Stuck in a dead-end job, devastated by the end of a relationship, and plunging headlong into a mid-life crisis, a doubting Thomas found herself desperate for answers and curious about meditation.
I needed to come to grips with the fact that I–not an unfaithful girlfriend or a hated boss or anybody else–had somehow managed to tie myself up before jumping, pogo-like, as far as I needed in order to topple over into the path of…oncoming trains.
Not quite convinced that a fidgety skeptic could ever sit still long enough to successfully navigate a landscape littered with chakras and mantras, she took a leap of faith toward mindfulness and enlightenment.
…[I]t was obvious to me that I’d reached an impasse, run aground. Something had to be done. It must be done by me. And it needed to happen very soon. Otherwise, I feared I would become dislodged and drift through the rest of my life as I was at that moment: a scattered, unfulfilled, enraged, half-dead creature.
Comical and painfully honest in equal measure, this is a short explanation of how she found the answer to one burning question: can a lunatic meditate?