While I was meditating this morning, I noticed a nagging achiness in my heart. The same one I would feel before a sleepover when I was a kid. I have always been a homebody despite all my travel and living seven years abroad in Asia. I am in LA right now, and I have just left my family in Jackson after a ski trip. After so much together time, I feel the separation especially on my cushion this morning.
Of course, I know I am not really alone. I was kindly reminded of this while I was sitting. I use my iPhone as my timer and while I was meditating I heard the little text sound go off not once but three times. Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.
The fear of being alone or separated can be a slippery slope. When I was a little girl, I would get physically sick before a sleepover. I was so used to being at home with my mom and dad. My sister was 10 years older so maybe she would come in and out but we were a tight-knit group. My parents only spoke Spanish at home. My father mainly made food from his native home, Puerto Rico. I lived in two worlds -- my Spanish world and my English world. And when I was very young, I had to be my own guide and that sometimes scared me. My parents couldn’t come with me to sleepovers or to school or auditions.
When my father dropped me off at Karen Bush’s house for my first sleepover when I was seven, he gave me my very first lesson in meditation—breathe and count each breath. One, two, three…by the time I reached ten I was calmer. He called it my magic trick. I brought it out today. One, two, three….still miss them. Still miss him. But I am okay.