Meditation & Real Life Moments
I've been meditating for a long time now—since 2009. Some seasons I've been more consistent than others, because, well...life.
But for the last three years, I haven't missed many days. I couldn’t sleep unless I did some form of meditation (breath work, yoga nidra (body scan), visualization, or my own alphabet meditation; I play lots of games when I meditate to make it fun.
I didn't suddenly become more disciplined. Life simply became harder than anything I'd ever known.
There was Rich's cancer. Then losing Rich. Learning how to live alone after the first time since I was 19 yrs old. Starting over at 62. Building a business from the ground up. Some days have been unbelievably beautiful. Others, if I'm being honest, I wanted nothing to do with.
One of the biggest gifts meditation has given me is something surprisingly simple. I don't have to change anything. I don't have to like what's happening. But I can recognize that it's here. It just is...and somehow, I'm okay. That doesn't mean I'm happy about it. It doesn't mean I stop grieving or stop wishing things were different. It simply means I quit spending so much energy arguing with reality. And when I stop arguing, I notice I have a little more room to breathe (and sleep).
People often think meditation has to look a certain way. Sitting perfectly still on a cushion with your eyes closed. Sometimes it does. But a lot of my meditation happens while I'm walking. I'll notice the way the light is coming through the trees. I get down and check out the flowers from all angles. I'll hear birds that I would have missed if my mind was racing ahead to tomorrow. I'll stop and take a picture because beauty is still here, even on the most unforgiving days when my chest aches.
Sometimes meditation is one slow breath before I call the insurance company. Sometimes it's the breath I take after I hang up. Because, when has calling the insurance company ever been easy? Sometimes it's simply remembering that I AM here, this moment IS here, and I don't have to rush away from either one.
One thing I've learned over the years is that meditation is always there waiting for us. You can come back to it after days, months, or even years away. And the more you've practiced, the more familiar it feels. It's almost as if your nervous system says, "Oh...I remember this." Your body softens. Your breath deepens. Not because you've mastered anything, but because you've visited this place before.
I love this picture of my great-nephew Logan. There's something about it that makes me smile every time I see it. Kids don't spend much time wondering if they're meditating the right way. They just close their eyes, pretend, giggle, wander off, and come back again. I think that's what meditation has slowly given back to me. Not perfection. Just a little more wonder. A little more presence and play. A little more willingness to let today be today without needing it to become something else before I can meet it.
If you've been curious aboutmeditation, I'd love for you to join me. You don't need experience. You don't need to know how to quiet your mind. Mine still chatters some days. You just have to show up.
We'll take one breath together...and see what happens next.
Kim Brandt is a writer, yoga therapist and Pilates instructor whose work explores grief, healing and human connection. After losing her husband to colorectal cancer in April of 2025, she began writing about caregiving, love, and life after loss. She lives in Illinois, where she is building a wellness community focused on resilience and repurposing life’s transitions.
