I stand at the kitchen window, the sunlight pouring in through the window. Kettle boiling for coffee, and I can hear birds beginning to chirp; the world is waking up. Sometimes, in moments like this, I find myself just standing there, lost in thought for no particular reason. There is something peacefully creative about this place. My grandfather used to do the same thing when I was a kid. When I would stay at my grandparents, I would wake up first thing in the morning, at sunrise, and come out to the kitchen. I would find Papa sitting at the table, sipping a coffee, and doing nothing else. I used to think he was crazy for not playing music and just sitting there. It didn’t seem like any fun, especially to a kid. But all these years later, I think I finally understand.
Every second that passes is a second that is forever in the past. The future, a faint vision that becomes a clear reality. And every moment along the way, an opportunity to do something meaningful. But finding what is meaningful to pursue can often times be one of the most challenging things to explore. I was the kid that would go at things at 100% max effort at every moment. My parents used to say that I was like the Energizer bunny (just keep going, and going, and going) and that it would only take me a few moments to fall asleep at night because I ran around until I was completely exhausted.
Things haven’t changed too much over the years. In order for me to operate at my best, or to have the most grounded mind, I have to do something active to let out my energy. Lately, it has been swimming. A LOT of swimming. During the summer, I swim in the sea or a lake on most days for at least an hour. And that time is sacred for me. No distractions, nothing else to do but swim. The beauty of this was actually quite unintentional. Usually, the first 30 minutes of the swim is usually the most fun, full of gliding along the water and getting into the rhythm. I aim to hold a consistent pace the entire time (can’t escape that pursuit of perfection) so that I can measure improvement. When I finish the first 30 minutes (usually a lap in the lake), I take a short break for water and to intake some calories to keep the body going. When I start the second lap, that is when everything changes.
I dive in the first few strokes are always weird, almost your body trying to remember the rhythm while you adjust to essentially laying face down in the water versus standing vertically. But a few minutes in, something powerful begins to happen. The strokes begin to not feel as difficult, I feel like I can glide through the water longer, everything begins to melt into a feeling of complete harmony. This is the equivalent of achieving a state of flow but with water added to it. For the next 30 minutes or so, nothing really matters. The stresses of life and the uncertainties of trying to build a company, gone. There is just the sound of being underwater, the rhythm of the stroke, the trees, and the sun shining. It’s my meditation.
I have always “tried” to meditate. I did Calm every day for a few years, Headspace every day for a few years, and even tried unguided meditations. While I found them to be valuable and I highly recommend it, the habit didn’t stick (I also have a horrible habit of falling asleep meditating when I am too relaxed). But one of the lessons that I learned from meditation is the awareness of the breath and the body. This understanding, that connection between body and breath, is what I finally found in the water. I have an acute sense of every part of my body, the balance in the water, the oxygen exhaled through the nose just before taking another breath. I can feel the new rush of oxygen moving through the body, moving to the fingertips and down to my feet. And the feeling lasts as long as I can stay focused on the present moment. The moment the mind wanders, I gently ease it back to the rhythm of the water. This was something I previously had a lot of difficulty with when just sitting and meditating. By the time I finish the next 30 minutes, I feel like no time has passed but I also can’t remember what I was worried about at the beginning of the swim. I drink some water and some nutrition, then begin another lap.
The third lap is the most fun. This is when the thoughts, the ideas, the solutions all come rushing into my mind. I am able to look at each problem while I am swimming (basically on autopilot at this point) and not just see them much more clearly, they are not as problematic as previously thought. And the best part, I am excited. Every single time I come out of the water, I am in a good mood. It literally does not matter what happened before I began swimming, everything is better. I drive home, sunroof open, windows down, blissful. The point of this is not to say everybody should go swimming. I am suggesting that everybody find their meditative practice, whatever it may be. It most likely is not the new “hack” to be more productive or awesome. It’s probably not the new product on the market that will “really change things.” In fact, it can’t be purchased, subscribed to, or borrowed. It is within.
I find myself standing in front of the kitchen window again, this time looking out at the sunshine on the tops of the trees as the sun dips below the horizon. The kettle is on to make a cup of tea. The birds don’t chirp as often, the world is ready to rest. I reflect on the day, evaluating if I lived the day the best way that I possibly could. I find myself not doing anything, just staring out the window, lost in thought. I think about Papa and one of the last conversations that we were lucky enough to share. I told him that I finally realized why he looked out the window all those years. It was to enjoy the passage of time, and to be present in every moment along the way. I could hear his smile through the phone, “You betcha.”