Finding Enlightenment in a Striped Hat

I went to an Eckhart Tolle retreat to learn how to live in the present moment.

I learned it from the Cat in the Hat instead.

Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, Facebook served me an advertisement for an Eckhart Tolle retreat in San Diego. I like Eckhart Tolle. I appreciate his philosophy. And apparently, at some point while scrolling through Facebook, I decided that spending a Saturday exploring the nature of consciousness sounded like a terrific idea.

So I bought a ticket.

An expensive ticket.

I work in digital advertising. I know exactly how these things work.

Which makes the whole thing considerably more embarrassing.

For weeks, I dreaded going.

Not because I had anything against the retreat. It just wasn't how I wanted to spend my Saturday. With six children, a busy household, and a full work schedule, my free time is precious. And as the weekend approached, the idea of spending it inside a convention center sounded less and less appealing.

But I'd bought the ticket.

So I was going to be enlightened, whether I liked it or not.

Fortunately, I had an escape hatch.

I'd bought tickets to see The Cat in the Hat with three of my children that evening. The show started at 5:30, which meant I had a perfectly legitimate reason to leave the retreat early.

Still, I promised myself I'd give it a chance.

I went to dance class that morning, got dressed, and headed downtown.

I even invented a character for the occasion: Enlightened Katy.

Enlightened Katy was serene. Open-minded. Curious. Unbothered by the ticket price.

Enlightened Katy was going to have a wonderful time.

Enlightened Katy lasted approximately thirty minutes before she started wondering whether enlightenment might be available somewhere with a little more sunshine.

The retreat was thoughtful, and I could understand why so many people had come to hear Eckhart Tolle speak.

But sitting there, I realized something.

I just didn't want to be there.

Which sounds like a pretty simple realization, except that I'd already spent weeks anticipating the retreat. I'd committed my time, my money, and a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

Walking out felt like admitting I'd made a mistake.

I stayed for 98 minutes.

Then I left.

I got coffee. I thought about taking a walk. Mostly, I wanted to go home.

I was disappointed that I'd spent so much of my afternoon wishing I were somewhere else.

At least I'd gone to dance.

A few hours later, I was sitting in a theater with my children.

My husband had decided to come, too, and he was in a wonderful mood. The kids were happy. The show was adorable.

And then something completely extraordinary happened.

The climax of The Cat in the Hat was about living in the present moment.

About stopping the endless search for something more.

About recognizing that everything you thought you were looking for might already be right in front of you.

I almost couldn't believe it.

I'd spent weeks anticipating a retreat about mindfulness and being present.

And then I'd walked away.

Which was hard.

And just a few hours later, there it was.

The exact same lesson.

Not delivered in a lecture hall. Not through a discussion of consciousness or the nature of existence.

Wrapped in a children's story, with a ridiculous striped hat.

And this time, I didn't just understand it.

I felt it.

I was sitting beside my beautiful family. My children were laughing. My husband was happy. We were together, enjoying something wonderful.

I wasn't wishing I were somewhere else.

I wasn't thinking about what came next.

I wasn't searching for anything at all.

I was just happy.

And the truly extraordinary part is that if I'd stayed at the retreat until its scheduled 9 p.m. ending, I would have missed the whole thing.

I would have missed the show. I would have missed that moment with my family. I would have missed the very lesson I'd spent the afternoon trying to learn.

There are hard things in my life. Of course there are. There are things I still want to change, things I worry about, things I wish were easier.

Being grateful for what I have doesn't mean pretending those things don't exist.

But it does mean recognizing that happiness isn't necessarily waiting somewhere on the other side of them.

Sometimes it's already here.

And maybe the greatest lesson of that Saturday wasn't even about living in the present.

Maybe it was about knowing when to walk away.

I'd spent weeks feeling obligated to attend something I wasn't excited about. Once I was there, I felt obligated to stay. I'd bought the ticket, after all. I should get something out of it.

But the money was already spent.

The afternoon wasn't.

And if I'd kept insisting on getting my money's worth, I would have sacrificed something infinitely more valuable.

I would have missed the best part of my day.

So here's what I learned from my adventure in enlightenment:

Sometimes you have to stop chasing the thing you think you're supposed to want.

Sometimes you have to admit that you've made a mistake.

Sometimes you have to walk away, even when walking away is hard.

And sometimes, when you do, you discover that what you were looking for has been sitting there waiting for you all along.

Possibly wearing a very tall, red-and-white-striped hat.