Many regard the pursuit of personal wellness as a journey rather than a destination. Whether that involves writing in a journal, working out regularly, or practising meditation, the aim of self-improvement is to better one’s quality of life.
There is certainly a level of privilege in being able to prioritize well-being in this way; when one is not overwhelmed with other responsibilities or struggles, it is much easier to designate time and energy into daily practices towards improving one’s mental and emotional health. Remembering to be gracious for the opportunity to pursue well-being in this way is fundamental to me, especially in order to healthily cope with the guilt of living comfortably while countless seventeen-year-olds worldwide (who could easily be me) grapple daily with issues I couldn’t even fathom.
For me, meditation is a pioneering example of this. During the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, social media exposed me to the concept of self-care and mindfulness on a substantial level. Like any other, I too was left to reckon with severely decreased interactions with the world around me.
It was during this time, at thirteen, that I turned to social media as a means for societal connection. I found inklings of the concept of meditation; here and there I’d read a caption about breathing exercises; watch a video about Jay Shetty; find graphics illustrating the acts of self-care.
When dealing with my first bouts of mental illness as an older teenager, I found light refuge in self-help books and therapy; both of which reiterated the tangible benefits of meditation.
As a struggling perfectionist, I almost forced myself to feel perfectly balanced and free of worry during my initial attempts. I had trouble extending compassion to myself at that age, not realizing that the purpose of meditation is to honestly confront an inability to sit still and feel free of worries, not desperately try to smother it.
At fifteen, I’d sit cross-legged on my mother’s yoga mat and follow guided meditations online, only growing more anxious as I scolded myself for having shallow breaths or repeatedly getting distracted with thoughts of school assignments or family troubles.
It was then that I stumbled upon a video of Sadhguru, the renowned Southwest Indian activist and yogi. In the video, he questioned the “trending” Western notion of meditation as opposed to its original, historically rich context. “What does it mean to meditate?” The spiritual teacher asked. “There is no such thing. Meditation is not an action, but a state of being. Truly all one can do is to be meditative in their daily actions.”
I picked up and inspected a ceramic figurine my best friend had given to me before I moved from South Korea a year prior -- a country that I had called home for six years of my childhood. The goodbye gift was a delicate little unicorn, as fragile in my palm as my feelings while adjusting to a new country in a living situation that would prove to be detrimental to my health in the months to come. I was at a point in life full of upheaval and insecurity. After years of online school, losing my friends by relocating, struggling with social skills in the midst of a pandemic, and lacking support in regards to my growing mental health needs, I was desperate for help.
In the middle of all that uncertainty, with Sadhguru’s words circling my brain, I did my best to give myself a moment to exist without judgement. It may seem dramatic, but under those circumstances, I felt like a mess every second of the day. I was incapacitated by self-doubt, and that was interfering with all attempts to relax.
What’s the first thing we learn? I asked myself. When we’re young children and the world is safe and simple, what’s the first thing, the easiest thing, we learn? The answer was just as simple.
Breathe.
I set an intention to just hear my breaths. Simply to hear them, not judge them. I relaxed my shoulders, studying the intricate markings along the baby pink unicorn figurine in the palm of my hand. Slowly, the storm around me, the hurricane that had been roaring nonstop in my head, lulled to a stillness. All because I gave myself the chance to notice the stillness that was always there. I may have sat there like that for a good few minutes trying my best to focus on the inanimate object before me. Trying to be meditative for a moment out of the day.
That was what I consider to be my first successful “meditation,” and from it I gained much needed clarity on the root of so much of my anxiety. And the journey there wasn’t necessarily some out-of-body experience, either. I was very much in my body, a living, breathing human being with messy human emotions and messy human thoughts who took a lesson from the inanimate object in front of her.
That tiny unicorn could control so little about its life and whereabouts, but it was constant in itself. Sitting on my palm, being a friend to me when I had none. And it was actually quite beautiful.
It was, and remains, very still.
Deya Nurani is a high school student based in the US.
