I was doing a walking meditation, contemplating the inevitability of aging. I thought a little about my body, my life, my family…thought about old pictures and how different everyone looks. Thought about clothes and sizes … Still nothing was really penetrating, I was just going through the motions. I kept pacing, pacing, pacing, and suddenly I became aware of my path.

Originally, I had been walking a circle that had a little bit of sun and a little bit of shade; it was just right. But as I walked, the day aged and I lost the sun. I couldn’t control the sun moving in the sky –gravity, planetary forces, physics are what set those conditions. I can alter my circle a little, I can change to a shadier path: I can wear make-up, get botox, use spanx, choose flattering clothes, use all sorts of lotions and potions, I have limited control. But as the day ages, as I age, it gets harder and harder, I have to walk further and further and still I lose the shade, I lose my beauty and youth. If I keep walking long enough, all the shade will go away. I will be one of those little old ladies, no amount of strawberry hair dye or hot pink lipstick can hide that I have grown old and my beauty, like the shade, has gone away.  I exert a little control, but for how long?

Tired of pacing, I decided to have a seat on a nearby bench. It was again, a nice balance between shade and sun.  But the sun didn’t stop shifting just because I had stopped pacing and before long my perfect shade to sun ratio was lost. It was beginning to get too hot so I moved the bench under a big tree and again I was comfortable. It was only a little while though till I was too hot again –the shade was just disappearing! I fiddle with the bench a bit more and then I realized. For a brief moment, out of all the moments in the day, I was happy, comfortable. For a brief time I was the right age, young (but not too young), beautiful. But In that comfort, in that perfect moment, the seeds of my discomfort were planted –it couldn’t stay the perfect temperature for me, I couldn’t stay the perfect age.

In that moment, I realized there were so many things in this world I never worried about, never missed, never tried to have, to keep, to preserve. For example, I never fantasized about sprouting wings and flying. Flying like a bird just isn’t something I hope for or that I want to achieve. My mind knows this is impossible. But a few moments at the right age, at the right temperature, these are traps for my mind. They are the foundation of further wanting, further efforts to control. They plant the seeds of hope…
The truth is, if I sat on that bench all day long maybe 1 -2 hrs out of 24 would be perfect, most would be too hot, then too cold. I had some limited control, for a little, I could move the bench, put on a sweater, but ultimately, over the course of the day there would be places my control ceased –I would be too hot or too cold. If I never got used to the comfort, if I really thought about how limited my abilities to recreate it were –how much I was at the mercy of the elements — would I keep wanting to sit? Seeing the work that goes into preserving my perfect moment, my perfect age, seeing the inevitability of my failure. Why do I keep trying? Why do I keep coming out and sitting on benches again and again (being born again and again) expecting one of these days will be different? One of these days I’ll win — after all, is it really too much to ask for a warm, shady spot all the time?