Chapter 18: A Little Harmless Flirtation

I slip off my shoes and pull my feet up onto the chaise, crossing my legs and straightening my back. I rest my hands softly on my knees and take a long, deep breath, trying to draw my thoughts back to my breathing.

Meditation, my dad taught me, is not about driving away your thoughts or clearing your mind. It's about practiced focus. Thoughts may come - and with me, they always do - but you're supposed to just acknowledge them and let them drift past. It's supposed to give you objectivity. Calm. Patience with yourself.

Yeah, you get taught a lot of weird New Age-y stuff when your dad wrote his dissertation on the intersection of philosophy, religion, and productivity in the modern work environment.

It's hard to do when I'm this antsy. I resist the urge to wiggle my fingers on my knees. No matter how hard I try, I can't focus on my breath. My mind refuses to calm down.

Finally, after several infuriating minutes, I let out a frustrated sound and throw myself back on the pillow. Maybe