Do I meditate?

Formal meditation and I have a very on-again, off-again relationship. 

That is, on any given week, I may be seated with a pillow beneath me, breathing with my eyes closed, or I haven't meditated in weeks and I hate even the thought of it.

“I swear by the one-minute rule. 60 seconds of breathing and nothing else. Once in the morning. Once in the evening. One minute. That’s it.”

I know meditation is good for me. I used to promote the two-minute rule, but then even that got too crazy, so now I swear by the one-minute rule. 60 seconds of breathing and nothing else. Once in the morning. Once in the evening. 

One minute. That's it. 

I do it in the car. I do it on the train. I do it in my home. Wherever I am when those reminders in my phone pops up at 7:10AM and 7:00PM and I read "Meditate"- I meditate.

“Art itself is a form of active meditation. In the same way that yoga and dance and lovemaking can be meditative, so, too, is art... Creating art is my primary meditation. ”

Some formalists may argue that sixty seconds is not enough time for formal meditation. They're wrong, because I know from experience that sixty seconds is better than nothing.

Formal meditation aside, important to mention is the fact that art itself is a form of active meditation. In the same way that yoga and dance and lovemaking can be meditative, so, too, is art.

Much like yoga, art is a method by which some people are able to sync their mind, spirits and body into one single act. I am one of them.

So creating art is my primary meditation. 

My secondary meditation is 60 seconds of breathing twice a day.

TRISHA WILES

Compare and despair.

It's a saying that I was introduced to years ago.

"Compare and despair, Trisha," I was cautioned. 

It means that if you look at somebody else and begin comparing yourself to them, it won't be long until you feel absolutely miserable. 

It's easy to do as an artist today.

How many Instagram followers do they have?

They sold that painting for HOW much?

Who received the award this year?

It's important to run your own race, both in your profession and in your life. My mother taught me that.

“It’s important to run your own race, both in your profession and in your life. My mother taught me that.”

She always tells me "Don't worry about what everyone else is doing, Trisha. You run your own race." It takes a lot of the pressure off.

And in doing this, it's changed my definition of failure. A few years back, I began a tech company. Right as it was at its height- international growth, celebrity and mainstream media endorsements- I shuttered its doors.

I don't know what people thought of that move because I didn't pay much attention or ask. But I assume many thought that I had gone crazy. I shut it down right on the cusp of what looked inevitably to be huge success.

I closed it for many reasons. One, I learned some lessons along the way which didn't jive with my original motivation and inspiration to start the business. Two, I found out that it wasn't what I wanted to do.

I wanted to be a tech billionaire because I'm a millennial and I saw Zuckerberg. That's no reason to choose a career.

“I wanted to be a tech billionaire because I’m a millennial and I saw Zuckerberg. That’s no reason to choose a career.”

I thought, because of how "tech entrepreneur" looked, that I knew how it would feel. I didn't know how that role would feel until I tried it on and became one. 

I hated waking up in the middle of the night worrying if our servers had crashed. I hated cranking out content just for the sake of cranking out content so that our SEO didn't suffer.

I loved the way that it looked, but hated the way that it felt, so I ended it.

“Do I sometimes compare myself with other tech entrepreneurs who started around the same time as me and weren’t as successful back then but now are thriving? No. I honestly don’t. ”

I ran my own race. I didn't worry about anything external, but rather I used an internal compass to make my decisions.

Do I sometimes compare myself with other tech entrepreneurs who started around the same time as me and weren't as successful back then but now are thriving? No. I honestly don't. 

Because the beauty about running your own race is that you don't care what your race looks like, you've learned to tap into how it feels.

I don't care that I didn't sell anything at my last exhibit... I'm proud of my work.

I don't care if people don't "get" my art, or they think it's too much of this or not enough of that... My work is the perfect amount of everything for me. If it wasn't, I would not put my signature on it.

“The beauty about running your own race is that you don’t care what your race looks like, you’ve learned to tap into how it feels.”

I don't care what it looks like to anybody, because I'm too busy enjoying how it feels. 

Don't do what you do to please critics. Critics aren't pleased with themselves; that's why they are critics.

“I don’t care what it looks like to anybody, because I’m too busy enjoying how it feels. ”

Run your race. Don't look at who's running beside you. 

Run it because you love to run. And if you trip, get back up and start running again because you love to run.

And if somewhere in the middle, like me, you find that you don't like to run the way you're currently running, I hope you find the faith and bravery to stop running that way.

And to start running in a different direction.

I quote Emerson a lot, but he said: "All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make, the better." 

“Run your race. Don’t look at who’s running beside you.  Run it because you love to run. And if you trip, get back up and start running again because you love to run.”

So run a few different kinds of races to see what you like. Kiss a few different people to see who you like. And experiment as much as you can with as much as you can. But for the love of God, don't waste your time comparing.

Because at the end of all of this, the only thing you need to answer to is yourself and your Creator. 

In the infinite words of my timeless mother: Run your own race, and always keep your head held high.

TRISHA WILES