When my parents didn’t talk or how I discovered meditation

Ingrid and Horst, my parents

Large, fluffy heaps of snow sat right in front of the bay window and created a dim, otherworldly atmosphere in our small, cozy Austrian hotel room. From the moment I had walked into the room, I had felt like I had landed in my doll house's bedroom with its ornate wooden furniture and checkered curtains. We had arrived late, slept well, and had spent the next day skiing on the local hills. Now it was evening, after dinner, and I expected some time reading or watching TV in the hotel lobby. 

But nothing had prepared me for what came next. My parents and I retreated to our room, where I was told to remain absolutely still for the next 30 minutes because my parents needed time to themselves. Puzzled, I watched how they sat down and then did absolutely nothing. They didn't move, they didn't talk, their expression didn't change - what was going on here? At first, I thought this was a new form of nap, but when the time dragged on, I got worried. I coughed, I moved a little, and finally, I decided to check if they were still alive. Carefully, I tapped on my dad's shoulder, and to my big relief, he opened his eyes. But instead of the expected verbal explanation and reassurance, he slowly put his finger to his mouth and gestured me to stay silent and return to my bed.

The minutes felt like decades until they finally both opened their eyes. Now I couldn't restrain myself anymore and bombarded them with questions. It turned out that my father had studied with a meditation teacher, had taught my mom how to meditate, and lately they both had started a daily meditation practice which they wanted to continue during our vacation. Of course, the word "meditation" didn't mean much to 12-year-old, but nevertheless, I wanted to try to meditate with them. 

The next evening, my father indeed taught me how to meditate. I had to choose a word or image on which I was to concentrate. Interestingly, even then the breath was a big part of meditation, and I learned to breathe slowly in and out and to count my breaths if I was distracted. It was wonderful, and I vividly remember how great it felt to be part of a mini meditation fellowship and to dream of my handsome ski instructor. Not quite what my dad had in mind, but nevertheless an experience I never forgot and which prepared me for my mindfulness journey many years later.