15 Minutes at the Mercy of My Own Thoughts
How to find control in letting it go.
For two consecutive days now, I have set a timer on my phone, a warm, sleeping cat in my lap, and all forms of distraction outside my reach.
I know two days isn’t a long time, but in two sessions I noticed several interesting things which are pivotal for me personally.
During the first session, if felt like 15 minutes stretched into a small eternity. My mind raced through so many thoughts I didn’t remember even half of them by the end of the session, let alone today.
I imagined an unwritten scene for my novel in my mind, grappled with questions related to my current, full-time job, made plans as to how to keep working on becoming a freelance writer, and decided to restructure my infantile portfolio website.
I thought about my new town in Animal Crossing and the moral implications of changing the time forward so I could get more done, decided I should ban myself from in-game time travel to ensure I don’t spend time playing games that I should be using for writing, and then promptly rescinded said decision because I would be more satisfied if I could make progress on my town before putting the game down, which would lessen its beckoning call during the times I should be writing.
My mind then wandered through the recent books I’d read and revisited scenes that stood starkly in my memory, compared these to my own novel draft, brushed a pool of despair at my own poor writing, and then decided to finish draft one (which has been stalled at the ending for approximately six months) no matter how poorly and then rewrite the entire thing.
A decision I had already made before, and have yet to follow through on as a result of my struggle with perfectionism.
I then spent five minutes thinking about how long fifteen minutes could be and wondering if I potentially have an attention disorder or if my racing thoughts are a direct result of my constant stimulation via phone, laptop, television, books, DS, music, etc. Conclusion? Probably the latter.
When was the last time I had just sat in silence with myself?
I couldn’t recall.
My second session with this exercise was different. I set my timer for fifteen minutes, set my sleeping cat on my lap, and set my phone down.
I revisited the portfolio site idea and dug a little deeper. I wanted three sections, I wanted one of them to be dedicated to books and maybe some games, to stories and experiences that made me feel lighter, and I wanted the section title to reflect that purpose rather than a generic “My Book Reviews” header. I also wanted to use alliteration for my section titles so that they would flow and represent a theme, so I stewed on that.
When I found a solution I was happy with, I watched my cat sleep. I enjoyed the warmth of the blanket I’d wrapped myself in. I took pleasure in the quiet, the occasional tinkle of water from the cat’s drinking fountain.
My fifteen minutes were up before I knew it, even though my thoughts had been calmer and I’d “achieved” less.
But had I?
Today, only 24 hours from the first time I had done this exercise, I couldn’t remember half of the half of the things I’d remembered thinking about yesterday. The superfluous was gone. The things that mattered to me, that were priorities, remained.
The first session had been like the beginning of a spring cleaning: pull everything out and sort through it. Decide what stays, and what goes. Decide what is just talking up space and creating clutter, and let it go.
This was an unconscious process. For me, my brain is always on. I’m always thinking — there is no peace and quiet inside my own mind. I’m trying to solve all problems, all the time, and when one is solved, another awaits. But I’m also always trying to distract myself from this or focus in on one thing. Fifteen minutes had given my mind free reign to dig anything and everything up and air it out, let out the dust and grime that had started to coalesce and fester.
The second session had been a focused cleaning and organization, and then appreciation for present. I had taken one of the things that had been important enough to remain on my mind and polished it before returning it to its place. I was then able to take a breath and appreciate the sense of accomplishment and the present. For once, my thoughts were more of a calm river sliding by, barely registered.
Years ago, I had forsaken notification noises. No ringtones, no vibrations. Silence. When I was ready to check my phone, I would.
This helped me focus more on my studies and stop waiting on message notifications from a boy who couldn’t be bothered to respond to me in a timely manner, yet demanded instant gratification from me. I felt more in control of myself, recognizing that once my mind registered a notification, it refused to focus on much else — the need to know was too great.
Success! I was now choosing when I would interact with my phone instead of letting it and its notifications suck me in.
I had never found a way to do this with my own mind. Until now.
For the past two days, I was choosing when I would interact with my thoughts and their ramifications instead of letting them dictate my mind set, focus, and emotions.
Fifteen minutes of quiet; fifteen minutes of inaction; fifteen minutes without distraction or indulgence.
All my attempts at meditation have always focused on trying to actively clear my mind, to shift my focus. They have never succeeded. But by letting my mind wander freely for fifteen minutes, two days in a row, I succeeded.
I found a personally unprecedented sense of focus and control by allowing myself fifteen minutes a day without it.
