In the early morning, I sit on my heart-shaped stool, outside my front door, and admire the beautiful trees and bushes around my new home. Sometimes, the drops dance on the leaves, carrying my attention for minutes at a time. Almost always, the birds sing.

I just sit. At first, it was an escape from the boxes of my recent move. An effort to clear my mind and catch my breath. Now, it is the ritual that starts my day.

I live with two very strong tendencies, which do not always coincide: the desire for complete freedom, spontaneity and boundlessness, and the yearning for structure, rhythm and ritual. Both belong to the human experience, most of us leaning one way more than the other.

But I stand right in the middle. Or sit, actually.

A strong container, knowing where the edges are at all times, helps keep me grounded, while knowing where the opening is lets me access greater possibilities and the unknown. I want to believe that escape is always an option, even if the reality of it speaks contrary. And I also want to feel the sturdy support of regularity. One foot on the ground and one out the door. It’s a strange combination, admittedly.

I am overwhelmed by happiness in these moments, in the same way I am overwhelmed by sadness in others. My porousness becomes an asset, opening me to guidance, instead of the liability that makes navigation so tricky.

Find your seat. Whether it’s on a bed overrun with pillows, on a chair gazing at your favorite piece of art, or on the ground, with the natural world.

Find your moment. Early, late, squeezed in a pocket of time you did not think you had. Let it be sacred. Let it consume you to the point that you dissolve in it.

When the forces within you and the forces around you stop their frenzied collisions and lay together, like sleeping babies, serenity and contentment become your easy companions.

Let it be.

P.S. Want to see my recent talk on meditation? Check it out here.