Not Sure What You Really Want? Picture Life's Last Scene

Before I knew what meditation really was, I stumbled into something like it on my own. Nobody told me to. I simply lay down one day and watched my whole life play out from beginning to end, the way you would watch a film.

I had clear dreams back then. Study abroad. Become a well-known fashion designer. Make a name for myself, and a lot of money. In my imagination every one of those dreams came true, one after another. I held fashion shows. I met someone, got married, and had a warm and happy family. Each scene was vivid.

The film ended at a house in the countryside. An old woman in a rocking chair, reading a book. That was me, at the end.

It felt peaceful. It felt good. I thought, "There. It all worked out."

And yet a small question lodged itself somewhere in my chest.

"Is this right?"

Everything I wanted had come true, so why was I asking that? It was about as good a story as a life can be, and something in a corner of my heart still felt empty. At the time I could not have told you what that emptiness was.

An empty rocking chair with a book on the seat, on a quiet country porch

That question is what brought me to meditation

Around then there was a program for experiencing deep meditation, and people kept telling me to go. And I kept not going. That was the kind of person I was.

But the question would not leave. In the end I thought, "Fine. I should at least find out what I actually want," and I signed up. That is how I started meditating. Ever since, I have been living by the answer I found there.

What that experience taught me comes down to one thing. The things we wish for as we go through life (I hope this works out, I hope I make a lot of money, I hope I succeed) can be quite different from what our heart actually wants.

This is not an argument against wanting things. It is only that the goals your head sets and the thing you want deep down are not always the same. When the two drift apart, you can reach every goal on the list and still find something missing.

Check the destination before you set sail

People often compare life to a voyage. Picture two boats. One is heading somewhere. The other just floats, going wherever the waves push it. The people aboard those two boats are bound to feel very differently. That is part of why, when we drift along without a purpose or a direction, a hollow feeling turns up every now and then.

But having a destination is not the end of it. You also need to check, at least once, that it is really where you want to go. Otherwise you can pour everything you have into getting there, arrive, and realize: this is not it.

The tricky part is that staring at the goal itself rarely shows you this. It did not show me. Every scene where my dreams came true felt wonderful. The question appeared after that, in the final scene: everything achieved, sitting in the rocking chair. The script my head had written was flawless. The feeling that rose up in that last scene simply did not follow the script.

Ask how you want to die, and you learn how to live

So this is how I sum up this kind of meditation: asking how you want to die ends up answering how you want to live.

When you picture the moment your life ends and you cross over, you begin to see the words you would want to hear at the end. Those words become a direction for today.

Thinking about death can feel dark, even frightening. In this meditation, though, the last scene is not there to scare you. It works more like a mirror. Anyone can write a convincing list of goals, but once you sit face to face with yourself at the end of your life, it becomes clear whether that list was ever really yours.

The meditation: follow your life all the way to the last scene

This is the sequence I use when I guide this meditation in class. The first time, set aside about thirty minutes where no one will interrupt you, and keep a pen and paper nearby.

Skim the life you have lived. From childhood until now, let the big moments flash past. Picture them again and jot them down. No one else will read this, so write the good and the painful just as they were.

Come back to now. Close your eyes. Not the past, not the future: just this moment, the breath coming in and going out, and your body.

Watch what you want come true. Picture the things you want, the things you hope to achieve, your dreams and your vision, coming true in order, one after another. The preparation, the moment it happens, and who you are afterwards. If it is hard to picture, imagine you are sitting in a movie theater with yourself on the screen, and simply watch. One year from now, two years from now: stack the years one at a time.

Feel it all achieved. Everything you hoped for has happened. Feel, right now, the emotions you would have then, the people you would meet, the thoughts you would be thinking.

Keep going, to the very end. Picture the life that follows once everything is achieved. Slowly, all the way to just before you die.

Ask in the last scene. At the final moment of your life, what do you look like? What thoughts and feelings do you have as you look back on your life? What words would you want to hear at the end?

Close with the breath, then write. Breathe in deeply and let the air out slowly through your lips, twice. Open your eyes slowly and write a few notes about what you just saw.

What to look for in your notes

Where did you feel most at ease? It may not be the scene where you hit the goal. It may be some moment along the way.

Where did it feel empty? If a quiet "is this right?" came up the way it did for me, write down that scene.

The words you wanted to hear at the end. Check whether they point in the same direction as the goals you are chasing now.

When you write about the life you have lived so far, try not to skip the negative memories. We all prefer to look at our good side, but what we look away from does not disappear; it stays right where it is. Only after you face it and notice, "so this is in me too," can you choose what to do next. I once told a class that the people who can look at their negative side are the braver ones.

And if a question shows up, you have not failed. For me, that question was the way in.

Short sessions find the question; deep practice finds the answer

To be honest, the sequence above is a matter of closing your eyes and imagining for a few minutes at a time. On its own it may not give you the answer to what you truly want. To go deep enough inside to find that answer, I believe you need a meditation of at least six hours or so.

So the job of the short version is to find the question. If it leaves you doubting whether your destination is right, the next step is to set aside real time and go deeper. For me, that was the very first step into meditation.

One more thing. If you have recently lost someone close to you, or you are going through a low stretch, you do not have to go all the way to the last scene. Stop at the future scenes and come back to your breath. The last scene can wait until you have more room inside.

In short

If you reach your goals and still feel empty, those goals may be pointing somewhere other than what your heart wants.

The goal alone rarely shows you this. You have to go past the achievement, to the last scene of your life.

Ask how you want to die, and you see how you want to live. The words you want to hear at the end become today's direction.

The "is this right?" question is not a failure. It is a doorway.

Short sessions find the question. The answer comes from deep practice with time set aside for it.

If following the steps on your own feels hard, short guided sessions, starting at five minutes, are on WECOSMO. The class recording where I guide this meditation is here too (25 minutes, in Korean). And if the part about success and money never quite filling the gap spoke to you, I wrote about it in why nothing ever feels like enough.