I gathered up nearly every single one of my Buddhist books and took them to the recycling center, where they will be available for distribution. Seeing them in the large bin brought up some sadness but also some relief. I was surprised by how calm how I felt.

It was throwing the pieces of my old bed frame onto a heap of trash destined for the landfill that finally got me. Seeing my old bed, something that has held me for the last eleven years, broken down into garbage was like a punch in the gut. I drove out of there as quickly as I could so the tough guys working the bulldozer wouldn’t see some weird lady crying in her car over trash.

It’s strange the way things shift. But then, isn’t this the most normal thing in the world? Things come together. Things fall apart. Over and over again. All the time. And still, we are caught by surprise. One day, we’re just looking for a new bed that won’t give us back pain and the next day we’re crying in our car, mourning the loss of our thirties and an entire spiritual community and belief system.

Okay, maybe that’s just me.

It’s such a strange thing, getting older. But, ah yes, the most normal thing in the world.

(What I’m listening to right now: Maggie Rogers: Alaska and Back In My Body)

Admit something

I was asked recently if I had any wisdom to share. I think I had been talking about mindfulness or getting older or both. I think, in all honesty, the question had been posed to me half-jokingly. I am not one to claim that I am wise or possess wisdom. Hardly. But, I took the question seriously and responded with two things:

1) Be willing to admit when you are wrong
2) Be willing to admit when you don’t know something

Easy to say. Much harder to actually do. But essential, I think, to being a mature human being.

When I reflect back to some of my younger years, I cringe when I think about how defensive and full of pride I’ve been at times. How unwilling I've been in the past to admit when I’m wrong or when I didn’t know something. How this kept me from the belonging and acceptance I so desperately craved. And yet, I can see the hurt and traumatized person behind this defensiveness. And when I think about that, I'm filled with a particular kind of sadness and compassion that is hard to express.

We are funny, heartbreaking creatures, us humans. We have no idea why or how our hearts keep beating (or not…) or how our lungs fill with air without us having to consciously do anything about it. How does this all happen? How is that we are even here?

My former Zen teacher often talked about how he didn’t know how it was that his hand was moving while he talked, as he waved his fingers in the air. I thought this was nuts. I thought, c’mon, yes you do. You are moving it! Geesh, what do you take me for? But then, he kept saying it and I thought, oh…he really doesn’t know. No one really knows how this happens. Not really.  


That not knowing is so interesting and alive to me.

So often we think that if we can show people how much we know, we will prove our worthiness and our belonging. But it is the not knowing - being willing to admit we don’t know something - that is the doorway to connection and belonging.

And by this, I don’t mean feigning ignorance or suppressing our knowledge or opinions. I mean something much bigger - something that can hold all of our knowledge and opinions (of which we have many) AND our not really knowing how this all happens. Not really.

I do not claim to have mastered this (ha!), by the way. I still find it difficult to admit when I’m wrong. I still make mistakes and still resist admitting when I don’t really know something.

But there is room for me to grow in this space. And that is probably about as close to wisdom as I can get. And I’m okay with that. Grateful, even. Incredibly grateful.

(What I’m listening to right now: Rosalía - Pienso En Tu Mirá)

That's right

I’m trying to write, but everything is coming out all poetry. And I’m like, really? Why now? After all these years?

A part of me thinks that I need to be serious. There is some crazy shit going down in our world right now. And as a woman, I feel an urgency to raise my voice. Speak up. Speak out.

But I’m tired of being serious.

So, fuck it. Poetry it is.  

But, Robin, people will laugh. Who wants to read poetry? And didn’t this start off as your blog? Who wants to read poetry on a blog? People want think pieces! Political commentary! Your thoughts about Buddhism. Your thoughts on feminism and bringing down the patriarchy! No? Well, maybe your thoughts about design and technology and the bizzarro world that is the Bay Area! Oh dear…there are so many about that already.

Well, okay. Maybe…just…a few lines of poetry. But that’s it!

Why would anyone meditate?

To relieve stress.

To relieve anxiety.

To learn how to relax. To slow…down.

To breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

To get rid of thoughts. No. Wait, that’s not possible…

To work with thoughts. Yes, ok. maybe.

Why is this so hard? Why do I have so many thoughts? Why can’t I stop thinking?

What is this about? What am I doing here?

This is stupid. I’m stupid. I’m so stupid.

Ohmygod, I don’t really think I’m stupid.

Oh, honey. My sweet mind. My poor soul. I’m so sorry. Wow. I had no idea I was this hard on myself. I’m so, so hard on myself.

Let’s try again.

In. Out. Breathe…

Tears. Sadness. Sorrow. I had no idea. This sorrow. It’s not just my sorrow. Oh god.

I am an open book. Raw. I trust everyone. And I burn. My body burns. My heart burns. I am no one. I am everyone. I am…I’m not sure.

This is so difficult. And I had no idea. Just how hard this would be. How eye-opening. How heart-breaking.

I am meditating.

Am meditating.



Why would anyone meditate?

Relax. Let go.

(What I'm listening to right now: A$AP Rocky ft. Moby. Don't you know, rap is poetry?)