Quality time

My tech career has given me a lot, but I wouldn’t wish this life on my sons. When seeking empathy, I often joke that I wish my wife could experience it for herself. I don’t dream of retiring rich — just early enough to avoid the tone I hear in every tech worker’s voice. There are few sixty-year-old carpenters still climbing roofs, or software engineers. My system can’t sustain this for another decade. So I returned to sitting.

At first, mostly daydreaming about the future — five, ten years out. Mostly silly fantasies sparked by photos of Australia, and New Zealand (induced by too many spoons of Manuka honey). The “what if we moved there” thought experiment usually ends in dead ends and arguments with my exasperated wife. I’m not really planning an escape. Just looking for one. Though, I get it — the grass isn’t greener on the other side. People are people wherever you go. There’s no perfect place. But since we’re products of our environment, and constantly changing, it still feels worth trying things. Testing alternatives. Seeing what sticks. Considering options, endlessly.

Right now, we’re optimizing for convenience. Healthcare, education and income keep us anchored here; short-term, they’re unbeatable. There’s nothing we want that we can’t get. This version of life is too good, too smooth. It dulls the edges. Maybe that’s the game everyone plays here: comfort now, meaning later. Meanwhile the social fabric thins, the cost of living rises, ethics drifts; parallel to my own sanity oscillating. Wealth and abundance, sure, but I can’t be happy surrounded by tragedies dressed up as progress. They become obvious when walking around with a clear mind.

Be less reactive, be “in the world and not of the world” they say. Seeking sanity in isolation, running away from digital feels pointless. It is part of the world. What seemed like high delusion is now marvelous manifestations of will to live, however imaginable: capitalism without oil, religious without dogma, politics without money, perspective without bias, the mind without distractions…

I’m drowning in concepts and stories. The ones I tell myself are just as obnoxiously idiotic as the ones out there: design your life, improve yourself, make America great again… whaaa?! There is a bit of King Lear in my inner bullshit. I want to retreat from a good position, likely only to hope to get it back. Seated on the toilet or freshly rested, it’s always the same loop: hashing, reframing, prudence, moderation, loose it, repeat. Every thought half-formed and elusive, but the emotional root is clear: frustration.

Frustrated by what exactly? Work? Breathing? All of it? 
Breathing turns out to be quite nice. Work, not so much. I’m good at what I do, paid well, respected… yet something fundamental feels misaligned. After years of screen-work-induced burn, something has to change before I lose my mind.

Such is the genesis of my eased mind after few week of regular and admittedly laborious meditation (a word that still feels phony to me). Every teaching says not to try, not to force, not to want anything. So of course, I try, force, and want it anyway. Being a contrarian is both fun and dumb. What kind of insight is that? Hopefully just a chapter in life. My abused left-brain is comforted by incomprehensible Dharma tellers. The cacophony of the show of words turns into a subtle sensory polyphony. Just like writing these posts. The cursor moves to the right too fast. Discomfort from stillness bolsters a sort of morbid curiosity for what the mind produce.

Again and again I’ve been sitting, breathing, trying to do nothing — mostly empty, so freaking twitchy. All the meditation guides are so rigid, starting with the sitting postures and, god, the counting. I can’t count pushup reps beyond 3, let alone breaths. I thought seriously about qualifying for ADHD. My blog feed is a glaring diagnosis. Doctors and Telehealth chatbots seem to agree. But then what? Adderall my way to non-dualistic awareness? Manipulate the mind into compliance with CBT? WTF? After thinking about it too much, I hit a familiar wall. Like stubbing my toe in the same corner again.

One more cycle has run its course. Suddenly, while stretching emptying the dishwasher, the all-at-onceness renders silly mistakes and existential dead ends weightless, meaningless. I’m properly empty, in the here and now. Quality time strike even with stiff hamstring, creaky knees, and everything else. I think I might have gotten something.