The thread on the border of the fabric painting of Mount Fuji—stitched so many years ago, so many oceans away—has held the scene together longer than I’ve been alive. And on this uneventful morning, the soft rain makes the oak outside my window dip enough for the early light to stream across the braided mountain hanging on my wall. Now the thread on the border swells with the sun and seems for the moment the source of all strength. Then the sun steps higher in the sky, and the thread that holds all things together goes back to work.
Then, we round out the morning by filling our bodies with sugary pastries and caffeine-laden drinks as we high-tail it to work, already overwhelmed by the problems the day will surely bring.
It’s no coincidence that we’re a nation of anxious, dissatisfied people who are constantly in search of something more substantial in our lives.
For me, that something turned out to be meditation for success.