You have probably never thought about your life this way, but I invite you to pause for a moment and consider what I am about to tell you.
Watch a small child in a shop beside a harried parent. “I want this. I want this. I want this.” The child tugs and pleads and will not stop. The parent reasons with them to no effect. The parent scolds them and they burst out crying. But it keeps up the insistent, incessant asking. At last, worn down, the parent reaches out and hands over a toy. And, for a few blessed moments, the child falls silent, wholly absorbed, and the parent gets a little peace.
Now let me tell you who that child is. They are you. And who the harried parent is. That, too, is you.
All your life you have been pestered – not by a child in a shop, but by your own restless, agitated, ever-demanding mind, which wants and wants and wants and will not let up. And all your life you have done exactly what the exhausted parent does: you have reached for a toy to quiet it. The movie you simply must see this weekend. The trip to Thailand. The thriller on the nightstand. The new restaurant everyone is talking about. The dinner with friends. Each of these is a toy, and each buys you precisely what the child’s toy buys – a brief, blessed reprieve from the clamor, a few moments of silence before the wanting starts up again.
There is nothing wrong with the film, or the trip, or the friends. Enjoy them all. But understand what you are actually doing when you reach for them, because you have almost certainly never named it. You think you want the thing. You do not want the thing. You want the silence the thing briefly buys. What you are seeking, over and over, in a thousand disguises, all your life long, is relief from your own mind.
And here is the trouble with toys: they wear off. The child is absorbed for five minutes and then tugs your sleeve again. The trip to Thailand thrills you for a fortnight, and then you are home, restless, already scrolling for the next destination. The reprieve is always temporary, because the toy never touched the thing that was actually clamoring. You have been treating a deep and permanent hunger with an endless series of snacks and wondering why you are never full.
So, what would it mean to stop? Not to give up the films and the trips – but to see, clearly, that no toy will ever end the wanting, and to turn, at last, toward the mind that is doing the wanting? That is the whole of the work. When you no longer need the next toy to grant you a few minutes’ peace – because you have found a peace that does not wear off – you are free in a way the pestering child can never be.
The endless things you chase – pleasures, experiences, distractions, accomplishments, fame, fortune, and more – are all toys you reach for to quiet a restless mind. They never end the restlessness. They only bring you a welcome glimpse of quietude. Lasting peace is never found in a better or newer toy. It is found by turning inward toward the mind that is always asking.
Peace!
