I can be a very serious person. Which is crazy because I am known as a funny, not serious guy.
I am incredibly neurotic on the most inane things. My wife, Bridget, can attest to this. Research to death which $2 manual toothbrush from CVS is the highest performing. You bet I will. Spend hours reading about the health benefits of apple cider vinegar only to go next door to the cafe and get a cheddar bacon biscuit of death. Absofreakinglutely!
I think, while meditating, about something that happened in 5th grade with a goat, why I love croissants so much, and if I had a cat I would name her Plumb and we would be best friends and tell each other secrets that no one would know.
Then I get angry at myself for thinking about these things during meditation. And maybe I should move to a cave for 20 years and meditate. Of course Plumb would have to come because she knows all my secrets.
All still happening while I'm meditating.
The point is that I am guilty of taking this wacky life a little too seriously.
I forget the simplicity in being goofy. The craziness of being crazy. And letting all the self-importance of the ego drop.
When I let my heart expand, my belly be full of laughter, my eyes open to beauty, and my mind live in the moment, that is when I find the truest joy. The truest aliveness.
And then of course, in those moments... is when I find me.