Letter to Someone About to Meditate for the First Time

Dear Quyên,

You texted me last night at ten to eleven. I was scrubbing the last pot, hands still soapy, when my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Three lines and two question marks.

— Tomorrow I'm going to try meditating. How do I sit? Do I need to buy anything?

— Just sit down first. Tomorrow I'll write you a letter.

— A letter? A voice message is fine, you know.

I didn't send a voice message. You know me by now: three sentences in, I'm off gossiping about Auntie Sáu. Writing lets me stop, and reread, and it lets you reread it whenever you like. So here it is, a letter, longer than you expected.

First of all, I know this isn't the first time you've meant to try. Last month you told me you downloaded something onto your phone, opened it, listened to the greeting, then switched it off and went to get a glass of water. I'm not laughing. I did the same, and I quit faster than you did.

Here is what I never told you, so I'll say it today: the first sit is usually nothing special. Mine was a Wednesday evening on a wooden chair in my rented room, the ceiling fan clicking once every turn. I kept my eyes closed for about forty seconds before I remembered I hadn't answered Thu's message. Eyes open, glance at the clock. Two minutes. Closed again. Right foot itching. Scratch. Clock: three minutes. I thought, well, that's it, this isn't for me.

I think differently now. That evening I did sit, for three minutes, as exactly the person I was: noisy head, itchy foot, one hand twitching toward the phone. I hadn't ruined anything. I was just waiting for a feeling people say you're supposed to get, a stillness like in a film, and when it didn't arrive I decided I had failed. That letdown is what made me shy of sitting again, not the itch.

So I want to forgive you first, starting now. If you sit tomorrow and your head runs like motorbikes at rush hour, forgive it. If you sit for two minutes and stand up, forgive that. If you forget altogether and sit down the next day, forgive that too. I've forgiven myself plenty of times, and it has always felt lighter than I expected.

I also want to thank you. You asked me. You didn't go online and find some hour-long video, you didn't ask anyone else. You asked a cousin who still can't sit regularly. I felt trusted, and I'm keeping that.

One more thing I have to say, to be fair to you. You told me lately you've been tired and sad for no clear reason. Meditation is something you can do on top of that, but it can't replace talking to someone with professional training. If the tiredness or the sadness goes on for several weeks, go and see someone like that, and don't wait until it gets heavier. I can come with you.

As for how to sit, what to buy, how long: anywhere is fine, a kitchen chair is fine, you don't need to buy a thing. There's an article on Tâm An Mỗi Ngày about how to sit, if you're curious, and if not, forget it. I only ask one small thing: sit somewhere nobody needs you for those few minutes, and keep the phone far away.

I promise you just one thing: afterwards I won't ask "how long did you sit," and I won't ask "did you feel anything." If you want to tell me, I'll listen, and if you don't, that's fine. I'll only ask whether you sat, and whether you're planning to sit again tomorrow. Whatever you answer, I'll take it.

I wish you an easy evening, and a foot that doesn't itch too much.

Your cousin Hạnh