My parents were here this past weekend. They stayed with us at our new place for the first time. I was proud to show them the condo. We talked with them about how much we feel we’ve grown and changed. Responsibility, self reliance, all the exciting things that come with homeownership.
At one point I was reminded that it was my parents who gave me my meditation cushions, eight years ago. Tells you how long I’ve been “into this.” But also not into this: for many years the cushions sat in a small corner of a bedroom or closet, looked over, space takers. I would think “oh I’ll start soon” or, embarrassed, I would think, “I should just get rid of these things.”
For a long time, my cushions felt were this constant reminder of a plan I’d had but had never been able to follow through with.
Still, I never could quite give them up. I dragged them from Boston to Brooklyn to New Jersey over the years. They sat, waiting always, asking if I was ready to sit.
And now I am finally practicing and it makes it all the sweeter that this idea and intention began way back when I was a kinda lost twenty something with a bodhisattva bee in my bonnet.
Maybe I was ripening.
Maybe I always knew I’d start eventually.
Maybe everything you need is already in your possession, just waiting to be used.