A reminder to try Again

A few days ago, I sat at the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, taking in the cooler weather. The humidity and excessive heat had finally broken. A light breeze mingled with the warm, early morning sun.

While writing, I noticed someone had joined me for coffee. A very teeny, very tiny spider was diligently constructing a web. I watched as she moved up invisible threads connecting the edge of the coffee cup to the top page of my notebook. I knew I would have to disrupt this process at some point, either to turn the page or to sip my cooling coffee.

I watched her move for several minutes. The way she would glide from the lip of the cup to the corner of the lined paper. Finally, it was time. I used the edge of my pen to loosen the web and gently placed the spider on the table.

As I lifted my coffee cup to take a sip, I watched as the spider, seemingly unphased, resumed her weaving. She climbed back to the edge of my notebook and cast a line to the cup's saucer. She worked diligently back and forth.

I realized, as I watched this spider, that she had cast hundreds, if not thousands, of invisible threads that were at some point broken. Her creations disrupted by weather, humans, or some other interference. And yet, she continued to try again.

While I'm not proficient in Spider, I didn't get the sense that she was frustrated or irritated. I didn't see her throw a fit or blame herself for the ruination. What I witnessed was a spider diligently, consistently starting over. The poet, Nikita Gill, wrote a short poem that gets at the heart of this idea:

A reminder from smaller beings

The bird building her home on your windowsill has had every nest destroyed before.

The spider that is delicately weaving a silken masterpiece has had every single thread broken before.

And despite it all, they try again.

It got me thinking about meditation practice. A common instruction in insight meditation is to notice the mind and, if distraction arises, to bring the attention back to the present moment. The use of an anchor might be employed, such as bringing the attention to the breath or the feeling of sitting. A key part of this instruction, however, is not only bringing the attention back to the present but doing so in a kind and compassionate way, recognizing that distraction is often inevitable. Through continued practice, we can build our awareness of the present moment.

I've found it can be very easy to get caught up in the idea of doing meditation "right." A feeling of irritation or frustration might surface if the mind is particularly busy or susceptible to distraction. And oftentimes, lingering behind that feeling can be thoughts of judgment.

And that's where the spider comes in. In that moment, she showed me the power of simply trying again. Not letting emotion or thoughts get in the way, but instead simply reassessing the landscape and casting a new line.

If you'd like to explore practicing, I’ve recorded a “Focused Awareness” meditation practice. It’s a fairly common practice that involves identifying an anchor to help keep you grounded in the present.