The Gift of Return (How to Start Again)

Photo by Patrick Ryan on Unsplash

I’ve grown to really love wishing someone a “Happy Solar Return” over “Happy Birthday” in recent times. There is something special about the phrase, about acknowledging that the sun has returned to where it was in the sky on the day you arrived in the world. 365 days of sunrises and moon phases, the ups and downs of life’s tumult, and still we have the honor of greeting you here at the place where it all began. To complete a solar return is magical, a personal new year, a step into the hope of possibility and all that still is yet to be. One of the greatest gifts we have in this life is the gift of return—the opportunity to start again.

I’ve been practicing meditation for about 4 years. There’s nothing special about my practice. I listen to rain sounds on an app for a set amount of time. Sometimes, if my brain is way too chatty, I’ll do a guided meditation. Most times, though, it’s just me, the sound of manufactured rain, and my rambling brain. I think about what I’ll eat, what I did yesterday or something I said wrong. Sometimes, my thoughts get reeeeal deep, and I get lost in the maze. I used to beat myself up about this, about being unable to quiet my mind and “just breathe”. But over the years, I’ve learned that the point isn’t to have a silent brain for as long as possible.

The point is to return to the start.

My brain is not designed to be silent. That’s what sleep hours are for, and even then, I’m dreaming and my powerful, miraculous brain is keeping my heart pumping and my lungs breathing. When I’m meditating, I’m asking my brain to slow down, to go inward and pay attention to so much of what it does automatically: the breath at the tip of my nostrils, the lungs expanding, the stomach rising. When I meditate, I ask my brain to notice the body I so easily take for granted: the tightness in my jaw or my lower back, the ache in my neck or knee, the space in my chest. It’s natural and expected for my mind to wander. Slowing down and noticing is important, but it’s also kinda boring. My brain is capable of doing so much more, and so it goes back to thinking about 1,000 things at once.

So instead, I focus on return. When my mind wanders—whether it’s for 10 seconds or 2 minutes—the real goal is to come back. To start again. To return to the task of slowing down and noticing. It doesn’t really matter how many times I return. The gift and the grace of the meditation practice is that this option of returning is always available.

And this is true off the mat as well. I was doing pretty well with the writing thing for a while. Then life got real, like it always does. And I was bummed about it, about letting Diaspora Eyes fall by the wayside again. I felt defeated again, like I had failed at something I was just starting to get off the ground. Negative self talk about “being inconsistent” or “undisciplined” crept its way into my mind. And yet I knew, when I was ready, the page and the keyboard would be waiting for me to sit down and type.

I can always start again. I am right on time for my life. To return to the things I love is a gift.