Unassigned
There’s not a lot that I am great at.
Now hold your horses, this isn’t me talking badly about myself, I am just stating the facts.
I happen to be pretty decent at a wide variety of things. So much so that one could call me an octet threat. I sing, I dance, I cook baked brie, all with as much talent as roughly 50% of the population.
You see, I have always struggled with choosing one thing to really pour all of my energies into. Growing up, it was no fun to just pick one hobby, so I did them all – with as much skill as one could muster when splitting their time 12 different ways. All was fine and well until college came and I had to choose that ever-so-daunting one thing to study. For four years.
So I chose film. And Spanish. Because truly, I didn’t know what I was good at. Fast forward to now and you find me using neither degree because I am a writer. Which – after a lifetime of bouncing around from hobby to hobby like they are the appetizer samplers at Costco – is a refreshing change of pace; putting all of my talent eggs into one skill basket.
All of that to say, I know the few things I have mastered when I see them and upon scooping up Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love I immediately thought, “Now there are a few things I am pretty good at.”
For starters, I am a fantastic snacker. In fact, I could probably out-snack you all in a snack-off (if you are interested in hosting such an event, please call my agent). Secondly – and thanks to an outstanding role model of a mother – I have (hopefully) learned how to love well. I have spent the last 26 years watching her treat both a homeless man and a congressman with exactly the same amount of respect and courtesy. Finally, due to a faith-filled upbringing, I think I can pray with the best of them (I realize this statement in some ways completely misses the point of prayer, but bear with me).
But, contrary to my aforementioned statement, as I was reading about her travels through India and her experience studying yoga and meditation, I realized I may be missing the point of prayer and silence entirely.
I started to realize this when Elizabeth described a new habit she develops at the Ashram,
“…I take the time every morning and search myself for specificity on what I am truly asking for. I kneel there in the temple with my face on that cold marble for as long as it takes me to formulate an authentic prayer. If I don’t feel sincere, I will stay there on the floor until I do.”
Let’s not pretend for even a moment that this is something I am good at. To Elizabeth I say, “Eating? No problem. Loving? Watch out. Praying? Ummm…help?”
You don’t have to know me longer than seven seconds to know that ‘Quiet’ is not my middle name and the word ‘calm’ is not a descriptive you will see in any bio that will ever be written of me. So the challenges of this kind of meditation are as overwhelming to me as the Brown Line at State Street station at 5:30 pm. But I’m still getting on that train, ya know? Because I really like going home. And that’s why I am inspired to become a better listener. To stop dictating and start relinquishing control. To tune in less to myself and more to the other end of the line.
Who is on the other end of your line (if anyone) is entirely your business. And don’t call it prayer if that freaks your freak. But I would argue that the discipline and devotion it takes to get on your knees, press your forehead to the cold floor and be quiet would help anyone realign their lives the way a trip to the chiropractor does for your back. Vertebra by vertebra. Moment by moment. Prayer by prayer.
