It’s been a year since I quit my job to start “living my life,” and my intention to spend time reflecting on all I’ve learned this year instead reminded me of a rather shameful day last Summer. And while I’m appreciative of how far I’ve come, relatively, I’m not so sure it’s fair to measure my small victories when comparing to midday petty theft than I convince myself is the only way to get my life together. But I suppose I have to start somewhere. I suppose I’ll start by coming clean.
I stole my meditation candle. One day last summer. It was just two days into my supposed “freedom” from the chains of corporatism and into the unknown and I felt completely and wholly unhinged. I couldn’t be in the house anymore. I was nervous. It was day 2. I went to the grocery store and wandered around, standing in front of the meat section and thinking that nothing looked good and that maybe we, as a society, should start exploring other meats and then feeling bad about that thought and then wishing that rabbit meat was as common in the US as it was in Spain and then realizing that in reality, I just missed Spain. I decided to move on and place my dissatisfaction somewhere among the produce. I put a 6 pack of bananas in my basket knowing that I wouldn’t be able to eat them all before they went bad but realizing that I’d rather waste money than break up the banana family. I’ve never been one to do that.
I wondered if children of divorced families all share this strange, anonymous but sincere practice of compassion.
I tried to gather my thoughts and focus on anything. I realized my hands felt shaky and then shook off that voice in my head that said, “why are you always fucking hungover you’ll never amount to anything.” I shook off that voice because there isn’t anything I can do about it when I’m in the hangover stage. Hey, voice, why don’t you just help convince me not to go out at night. Pipe up then, ok?
I realized that to control said voice, I should start meditating again. During the 2 months that I was waking up early to meditate before the job I hated made me feel centered and in control and mentally stable and I needed that right now. And so I needed a meditation candle. I felt relieved that I had come to the grocery store with no real direction and now, suddenly, I had a purpose. Meditation. Candle. Centered. Whole.
Banana families.
I found the soy-based candles nestled among the organic cleaning products and smelled each one, imagining what flavor profile would best color the harnessing of energy and thus restructuring of my entire being from here on out. Geranium, perhaps. I inhaled deeply with my eyes closed and had to stop myself from exhaling in an “OMMMMM.” Yes, yes. This is the one.
I turned it over to see a happy little $14.99 price tag winking back at me.
What! Fifteen bucks for this thing??? My lofty hopes dissipated immediately in a very haphazard huff of air. I had a handful of crumbled bills stuffed in my bag that likely amounted to $9. I could tell by their collective weight. I didn’t have the heart to put the bananas back after all we’d been through together and also, I needed to eat and the soy-based candle, while environmentally conscious, was likely devoid of nutrients.
Swiftly and unintentionally, my days of shoplifting flashed into my head. I devised a foolproof plan: Hide candle in basket, under bananas. Walk around a bit, shake them off of your scent. Serpentine near the soups. Shimmy around the frozen foods. Go back to the meats, maybe. Then pretend your phone is ringing. Search for it in your bag, candle in hand. Answer phone. Talk for a bit. Do not look up, do not look around. Then toss candle and phone into bag.
Then pay for bananas.
I mean hey, what kind of thief pays for things after the crime has been committed?
Thieves who are also shit humans. You are a shit human, the voice tells you as you leave the supermarket. You are a shit human.
You go home and realize that you can’t meditate because the candle now smells like shame instead of Geranium and in your head there is an uninvited mantra repeating “what the fuck is wrong with you” over and over again as you eat banana after banana after banana. And then pour yourself a glass of wine. It’s 11am.
A year later, that candle has thankfully burned out and I’ve been perpetually paying my regretful penance to that supermarket through the continuous compassion I give to the banana families.
Thank you, bunches.
I stole my meditation candle. One day last summer. It was just two days into my supposed “freedom” from the chains of corporatism and into the unknown and I felt completely and wholly unhinged. I couldn’t be in the house anymore. I was nervous. It was day 2. I went to the grocery store and wandered around, standing in front of the meat section and thinking that nothing looked good and that maybe we, as a society, should start exploring other meats and then feeling bad about that thought and then wishing that rabbit meat was as common in the US as it was in Spain and then realizing that in reality, I just missed Spain. I decided to move on and place my dissatisfaction somewhere among the produce. I put a 6 pack of bananas in my basket knowing that I wouldn’t be able to eat them all before they went bad but realizing that I’d rather waste money than break up the banana family. I’ve never been one to do that.
I wondered if children of divorced families all share this strange, anonymous but sincere practice of compassion.
I tried to gather my thoughts and focus on anything. I realized my hands felt shaky and then shook off that voice in my head that said, “why are you always fucking hungover you’ll never amount to anything.” I shook off that voice because there isn’t anything I can do about it when I’m in the hangover stage. Hey, voice, why don’t you just help convince me not to go out at night. Pipe up then, ok?
I realized that to control said voice, I should start meditating again. During the 2 months that I was waking up early to meditate before the job I hated made me feel centered and in control and mentally stable and I needed that right now. And so I needed a meditation candle. I felt relieved that I had come to the grocery store with no real direction and now, suddenly, I had a purpose. Meditation. Candle. Centered. Whole.
Banana families.
I found the soy-based candles nestled among the organic cleaning products and smelled each one, imagining what flavor profile would best color the harnessing of energy and thus restructuring of my entire being from here on out. Geranium, perhaps. I inhaled deeply with my eyes closed and had to stop myself from exhaling in an “OMMMMM.” Yes, yes. This is the one.
I turned it over to see a happy little $14.99 price tag winking back at me.
What! Fifteen bucks for this thing??? My lofty hopes dissipated immediately in a very haphazard huff of air. I had a handful of crumbled bills stuffed in my bag that likely amounted to $9. I could tell by their collective weight. I didn’t have the heart to put the bananas back after all we’d been through together and also, I needed to eat and the soy-based candle, while environmentally conscious, was likely devoid of nutrients.
Swiftly and unintentionally, my days of shoplifting flashed into my head. I devised a foolproof plan: Hide candle in basket, under bananas. Walk around a bit, shake them off of your scent. Serpentine near the soups. Shimmy around the frozen foods. Go back to the meats, maybe. Then pretend your phone is ringing. Search for it in your bag, candle in hand. Answer phone. Talk for a bit. Do not look up, do not look around. Then toss candle and phone into bag.
Then pay for bananas.
I mean hey, what kind of thief pays for things after the crime has been committed?
Thieves who are also shit humans. You are a shit human, the voice tells you as you leave the supermarket. You are a shit human.
You go home and realize that you can’t meditate because the candle now smells like shame instead of Geranium and in your head there is an uninvited mantra repeating “what the fuck is wrong with you” over and over again as you eat banana after banana after banana. And then pour yourself a glass of wine. It’s 11am.
A year later, that candle has thankfully burned out and I’ve been perpetually paying my regretful penance to that supermarket through the continuous compassion I give to the banana families.
Thank you, bunches.
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