Why I Meditate and Practice Yoga Every Day

home insemination Kit

You know, it’s a bit awkward to admit that I don’t meditate or do yoga to be spiritual or anything grand like that. Let me break it down for you.

Just the other day, I woke up to a cup of coffee that I didn’t even have to brew myself. My partner and I settled in his living room, knocking out emails. At one point, I launched into a long-winded story, and he gestured toward his computer, signaling it was work time. But honestly, I found it reassuring—who doesn’t appreciate someone with clear boundaries?

I wrapped up a decent essay, and even though the sun was shining, rain was on the way. For anyone living in California, you know that’s a good thing considering the drought we’re facing. It might not seem important to you, but this drought could eventually affect food availability, so just keep that in mind.

Honestly, I don’t mind Mondays. I enjoy working, even if I sometimes think I’d prefer doing something else. But really, I’m happiest when I’m working—well, in moderation. For me, five hours of writing is perfect. It leaves time for reading, daydreaming, and hanging out with people whose jokes I can borrow. That’s actually why my marriage ended; I realized I didn’t have time for someone whose humor didn’t resonate with me.

Anyway, my decent Monday took a turn when I went out to grab some toast and, along with it, a cappuccino that was possibly the worst I’d ever tasted. It was like someone mixed sand with old margarine. I was too frustrated to send it back. What could I even say? “Did you just decide to mess up my drink for fun?”

It’s embarrassing when our small annoyances lead to silly actions. I ended up using a jam-covered spoon to create what looked like a crime scene in my cup. When the barista asked if I was finished, I snapped, “Oh yes, I’m DONE,” with a forced smile that screamed passive-aggressiveness.

Afterward, I headed to my office, which I share with two coworkers and a black Lab named Max. Some days, his soulful brown eyes are the only thing keeping me from losing it. Other days, he’s busy slobbering all over his red toy, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s even here.

I tried to write a pitch for an editor who’s a bit more organized than I am, and I found myself completely blank. I thought if I could just jot down some facts, I’d make progress, but they lacked personality and just wouldn’t cut it. I even entertained the idea of sending him what I had, just so I could say I tried.

The whole time, I was thinking about my upcoming yoga class. I knew that if I didn’t get anything done, I’d convince myself to skip it, hoping for a miracle breakthrough instead. Sometimes, skipping yoga works out, but you’ve got to be ready for it to backfire. There I was, three hours in, realizing I really just wanted a hamburger.

I indulged in that hamburger, and when I returned to the office, I shot Max a dirty look and complained about his toy. His owner quickly sent him out of the room, and I felt a bit of respect returned.

I went back to writing, just going through the motions. I couldn’t decide if it was humble or arrogant to keep at it when nothing was flowing. It’s a mix of acknowledging that writing is a job and waiting for inspiration to strike.

By afternoon, I was in a foul mood and didn’t want to sit through another hour of yoga. I was craving freedom—to complain to friends or scroll through social media. If I had to interact with people, I wanted them to be characters from my favorite show.

But that nagging thought of wasting my day propelled me to go to yoga. I paid my fee, rolled out my mat, and settled in. A couple with matching mohawks greeted me with that stoner smile. The class started with the usual pep talk about how life isn’t so bad, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, even though I liked the instructor. I did the poses half-heartedly, and when he encouraged us to put more heart into it, I just got angrier.

The meditation felt longer than usual, and instead of relaxing, I was busy calculating my finances and worrying about my iPad. When it wrapped up, my friend gushed over how amazing it was, and I shrugged, “Not really.”

Back home, I made myself some fried eggs and toast, ran the bath I had been dreaming of, and climbed in. Without the vodka I thought I needed, I let the tears flow. I cried for a while, frustrated with my constant need to dislike things before I could appreciate them. But then, I found humor in my ungratefulness and how amusing it is to be so consistently cranky.

Suddenly, I was hit with euphoria. How lucky was I to enjoy a bath in clean, hot water? The next day, I found myself in a similar routine, but at least this time I knew where to get a good cappuccino. It’s funny how if you don’t stay on top of the practical matters, the spiritual stuff just doesn’t add up.

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In summary, my daily meditation and yoga practice isn’t about being spiritual; it’s about navigating my emotions and finding moments of joy in the mundane. It’s a journey filled with ups and downs, but ultimately, it helps me engage with life more fully.