Ten Things I’ve Learned From Three Years of Meditating Everyday

I didn’t start meditating because I wanted to be enlightened. I started because I was exhausted. Exhausted by my own thoughts, the endless loops, the noise I didn’t know how to turn down. I was looking for relief.

Three years later, I’m still not enlightened. But I’ve come to understand a few things, not from reading or research, but from sitting the fuck down, getting quiet, and watching what happens when I do absolutely nothing.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

1. Most of my problems start in my head.

The outside world is rarely as loud as the one in my mind. I’ve mistaken thought storms for real emergencies. Most of the time, nothing’s actually wrong, except the way I’m thinking about it.

2. The loudest voice isn’t always the wisest.

That internal monologue will mimic whoever it thinks I’ll listen to, a parent, a critic, an ex, a random stranger on the internet . But just because it shouts doesn’t mean it speaks the truth. In fact, it never does

3. Peace and quiet aren’t rewards. They’re requirements.

Stillness isn’t something I wait to deserve. It’s something I need to survive. And when I stop pretending I’m too busy, I always find time for it. 20 minutes a day. Twice a day. I can always spare that.

4. I am not the voice in my head. I am the one hearing it.

This one took a while to land. But once it did, everything shifted. The mind chatters. The self watches. That separation is where sanity lives. Whole lotta ‘blah blah blah’.

5. Closed eyes don’t mean I’m missing anything.

There is beauty in the dark. Beauty in the quiet. Some of my clearest insights, and deepest peace, have come when I stopped looking out and started looking in.

6. I can let problems work themselves out.

I don’t have to fix everything in a panic. Stillness is often a better problem-solver than I am. When I stop meddling, things tend to move on their own. Thinking has hardly ever solved any of my problems.

7. Humor helps.

I’ve learned to laughs not at myself (well sometimes), but with myself. The mind is dramatic, creative, endlessly imaginative. If I don’t take it so seriously, I suffer a whole lot less.

8. Letting go is a superpower.

Every time I grip something tight, an idea, a grudge, a storyline, I suffer. The longer I hold on, the heavier it gets. The moment I release, I breathe again.

9. The moment is all I actually have.

Not the next one. Not the past one. Just this, the breath, the body, the now. Everything else is imagination. And a waste of imagination

10. Meditation didn’t fix me. It introduced me to myself.

And surprisingly, I’m not that bad. Under all the stories, worries, and compulsions is someone pretty steady. Pretty kind. Pretty quiet. And that’s been worth everything.

Meditation didn’t make my life easier. But it made it more livable. More breathable. And a little more beautiful, not because the world changed, but because I did.

Not much. Just enough to notice.