By Elly V. Darwin, M.Ed., NCC

What do you envision when you hear the word meditation? An enlightened person sitting cross-legged, seemingly in a trance? Do you recall phrases like “focus on your breathing” or “let everything else go”? Do you have a hard time picturing yourself doing that? Have you tried to do it, but found it doesn’t work? Have you felt like you’ve failed at meditating?
 
I must confess, in the above sense, I’m an on-again-off-again meditator. I’ve read and heard that meditation is wonderful—once you get past the beginner’s stage of distraction and practice it regularly—and I’m definitely attracted to the many benefits of meditation. I’ve taken hacks at it (and told myself each time that this time I’ll stick with it), but for some reason I’ve just not mastered the sustainability of it. Sound familiar?

If your parents were not the best in the world—and most are not—you don't have to let those memories affect you still. Even if you catch yourself grousing about what they did or didn't do, or if you're unhappy with the way you turned out and lean toward blaming them, you can change that without having to change them or your past. Yes, you might have promised yourself to be a better parent to your kids than yours were to you, and that would somehow set it to right, but then what if you end up not having kids?
 
There is something you can do for yourself right now, without waiting, and that is to become your own parent—to fill in those gaps yourself—to give yourself what they didn't give you. In my late twenties I read an article about this possibility, and the action I took afterward changed my life.

First of all, let me reiterate: The Clearheart Community does not get involved in politics! That’s not what this article is about. I’m over 70 years old as I write this. I’ve seen a lot of political elections and issues come and go, but I’ve never seen politics as divided—and divisive—as they are now. Much as I’m sometimes tempted to jump on the outraged-against-them (How could they?!) bandwagon and join with my like-minded friends in a huge chorus of resentment, I prefer instead to offer some workarounds for when politics pit friend against friend, family against family.

I hate crises (who doesn’t?), but I’ve come to embrace them. Not while being ground up in their belly, of course—but in the process of emerging and rebuilding after a horrible life event, I’ve invariably been able to see some good. The good manifests differently depending on the nature of the crisis. Sometimes it’s barely noticeable growth and maturity, or perhaps a magnificent aha moment, or somewhere in between, but the good is there.