Roots Over Leaves: My Vipassana Journey to Acceptance

There I was, packing my bags for a three-day Vipassana meditation retreat. The idea of silence and stillness felt both inviting and intimidating. As I shared my plans, I faced judgment. Why meditate? It reminded me of my med school days when eating healthy drew odd stares—as if choosing better for yourself was an invitation for critique. Still, I knew why I needed this. Most people take time off to escape reality; I needed this to confront mine. My mind was a storm, and I needed space to process it, not run from it.

Day 0: Arriving at Z26

The retreat started with a day zero—a time to get acquainted before diving into silence. My room, Z26, was a cozy single bed setup with a west-facing window that framed Shivapuri Hill. The silhouette of each tree against the fading light reminded me of tracing a lover’s face, memorizing every line and detail. It felt intimate and grounding. I unpacked my essentials, sat by the window, and let the stillness wash over me.

Downstairs, introductions began. There was the usual exchange of names, ages, and professions. Among the group, a 21-year-old CA student stood out. Her frustration with failing exams and the pressure to earn for her family reminded me of my younger self—ambitious, naive, and harshly self-critical. “Comparison is the thief of joy,” I told her. Words I needed to hear for myself, too.

Failure has a way of reshaping you. This year, I’d tasted it bitterly, having worked tirelessly for two years only to face rejection. The sting of not matching was fresh, and as I shared my advice with her, I silently whispered it to my own heart: “This doesn’t define your worth.”

Day 1: Acceptance Hurts

At 4 a.m., I was awake, questioning my life choices. Who voluntarily wakes up at this hour to sit in silence? The day’s focus was Anapana—observing the breath above the upper lip. It sounds simple, but my mind was a restless monkey swinging from thought to thought. My back hurt, my scapula screamed, and I wanted to bolt. Yet, there I was, sitting on my blue mat, resisting the urge to quit.

My thoughts wandered to someone I had been talking to before the retreat. He’d said he’d miss me, and the memory made me smile mid-meditation—a terrifying realization of how much space he occupied in my mind. Why was I giving him so much power? He was like a beautiful leaf—alluring, but not mine to keep. Is it just a fleeting distraction in the garden of my thoughts, or more? Time will tell...

By evening, a breakthrough: acceptance. The pain in my shoulders didn’t ease until I stopped resisting it. “Acceptance is key,” I reminded myself. Resisting pain—physical or emotional—only amplifies it. Slowly, I let go and acknowledged the disappointment of not matching. Tears came, but they were soft, almost freeing. This wasn’t a failure; it was a lesson, a stepping stone.

Day 2: Everything Passes

The second day introduced Vipassana—scanning the body for sensations and understanding their impermanence. The concept struck a chord. As I sat there, tears rolled silently down my cheeks. Everything is transient. Pain, joy, rejection—they all pass. This time, the meditation wasn’t just about stillness; it was about clarity.

Back in my room during lunch, I broke down. Not matching wasn’t just a professional setback; it felt personal. But amidst the tears, a realization emerged: I am not my failures. The spark I’d lost wasn’t tied to an exam or a result. It was me all along—my resilience, my curiosity, my heart. I’d been watering leaves instead of nourishing my roots. It was time to refocus.

Day 3: A Trek Within

By the third day, the silence felt less daunting. Meditation is experiential, like trekking through nature. You can’t fully understand its beauty until you’re in it, feeling it. Sitting for hours, I realized pain was just another transient sensation, much like life’s chaos.

I thought of my friend who questioned why I’d come. I wasn’t avoiding life; I was learning to face it. At home, my tears are warning signs to my parents, and I didn’t want them worrying about me. Here, I could cry freely, process deeply, and emerge with clarity.

The retreat reminded me of what truly matters. It’s not the rat race but the moments—sunrises, sunsets, starry nights—shared with people who matter. My next phase? They’re just one chapter, not the whole story. I’m the author, and I’m still writing.

Lessons to Carry Forward

By the end, I knew this: acceptance is freedom, and resistance is a cage. Pain, failure, and uncertainty are all part of life, but they don’t define it. The spark isn’t gone; it’s just waiting for me to ignite it. As for love and connections, I’ve learned to discern between leaves, branches, and roots. Leaves fall, branches break, but roots endure. And I’ll nurture the roots that hold me steady.

To more meaningful sunrises and sunsets, and to finding and cherishing the roots in my life.