April 18 | When the Man Comes Around

It’s hard to define meditation exactly, mostly because meditation has more to do with “isn’t” than “is.” The second you try to wrap your hand around it, it’s somewhere else entirely.

With that being said, you could give this a try.

Your mind is a long highway on a cool afternoon. You can feel the sun on your face, but not so much that the heat sinks through your boots. It’s warm but you have plenty of water. There’s no one in sight.

As you trudge down the road, you stick out your left thumb, pointed upward. Most importantly, you don’t look over your shoulder. Whatever emotions come along, you’re willing to go for the ride.

All sorts of fancy looking cars might pass you going in the other direction. Sports coupes with beautiful drivers and cold AC in endless array. But they’re not headed the same direction, so you let them pass by, without looking back to see where they’re headed.

There’s a mutual trust in this fantasm, the exact lack of trust that makes actually hitchhiking a dangerous modern activity. You have nothing in common with the person driving the car except a shared direction—not even a shared destination.

This form of meditation isn’t just about waiting: it’s about being open to whatever emotions pick you up, staying with them for however long they take you, and being comfortable just walking whenever it’s time to say goodbye.

The only thing you have to take away from it is stories—because the nice thing about hitchhiking through your feelings is you can open your eyes anytime you want.… Read the rest