I’d just concluded a delightful four-day visit with an old friend in Atlanta.  We’ve known each other since we met at Camp.Mataponi in Naples, Maine at the age of ten.  We were fast friends for all our nine years at camp, lost touch for decades, and miraculously reconnected about fifteen years ago.  Our lives are quite different; Judy’s been married forever to a great guy, and boasts seven adorable grandsons.  I have two kids I adore and am (well, mostly) contentedly single.

The temps in Boston had been in wind-chilled single digits and showed no sign of relenting. The occasion for my visit to what I assumed would be a relatively balmy Atlanta. was the appearance of a singalong company called Gotta Sing Broadway. I happily boarded a plane for southern climes where I was gifted daytime temperatures around 25 degrees.  Oh well, we were mostly indoors and anyway the trip was about friends getting together.  We were joined during my stay with another delightful camp friend and by a lovely former colleague of mine.

What does this have to do with meditation, you ask.  Patience.

Sad to say, I am a loser.  Not in the sense Fearless Leader deploys the term.  I lose things.  What sorts of things, you ask.  Sunglasses. Prescription glasses. Gloves. Umbrellas. Earrings. Other types of jewelry.  Once, a pajama top in a hotel room where, I swear to you, nothing interesting happened. You get the gist.  

I have been this way- what I believe undiagnosed severe ADD-pretty much forever, and it’s now exacerbated by Parkinson’s.  Aside from the not inconsiderable cost of replacing all this stuff, the knowledge that I’m missing something makes me extremely anxious, whether I’m tearing through my tiny apartment in search of my phone, or calling last night’s restaurant fervently hoping they have my.credit card.

Perhaps the worst aspect of all this losing is that it affects other people, who bring me the phone forgotten in their car, or scour their own apartment where I might have abandoned my umbrella. Attention Assistant Sherlocks! Please accept this blanket apology for the times you’ve uncomplainingly helped me locate all my missing whatevers.

Several months ago, worried about suspected PD-induced cognition issues, I signed up for a comprehensive neuropsych test.  The verdict: I am not cognitively impaired and I am anxious. Very.  What a surprise!

Some friends were recently talking about some group that was sponsoring a scavenger hunt and one wag piped up: “We should have one in Andi’s apartment. We’ll find glasses, gloves and who knows what else!”  Funny?  I guess.  Distressing? You betcha.

The recommended treatment: Mindfulness training at the Benson- Henry Institute, named for the pioneering meditation teacher Herbert Benson. The good news: since completing the program several weeks ago, I’ve resumed the meditation practice begun in my twenties but since largely abandoned. The teachers at Benson Henry assured me that this is a significant move forward.

We would-be practitioners of the “relaxation response” learned dozens of meditation practices, from which we were encouraged to select those that felt most comfortable to us. I hadn’t moved much beyond the repeated mantra bestowed on me all those years ago. But myriad options leading to a more centered, calm and yes, less anxious life remained mine for the taking.

And an opportunity to try a new meditation mode presented itself in, of all places, a bathroom at Hartsfield, the world’s busiest airport. I seated myself and what sprang into my head in that most inauspicious venue was Here’s an opportunity to try one of the recommended new meditation techniques, the one where we were to pay close attention to an ordinary activity like peeling a piece of fruit. We were asked to pick up the apple and knife and, slowly and deliberately, peel the apple, the whole time noticing each action. “Here I am, peeling the apple with the knife moving away from my body. Now peel it in the opposite direction, considering the differences between the two methods. Picking up and discarding the removed peel into the trash. Smelling the fruit. Noticing the size and weight.”

It occurred to me, as I sat on the “porcelain throne,” that I might apply the same technique to my current, um, “activity.” I viewed the black box mounted to the wall of my stall. The material was plastic, and slightly translucent, allowing me to view the twin toilet paper rolls contained therein. I pulled down several sheets of white paper, noticing the slightly rough texture and the perforations that allowed me to select the just right number of sheets required for the job at hand. Task completed, I rose and exited the stall, a jaunty bounce to my step as I made my way to my gate. I did it! I crowed silently, smugly self-congratulatory. “I’ll never lose anything again.”Then I glanced at the exterior pocket on the suitcase I was hauling and huh? Where’s the small brown bag my friend had handed me on my way out of her home. The sack containing the chocolate chip and carrot cake muffins she’d thoughtfully baked just for me and hoped I’d enjoy as I awaited my flight home? Gone, certainly having been dropped in the bathroom. So sorry, Judy. I briefly considered returning to the scene of the crime but I didn’t think retrieving an open bag from an airport restroom was a wise choice.

Another minor “loser” incident occurred a bit later, but I refuse to linger on this most distressing topic. I am trying to focus on the upside of my recent adventures in meditation. For example, a couple of weeks ago I reacted with remarkable stoicism to a situation that would have ordinarily sent me into a tailspin. Only a single small victory, which I’m told is the result of cumulative periods of practice. And fortunately, I like meditating! Maybe I expected too much too soon. After all, we’re talking about a lifetime of bad habits.

Or the wires in my brain are forever crossed. Why am I seemingly incapable of incorporating a simple action like keeping track of my belongings into my head? I’ve tried saying a simple word, “transition,” every time I made a move. I asked myself “where am I going and what do I need?” Tried intoning these commands aloud. Nothing I tried led to the desired goal of something as seemingly effortless as keeping track of my belongings.

I’d love to hear from you if you’re discovered a solution. I already take so many meds but I’d be willing to add to my overstuffed pharmacopoeia if it would help. My biggest fear is a heart attack due to anxiety.

A wise friend has opined that I’m looking at this the wrong way. She advises me to develop solutions like, as she does, pinning things to her clothing and/or purse before she leaves the house.

I’ll try anything the brings me peace. Or, in the words of Frank Costanza “Serenity now.”

And if you haven’t seen it yet, please do check out my podcast, Parky Conversations.