I recently meditated on New York City for a week. Technically it was a family vacation, but even though we hauled our asses all over Manhattan until our feet ached and we inhaled a year’s worth of secondhand smoke, I felt refreshed, and no wonder. I was practicing Vacation Mind.
There is no “Before We Left” in Vacation Mind. There is no “After We Get Back” in Vacation Mind. There is only Right Now, as in Right Now, I am completely immersed in the Arms and Armor collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and even though the sum total that I have ever thought about Arms and Armor before now has probably added up to a few random hours while reading “King Arthur,” I can somehow find nothing so fascinating, at least for the next 20 minutes.
Ditto for Kandinsky at the Guggenheim, the view from the Empire State Building and the tacky glory that is Times Square. If meditation is placing the mind completely on one object, then I think I meditated plenty on subway signs, walk signals, maps and menus.
No wonder the root of “vacation” is “vacate.” We vacated our normal lives for six blissful days of Right Now, where the most important thing we had to worry about was which train do we take to get from the Lower East Side to Midtown, and our most pressing decision was should we do Tibetan, Turkish or Brazilian for dinner. The nagging minutiae of our Non-Vacation lives was left behind.
After we got back I thought about Vacation Mind, wondering if I could trick the ol’ mind into believing it was still on vacation, that worry-free state of contentment in the Now, for even a few minutes a day. But instead of New York City it would be — CVS! Could I manage to take a mini-vacation in the toothpaste aisle, meditating on the boxes of Crest and Colgate to the exclusion of everything else?
Not sure how well that’s going to work out, but if you’re in Southern California and see me at the drugstore staring entranced at stacks of toilet paper, don’t bother me. I’m on vacation.
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