Believe it or not, depending on your belief system, I've always been very big on meditating. Not that I've always been good at meditating. But I have been very big on it, extolling its virtues, so that should count for something.
I started back in high school. I paid good money I'd earned babysitting and part-timing it at a stationery store run by absolute lunatics to attend the Transcendental Mental Institute of Extreme Mellowness.
They gave me my mantra, and no, I didn't forget it. Yay, me! I meditated a lot in college, then I got into the real world and was too anxious to meditate, what with all the crap jobs I kept getting, the nutty bosses, the bankrupt newspaper, the bouncing checks, the -- why are you making recount this?
Then I started doing self-hypnosis, listening to tapes that kept telling me to breathe already. I thought I was breathing. Turns out, I'd been breathing wrong, but only for my entire life.
Fast forward through my glamorous days as a borderline crazy (yet effective and powerful and oh-so-loving) mama bear, my exciting TV writer days, and my challenging decade as an Existential Loss Expert (list of losses available upon request). Keep fast forwarding to today, to my elegant and bejeweled late-late 50s, where I've achieved some kind of Zen, don't ask me how. On second thought, ask me how.
I simply live in the moment, except when I forget to live in the moment, and I breathe better, except when I don't, and I become mindful that I'm not living in the moment, or breathing the right way, and then I either go back to living in the moment, or breathing the right way, or, as has been prescribed by my favorite Muppet, I say "eff it" and eat a cookie.
Yep, that's how I roll, baby.
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