In the 80s, I had a roommate who was learning Buddhist meditation. His weekly class happened to be a night on which I always attended a lengthy Faerie ritual.

Every week, when we both returned home, I’d ask, “How was your meditation?”

He’d respond, “Difficult. How was yours?”

I’d answer, “Fun!”

As time passed, his meditations got harder and harder. Mine became more and more fun.

But, after a long time, my roommate’s meditations became fun, which told me that he’d been doing it right all along.

And mine became difficult, which told me I had been doing it right all along, too.