My First Tea Meditation

If you told my past self that I’d one day sit through a tea meditation session — willingly, no less — I would’ve laughed. Or scoffed. Or simply walked away.

I’ve always been somewhat of a tea purist. Give me the terroir, the cultivar, the oxidation levels. To me, tea meant knowledge, nuance, structure — not paying for 1.5 hours of... sitting. Doing nothing. Simply because, I could do the same for myself at home too.

But seasons shift. And lately, I’ve been opening up that tidy little box of what I think is “real,” one toe at a time.

A few weeks ago, I made my way to a tea meditation. The session was simple: four of us, seated in a soft circle of cushions and pillows, hosted by a lovely lady, warm and grounded. The space was unassuming — a simple chaxi, quiet background music, and no fancy setups. Just presence.

One guest closed their eyes and meditated. Another gently shuffled. I tried to keep my awareness close — quietly watching as our host warmed the teawares, prepared the leaves, and began the first brew. Each step was done slowly, with intention.

There were no conversations about tea.

That surprised me.

The tea wasn’t the focus. The process was.

And something in that clicked.

As the aroma of what I suspect was a Taiwanese red tea filled the space, it stirred up unexpected memories — my trip to Taiwan last year, the hot summer air, a familiar kind of nostalgia.

We sipped. Quietly. Slowly. At our own pace.There was no pressure to finish. I didn’t, and that was okay.

In that space, tea became more than taste or knowledge. It became a mirror — a way to return to myself, without judgment or effort. A soft pause to rebalance, reset, remember.

There was nothing to fix. Nothing to prove. No one to impress.(Except the little voice in your head you may end up judging — gently, hopefully.)

The session ended with a serve of warm water. It felt like a quiet offering to wash away lingering thoughts — like a soft full stop at the end of a long sentence. A hug in liquid form.

Some people stretched. Some lay on the ground. I almost did too. (Lying horizontally is now a favourite pastime of mine, thanks to some biological updates.)

And just like that, we parted ways.

No right. No wrong. Just the unfolding.

Takeaway? You don’t have to try so hard. You can just… be.

Embracing the ebb and flow of life in each sip. Letting the moment unfold. Welcoming change as it comes. Exactly like my current season of life right now.

— L