, I've been striving in my everyday life to be more generous and more giving towards others. As I've felt more selfish hoarding my few free hours to myself during the week, I've been pushing myself to be more generous in any way I can manage. For example, I've paid for the coffee of the person in front of me and behind me at cafes many times, have endeavored not to speak unkindly to anyone, have tried to shut my mouth when others are speaking to give them my most expansive and authentic attention. But towards myself, my own mind continues to be a bit of a jerk.

Listening non-judgmentally to my own mind on Sunday, I found out a few things. I feel guilty for not being as generous as I can be. But I'm afraid that, short of becoming a monk, I'll always feel guilty for not being generous enough. If I'm not actively suffering, I seem to think this means that I could give more, more time, more attention, more love, more money. My intellectual mind know this is not true; if I burn out, there's nothing left to share. But the mind that still goes tick when everything else has stopped, that's the mind I'm fighting with.

These thoughts aren't going away. Being a witness to them, however, has given me something concrete to argue against when I'm feeling inadequate. I'll keep trying to give, of course. I still think I have more attention and gratitude and love to share. There are times when I should bite my tongue quite a bit harder than I have in the past. But as I endeavor to make everyone I interact with feel safe, I have to do that own work with myself, too.