The most important thing I learned from my dad
I’m sitting on the sofa in front of the living room windows in my house. I was young, probably 8 or 9 years old. It felt like the entire front of the house on Larkspur Drive was a windshield to the world. I watched everything from the cars driving too fast down the road to the kids walking home from school to the firetrucks sounding off their emergency horns as they screamed by to save lives. It felt like no one could see me, but I could see everyone and everything.
On the weekends, I watched my dad as he edged and mowed the lawn. It was often really hot outside as we lived in Phoenix, a desert. However, we had grass in our front yard. Looking back, it made zero sense why we had grass, but everyone did. So we did too. Mowing the lawn was a process - fill the gas tank in the mower, pull the cord to start the motor, mow the grass, empty the grass and mow again. In 100+ degree weather, it was draining. I watched my dad chug glasses of ice water in between making perfect patterns across the grass.
I don’t remember how it happened or when it happened, but I slowly began taking over the job of edging and mowing the lawn. Maybe I wanted to help? Maybe I wanted my dad to love me more for helping him? Maybe I wanted to prove that girls can do difficult, sweaty things? I didn’t think too much about it. I just did it and I did it with pride. I liked looking at the beauty and symmetry of a nicely kept yard. It just felt good to me.
During spring, the weeds would come out. They came out in full force with every intent of taking over the yard. With the ground being so hard and dry, you couldn’t just pull them out without them breaking and leaving the root behind to grow again. My dad showed me how to use a big, flat head screwdriver to dig down into the dirt to dislodge the root and be able to pull the entire weed out to never grow again. This became my process. I grabbed a garbage bag and my screwdriver. I moved from section to section across the entire yard pulling out every single weed. I began making it my mission to find the weeds and remove them, all of them.
Over time, it became a running joke that I loved picking weeds. I would walk outside and scan the yard looking for weeds. As I became a teenager, I just got better and better at it. I soon moved out to go to university and when I came home to visit, I would find time to weed. When I bought my own house, I would sit in the front yard and weed. I taught my children how to weed and we sat out front quietly picking weeds together. If we ran out of weeds in our yard, I offered to pick the neighbors' weeds.
It wasn’t until much later that I started to realize why I loved picking weeds so much. Sure, there was the satisfaction of having a beautiful yard. But it was more, way more. Picking weeds became a form of meditation for me. It was my way of letting go of everything in my whirling mind. It was just me and the earth. I was connected to the earth as I squatted to pick each weed. My feet were planted holding me up. My fingers weaved their way between the blades of grass, the leaves of the weed, the root and the soil. I solely focused on what I was doing in that moment. I was free from all of my thoughts, my worries, my fears.
Looking back, I now realize that my dad taught me something incredibly important. He taught me how to meditate. He taught me how to still my mind, moving my focus from everything to virtually nothing. He taught me how to create space to listen, to understand. He taught me how to be right here, right now. It took me years to realize why I loved picking weeds. It took me years to make the connection that I was meditating. Using meditation has saved my life. It has helped me move through enormous change, challenge and transformation. I would consider this the most important skill I have ever learned.
What is your form of meditation? Drawing? Running? Cooking? Music? Gardening? Hiking? Walking? Or do you like to pick weeds too?