My Own Little Jewel Box
When I was in college I worked for a short time as a hostess for a trendy restaurant called La Tee Da in the heart of Buffalo. The walls were painted the color of merlot with gold accents done by a local artist. In between a book store and an art gallery, it felt like a little bohemian jewel box.
I took a lot of pride in making myself beautiful for the job. I would always wear a dress and put on a million layers of mascara. I wanted people to feel like they were transformed into this magical place when they walked through the doors. For a couple of hours a night I’d be my most charismatic self, I was an actress playing a part I created. It was an escape, a tiny little bubble where my beauty was protected from the patriarchal outside world and I could just let myself shine.
One day, while working, a young man who lived above the restaurant sat near the entrance cross-legged. He closed his eyes and sat there for what felt like forever. It was a balmy Saturday night in the summer and we had opened up the back patio because of the gorgeous weather.
Our reservations for the night were double booked and I spent the night running around the restaurant like a whirling dervish while the young man sat there quietly. His stillness was like a silent thorn in my side. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What are you doing?” I asked him earnestly.
“I’m meditating.” He said.
I took a beat to think about his answer. I had barely heard of meditation let alone seen it in practice.
“But why are you doing it here?” I said.
“This is the best time to practice. If you can keep your mind still in the midst of the chaos, it means you’re really listening.”
“I see.” I said quietly, and walked back to my station.
Fast forward fourteen years and I’m now back in Buffalo at my parent’s house, quarantining with my family as we watch the world fall apart from COVID-19.
My mom is on a Zoom call with first graders, my dad is at the kitchen table working. My fifteen-month old daughter is watching her nursery rhyme show, the same songs playing over and over and over again. I won’t see my husband until he comes downstairs for dinner.
I’m sitting still. Closing my eyes, trying to go inside. The outside world is loud, distracting, and draining.
But that’s the best time to practice. If you can keep your mind still in the midst of the chaos, it means you’re really listening.
Written by Erin Bagwell
Copy edited by Diana Matthews