“Return to your true self. Listen to your body’s wisdom. Trust in that.” ~Geneen Roth
I might be exposing my age, but here goes… I’ve come to realize I’m akin to a paddle ball.
For those who were born in the 21st century: long before smartphones and tablets dominated the landscape, children played with basic toys such as paddle balls.
Picture a small flat paddle connected to a rubber ball via an elastic string. The goal was to strike the ball and maintain its return to the paddle for as long as possible until it wandered off.
Recently, as I was flossing, my dental crown unintentionally detached. Luckily, my dentist could see me the next day, but this incident added to an already hectic month.
This month involved a trip with a six-hour time difference, a phone that malfunctioned early on and demanded a full day to repair upon my return, my son’s newly acquired used car breaking down, and now my unexpected crown dilemma, among various other challenges.
As I mentioned, it’s been quite a month.
I got to the dentist’s office half an hour early and utilized the time for my daily meditation, feeling a compelling need to slow down.
Side note: Even though I have a regular meditation practice, some times involve extended sessions, while others allow for barely a quick moment. This month leaned more towards the latter.
While at the office, waiting for the dentist, I stayed away from my phone and practiced box breathing instead. And as the anesthetic set in, I simply sat with my thoughts.
There was no urgency. I had nothing else demanding my attention. It was a pleasant respite.
With my mouth open, I contemplated whether I’d ever achieve balance. Why don’t I revisit myself more frequently?
Finding moderation is crucial, right? Endless meditation wouldn’t enable me to tackle stressors or pursue my purpose.
Simply “being” is pleasant, but “doing” is essential for the person I aspire to be.
Thus, balance is necessary, correct? Frequently returning to myself while still participating in the world.
That was when I recognized I’m comparable to a paddle ball. I am the paddle, and my activities represent the ball—enjoying family, organizing tasks, and grounding myself.
Like the ball returning to the paddle after being stretched, I often revert to myself, recharging to engage with the world once again.
In my forties, my ball now gently taps the paddle, unlike my earlier chaotic years.
Now, there’s a softer rhythm. I may drift off course at times, but I have faith I’ll adjust to be my best self.
On my drive home, I felt thankful for having my crown repaired and the opportunity to recenter myself. I promised to carve out time for this amidst life’s storms.
The paddle ball game requires a consistent tempo. Moving too quickly or slowly results in a loss of control.