I meditate every morning — at least I try. I’ll sit for 10-30 minutes depending on how early I woke up and what’s on the calendar for that day. On the days that this ritual is missed, I’m more frenetic, anxious, and reactive — so the short time it takes to get centered, focus on my breath, and pay attention to the present moment are well worth the investment. I’ve carved a meditation space out of my bedroom/office behind a screen, next to my desk, on a cushion and zafu on the floor. It’s not much, but by having a small area in my home to mediate, I’ve created a commitment to practice. The morning sun shines through the window in this corner of the room, a small plant on the sill stretches toward this light getting ever closer to a pair of small, gray, Japanese ceramic vases, the sight of which reminds me of their octogenarian maker and her ceramic studio patio in Kyoto. Beyond the vases and the plant, the downtowns, Brooklyn and Manhattan, are enmeshed by the distorted perspective with the “new” World Trade Center peeking out above the Williamsburg Savings Bank Tower. It’s not quiet: construction noise abounds, fire engines at the station across the street come and go, and the LaGuardia flight path ensures a regular stream of jet engines. But, all of this: the buildings, the sunlight, airplanes, fire engines are the present. There is nothing to do but listen. When I’m working from home, and the dog wants to be near, the meditation cushion doubles as her bed, her irregular snoring and muffled barks from dreams of squirrels join the other sounds as reminders that there’s nowhere else to be.