There's this thing that happens when I meditate. I'll choose how long - 15, 20 or 30 minutes. No matter what length of time I choose at some point during the meditation I always wonder -- did I start the timer?My mind races. "It's not over yet?" "I remember starting it but I'm not sure. Did I actually see the numbers moving?" "Maybe I just thought I did." The whole time the engine is revving, I keep trying to bring my attention back to whatever it's supposed to be on: my breath, a phrase or an affrimation. Then, from the background like a persistent hum, "Should I check?" "No, I won't check. It's fine." "No, I better check. The coffee pot is on."
When I can’t bear the uncertainty anymore, I peek at the timer. Every time (emphasis on every), there’s under a minute left. After doing this for years, now I just laugh at myself. I close my eyes and enjoy the time that’s left. It reminds me of life off-the-cushion. Our mind tells us that X experience should be over now. We want it to end, usually because it's challenging or unpleasant. We're not sure when it will end. We get restless. We wonder if we can stay the intended course. What I learn from the antsiness I have during meditation is we're almost there. Sometimes, there's just under a minute left. All we need to do is stay present, breathe and hang on.
