Can I tell you something?
I don’t meditate. It’s not that I think it wouldn’t be beneficial, it’s that my mind won’t let me. The moment I sit cross-legged on the floor – it’s been decades since I could do that but for the sake of this essay let’s say I can – and try to empty my head of conscious thoughts so I can ponder the serenity of a lake in the middle of a lush forest without any ripples in the water, my brain decides it would be the ideal time to think about dinner or immigration policy, or the most daring looks on the red carpet, or the rash on my wrist. The reason for this is because I have a strong personality trait which makes me not want to do what I’m being told to do, even if it’s me doing the telling.