Meditation may not be for everyone, but I do urge trying it at least once. In addition, I strongly encourage taking up a new hobby or resuming an old one, preferably a challenging one. Playing a musical instrument, for instance, even very badly, requires an enormous degree of concentration and awareness. Practice makes perfect.
As for other pursuits, anything with just a slight suggestion of danger, whether it involves kitchen knives or power tools or special dispensations from the law of gravity, has a wonderful way of focusing the mind. The exhilaration of play and the wonders of nature are Zen moments waiting to happen, while the quiet intensity of intricate craftwork represents a form of hands-on meditation.
Hobbies constantly place us in novel situations. We are not sufficiently proficient to be thinking on autopilot. We have to concentrate. We have to be aware. Without realizing it, our minds become disciplined. We learn mindfulness.
I am writing this within hours of a kitchen disaster. Cooking is one of my hobbies, and even after all these years I still make rookie mistakes, which means I get many opportunities to practice mindfulness. This evening, I stupidly (let’s say mindlessly) placed a glass casserole dish over a gas burner. I was in the process of turning a leftover chili and leftover pork roast into the greatest soup in history. Suddenly, with my bread baking in the oven, the dish exploded. The magma in the dish became glass-infused lava on the stove and floor.
Somehow - in a state of preternaturally calm awareness - I cleaned up the mess, safely disposed the glass, and got another meal going without lacerating my fingers and hands. The bread was delicious.
I am far too respectful of my illness to advocate mindfulness as a be-all and end-all to intercepting mood swings. But our brains do tend to go off like exploding casserole dishes. With mindfulness, it is possible to prevent disasters from happening, as well as manage the disasters that happen.
I’m the first to acknowledge that my thoughts and feelings often get the better of me. But I am in a far safer and more enjoyable space than I was even a year ago. Tomorrow, my world may collapse on me, but today I have the confidence to face tomorrow, not with trepidation, but with hope.
Life is good...
