Can’t Sit Still
Can’t Sit Still
“Hey, Dane, come here,” I called from my office the other morning. “It’s okay—I’m doing the five-minute meditation.”
I’ve recently added a five-minute sit time after every online exercise class I lead. I simply set the timer, turn off the camera and mic, and let people breathe, meditate, or whatever they choose. Knowing how tension can affect our necks, buttocks, and backs, I figured this was smart for all of us, not just me.
As he entered, Dane said, “Doesn’t look like it.”
He was right. The word meditation implies that a person is being still and silent. Not only was I talking, but I was also focused on a slew of small pieces of paper with names written on them. I was designing the seating chart for the guests at our wedding dinner.
It’s hard because it’s a small wedding. Having lived in this cozy community and led local classes for two decades, I’d be inclined to invite everyone I know. But I’m not, because Dane wouldn’t tolerate that.
My daughter helped me narrow the list down: “Mom, only invite people you see regularly—people with whom you go out and who are actively involved in your life.”
“Who knew a wedding could be so stressful?” I said one day to my friend Lisa.
“I do,” she replied. She and Tim got married just five years ago and, like us, as older adults—no parents to help put on the wedding.
I’ve finally figured out what I want to wear, after changing my mind four times. Dane, on the other hand, bought his shirt within a month of us picking a date, bought his black Levis the next day, and has since bought a new belt and boots. He’ll be sparkling new, but I won’t. I’ll stick with a well-worn pair of boots that I know will be comfortable.
Yesterday I was arranging the seating cards again. “Midwest nice” doesn’t work at tables with fifteen people who know each other and a few who don’t. When I finished, I called Dane in to show him my master plan. “What do you think?” I asked him.
Before he could respond, the timer dinged. He looked sideways at me and said, “Were you supposed to be meditating?”
Yes. The key words were supposed to be.
“I got busy,” I explained, and together we checked out the seating plan.
When Dane went home, I hurried to La Crosse to get fitted for a wedding bra, only to discover that ever since COVID, the JCPenney salespeople no longer measure customers to assist with proper fit. Left alone in a foaming sea of bras, I felt like I was drowning.
On the way home, I met Dane and we signed the final legal papers, then went to the courthouse for our appointment to obtain our marriage license.
Today, at the end of my class, after inviting folks to stay for the five-minute sit, I set the timer, turned off my microphone and camera, and stripped off my clothes to start getting ready for my next appointment. I slipped out the back door buck naked and went to the basement to get the bra I bought yesterday out of the dryer.
Before going back inside, I noticed the dogs’ water bowls were empty, so I filled them, grabbed the bra and a pair of pants, and went back into the house to get dressed.
I had forgotten I was meditating with my class.
Rushing to the computer, I turned on the audio, thanked whoever was still there, and closed the call. But in my haste I hit the camera button by mistake, and suddenly saw myself on the screen, crouching down in my birthday suit, trying desperately to turn off the camera and turn on the sound.
It wasn’t pretty, and I had only enough time to notice that two people were still in the Zoom room. I hoped they had fallen asleep and didn’t see the whole show.
Someday soon I’ll relax and breathe again. Dane mentioned he can’t eat these days due to a nervous stomach. He had to get his shirt taken in because, as he put it, he had shrunk. He also went and bought new Levis in a smaller size. I, on the other hand, had to size up.
Our new mantra is, “We’ll relax when we’re on the train.” Our honeymoon can't come soon enough.