There I was, watching the first episode of  White Lotus, sipping my caffeine of choice, expecting satire, sunburns, and a healthy dose of awkward privilege. But then came that line— 
“Let us calm our chattering monkey minds.”

I snorted. 
Laughed. 
Paused the show. 

Because honestly, that one hit too close to home. If my mind were a zoo, it would be the monkey enclosure at feeding time—bananas flying, fur ruffled, and someone definitely flinging emotional baggage.

I am a ruminator.
Cluck cluck. Let’s call it what it is. 
I replay conversations. I rewrite emails in my head I never sent. I reanalyze glances from 2015. I catastrophize like it’s a sport and I’m going for gold.

And oh, the timing. Because lately, I’ve been actively trying to carve out calm—intentional moments of peace. I bought a hammock (check), I’ve mentally feng shui’d my soul, and I even tried to get into meditation again. You know, breathing, being, the whole “be still like a mountain” thing.

But just like in that White Lotus scene—where the would-be tranquil meditation is interrupted by literal gunshots—my mental calm is often invaded by abrupt inner chaos.

Trying to focus on the breath? 
Why did I say that in that meeting last week?

Trying to picture still water? 
Did I reply to that text? Is the dog limping? What if I have a vitamin deficiency?
(Down the rabbit hole I go).

The monkey mind doesn’t just chatter. 
It screeches. 
It jumps from fear to fantasy, from memory to maybe. 
And just when I think I’ve got it caged, it flings another thought through the bars: You haven’t done enough today.

But I keep trying. 
Because here’s the thing: that line made me laugh, but it also made me hopeful. Because if we can name it—chattering monkey mind, rumination station, thought tornado—we can start to disempower it. Even just a little. Even just long enough to breathe.

So I’ll keep showing up to the meditation mat, to the hammock, to the quiet corner of my balcony, monkey mind and all. 
I may not achieve zen. But maybe, just maybe, I can turn down the volume. 
Let the monkey chatter itself to sleep. 
Or at least, keep it distracted with a banana.

Because silence may be golden—but laughter at our own mental circus? That’s priceless.