I once did a 10-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat during which we were not allowed to use our phones, read, write, exercise (besides walking around a few acres a couple times a day), clean, cook, talk to one another, or even make eye contact with anyone. It was a very long 10 days, with about seven to 10 hours a day of sitting in meditation; the time between meditating was not much different.
Countless times I would think, fuck, I’m tired of meditating. I can’t wait to get away from it and get back to… Then a kind of disillusionment would wash over me and I would finish the thought with a question—can’t wait to get back to trying to escape my thoughts and myself? Can’t wait to be momentarily distracted by some kind of indulgence? Can’t wait to be somewhere other than where I am?
For most of my life I have usually found myself to be dissatisfied by whatever experience I’m presently in and simply looking forward to the next one, only to find myself, again, somewhat dissatisfied or underwhelmed once the anticipated experience has become my present experience.
So, during those 10 days, every time I felt anxious and annoyed and wanted to “get away” I immediately became aware that there was actually nowhere I could go that would significantly change my experience of reality. Indeed, the degree I suffered in those 10 days of silence was not so different from the degree I suffered normally, except that normally I could numb the pain or discomfort some of the time. But to no real avail.
There was, however, one thing I truly missed and felt in my heart—not my grasping, hungry mind, but deep in my heart—that I needed and loved: others.
My mom was there with me at the meditation retreat. I knew she was also suffering a lot some of the time, and it was very difficult to not be able to comfort her. On the last day, when we were finally able to hug and talk again I cried and cried and hugged my mom, and many other people. I was so happy to connect with everyone. We had been through a challenge—together but also quite alone.
I would have had to leave the retreat altogether if I had wanted a break from solitude. I had come a long way to do this, and it mattered to me to complete it. But never, ever would I have done such a thing by myself. I would have cracked halfway through the first day. We humans do not tend to put ourselves through these kinds of challenges willingly.
Not many people would opt for social isolation (or grudgingly go along with it) without a very compelling reason. And no wonder: it is very difficult and painful at times (for some more than others). We are social creatures, and we thrive on healthy connection with others.
But I must say that those 10 days of silent meditation changed me on a deep level. It made me appreciate others so much more. It gave me a significantly greater ability to be still, to just be there, and to stop trying to escape every uncomfortable feeling. This kind of change is a big deal.
Social isolating as a result of a pandemic is not easy—and I am not an authority on whether or not it is worth all the loss. But it will make us stronger, if we allow it. If you can, meditate every day for a few minutes. There are untold depths within each of us, and stillness is a kind of power. And when we connect again with each other it will be all the more wonderful.