Page 19 of My CEO Neighbor
The fact that she'd remembered his exact words made him happy."You were listening to my conference calls."
"Hard not to when you conduct them at the volume of a rock concert."
"I don't—" Ted stopped himself.They'd established a tenuous peace, and he didn't want to ruin it by being defensive about his work habits."What would meditation involve, exactly?"
"Just sitting.Breathing.Letting your thoughts exist without trying to solve them."
"That sounds like torture."
"Five minutes," Monica said."That's all.If you hate it, we'll talk about quarterly projections or whatever makes you happy."
Ted considered this.Five minutes wouldn't kill him, and if he was being honest, the breathing exercise had actually helped.His chest felt looser than it had in weeks, and his heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of his ribcage anymore.
"Fine.Five minutes."
"Okay.Close your eyes."
"They're already closed.It's pitch black in here."
"Right.Now, find your breath again.In through your nose, out through your mouth.Don't try to control it, just notice it."
Ted inhaled slowly, the way Monica had taught him.His stomach expanded, his shoulders stayed down, and for a moment he was calmer.
"Good.Now I want you to notice your thoughts without engaging with them.Think of them like clouds passing through your mind—you can see them, but you don't have to chase them or analyze them."
Almost immediately, Ted's brain offered up a detailed mental review of his presentation slides.The revenue projections on slide twelve needed updating, and the market analysis on slide fifteen was three days old, which might as well be three years in the tech world.
"I'm thinking about work," Ted said.
"Of course you are.That's normal.Just notice that you're thinking about work, and then let the thought pass."
Ted tried to release the mental image of his presentation, but his brain immediately supplied a new worry: what if Dexter Capital lost interest during the delay?What if they decided to fund DataFlow instead?What if—
"Still thinking about work."
"Still normal.Try this: imagine your thoughts are written on pieces of paper, and you're watching them float down a river.You can see each piece of paper, but you don't have to grab them or read them carefully.Just let them drift by."
The image was surprisingly vivid.Ted could picture a slow-moving river, sheets of white paper floating on the surface.But instead of drifting peacefully downstream, the papers kept getting caught on rocks and branches, spinning in eddies, demanding his attention.
"The papers aren't floating away.They're getting stuck."
Monica's soft laugh made Ted's dick hard."That's your brain trying to solve everything.You don't have to make the papers float perfectly.You just have to stop grabbing them."
Ted took another breath and tried to let the mental papers drift without intervention.For approximately thirty seconds, it almost worked.Then his phone buzzed against his leg.
"Shit."Ted fumbled for the device, desperate to preserve the remaining battery."Sorry, I should check—"
"Ted."
Something in Monica's voice made him stop.Not commanding, exactly, but gentle and firm in a way that reminded him of his kindergarten teacher, Mrs.Patterson, who'd had an uncanny ability to make him want to behave better.
"It's probably just a low battery warning," Monica said."And even if it's not, what are you going to do about it from in here?"
Ted stared at his phone's dark screen, logic warring with the compulsive need to check, to know, to maintain some illusion of control over his rapidly deteriorating day.
"I can't just ignore it."
"You can for five minutes."
