Finding Quiet: Why I Meditate

By Allie Carmichael

Stress has ruled my life. Anxiety has dominated my time. Worry has controlled my decisions.

I thought this was normal, that stress was an inevitable part of life. Every day, there is always something to be stressed about. My job, my appearance, my family, my finances, my health. On and on. This leads to an unending stream of questions that run through my head. When will I have enough money? What will make me happier? What should I wear tomorrow? What do I have to do next? What needs to be better?

For a long time, I thought the answer to this was to take control of my life through continuous planning, organizing, list-making and thinking. I thought if I could stay productive and be prepared for any situation, that I could stay ahead of my anxiety. But really, this constant need to be prepared and organized was only taking up valuable space in my head and was preventing me from being present. This sense of control came crashing down around me one morning on the subway.

It was a typical rush-hour subway ride in New York City. Dozens of tired-looking people pushing, elbowing and grunting at each other in order to be the first one on the train, to get to work a few minutes earlier. It was more crowded than normal. When the train came screeching into the station, everyone rushed and shoved their way in. Once inside, I was surrounded by purses, backpacks, shoes, shoulders and armpits touching me from all sides. The air was hot and stale after being recycled through the breaths of hundreds of impatient New Yorkers.

The train made a few stops and grew even more crowded. Strangers broke out into verbal arguments as passengers trying to get in demanded that people inside make more room. A child started crying. The crowd inside was like a pulsing, heaving mass, swaying from side to side in a single unit as the train weaved and bumped. I had long since started to grow anxious and uncomfortable. I told myself that it’d be over soon and focused on the music coming through my earbuds. Then, with a jolt of the train and a shrill scraping of wheels, we came to a dead stop underground. Ladies and gentleman, we are experiencing severe delays due to a water main break in Manhattan, a voice from the speakers above announced. Dozens of people collectively groaned at once.

By this time, my legs were stiff from standing and my tolerance for being touched by strangers was running dangerously low. For 35 minutes, we all stood there, stuck underground, not moving. The conductor made periodic announcements about how bad the delays were, but offered no details on when we’d be moving again. For those 35 minutes, I experienced one of the worst anxiety attacks of my life. The air was stifling and I began to breathe very quickly. My chest was tight and pounding. I was sweating. I had been through plenty of subway delays before, but this was different. I tried to remain calm, I knew this was normal, but the stress won out. I couldn’t shut out the stream of worries about being late to work, about how busy I was, about the 10 a.m. meeting I shouldn’t miss. I couldn’t pull it together. My anxiety grew into panic as I felt trapped by the dozens of bodies crowded around me, enveloped by the collective worry of when the train would start moving again. I wanted to scream, to tell everyone to get off me, to run away and never get on the subway again. I experienced a complete lack of control over my thoughts and emotions.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, the train started moving again. People actually started cheering. There was no more pushing and no more arguing. Everyone was just relieved not to be stuck underground. I got to work an hour late, and tried to forget about it.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept remembering how out of control I was, and how I never wanted to feel that way again. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much of my life was like being stuck in that subway car. Although I hadn’t realized it, I was often not in control of what I was thinking or feeling. My mind is a constant swirl of worries and fears. I spend so much time worrying about the future or replaying things that happened in the past. When this happens, I am completely unaware of the present moment.

I can go through large chunks of time without really realizing what I’m doing, because I’m so distracted by other thoughts. Eating dinner, brushing my teeth, taking a shower, even listening to my boyfriend tell me about his day – my mind is somewhere else. I am not aware of what I’m doing here and now.

Once I started thinking about the small tasks I do completely mindlessly, I realized that this occurs on a larger scale as well. I’ve been living my life on autopilot, floating along toward a set of hopes and goals that I never really stopped to think about. I’ve been following a set of rules that I never thought about long enough to even agree to. Get up, go to work, go home, check social media, watch TV. And repeat. All in an effort to succeed, to achieve, to get more money and more things. All of this is empty and unfulfilling for me. I am just going through the motions, waiting for something external to come along and make me happy: a better job title, nicer clothes, a vacation.

All these realizations hit me like a punch in the gut. I knew immediately that I needed to change. I wanted to start living my life for the right reasons. I wanted to be in control. I’d read a book on meditation six months before, had given it a shot, and had promptly given up because I didn’t “have enough time” to do it every day. I couldn’t set aside ten minutes each day to try and be happier.

After fully realizing the lack of presence I had in my own life, I became much more determined. I started getting up early to meditate every day. I read books on mindfulness and meditation. I learned that there was another way to live. A quiet way.

Now, I meditate to find quiet. I try to sit down and appreciate the still, silent moments in each day. I allow myself to become removed from the stream of thoughts and anxieties that dominate most days. I focus on my breath, on the physical movement of breathing in and out. I focus on only one moment at a time, one breath. When thoughts float to the surface or feelings announce themselves, I try not to judge them or push them away. Instead, I recognize them and allow them. I am restless. I am worried about work tomorrow. I am feeling an ache in my back. Then, I release them and let them slip back to where they came from. Sometimes, I even visualize myself taking a thought and placing it on a shelf in my periphery. It doesn’t disappear, but it stays off to the side until it is useful.

After years of rushing from one thought to the next, this kind of stillness is liberating. I have been able to find some quiet in my head, even just for five minutes out of a twenty-minute meditation session. I allow myself time in each day to be completely free. The time I spend meditating is my time. There are no chores to do, no errands to run. No one is asking anything of me. I have no commitments. I can simply sit quietly and observe the moment.

Once I started to commit to meditation, the books I was reading taught me that mindfulness is about much more than meditating daily. It’s about bringing that same awareness and appreciation to every moment in your life. Be mindful of every moment. This is not any easy thing to do. There are plenty of situations in each day where I don’t want to be present. Why do you think every person on the subway has their face shoved in a book or cellphone? People have earbuds in their ears or are completely asleep. No one wants to be aware on the subway. Why would you want to notice the rows of exhausted people who don’t look very happy as they head toward another day of work, another dollar. You don’t want to notice the unpleasant smells of rust, dirt and bodies.

Believe it or not, I’ve been trying to bring more awareness to my subway commutes. It’s not easy and can be unpleasant, but it’s the only time in the day where I have nothing better to do than to sit and be mindful. In an underground world of no wifi or cell service, you don’t have much choice but to sit back and watch your breath. Now when I ride the subway, I try to remind myself that I’m alive, that I exist. I try to look at all the faces and really notice them. All of these people have their own thoughts and feelings just like I do. We are the same.

I usually last a minute or two before I’m pulled back into the cascade of thoughts and plans in my head. But it’s a start. Mindfulness has helped me to find little slivers of quiet in each day, even on my dreaded subway ride. I now understand that the majority of the stress and anxiety in my life are self-driven. They are my choice. There will always be problems and inconveniences that are out of my control. What I can control is how I react to them. I can choose to get carried away by worry and fear, or I can stand my ground, watch my breath, and simply be.

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