Hopscotch
- Trudy Chapman
- Oct 8
- 2 min read
There’s a bite in the still hot but clearly changing air as I head out to the hot tub for my regular mediation routine. We’ve been away in British Columbia for almost a month visiting my elderly father-in-law and today I returned to a routine that gives me the only real shot I have in keeping grounded in my body and in my life.
And I couldn’t settle.
My mind played hopscotch over all the things. All the things, I tell you.
When I meditate, I tend to plan, so I was planning my day. In my day, I tend to worry, so I worried about my father-in-law and his choice of a solitary life on the shores of an admittedly beautiful, but wild, lake. In my life, I tend to be depressed, so depression crept into my awareness, always stealthy, but noticed all the same, thanks to a lot of personal work over the years. There was a lot going on this morning during my meditation.
I just couldn’t settle.
In the end, I admitted defeat, let my mind skip around as it wished, and then focused on my arms floating in the water. Felt them, supported by the water. I heard the sound of the chainsaw in a nearby yard, removing yet another tree from the neighbourhood. And I truly saw the clear eggshell blue of the sky with a shock of orange from a nearby maple firing up my view.
And then, I settled.
All the other stuff stayed, but no longer took up all the space. My mind cleared and I felt the reprieve I sought seep into my body.
Refreshing.

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