Finding Peace in Five Minutes

Well. It's funny, isn't it, how we convince ourselves of things? I’ve been hearing for years, from all sorts of places, that meditation is a practice requiring vast stretches of time, absolute stillness, a mind utterly free of thought. It conjures images of monks perched on mountaintops, days melting into weeks in quiet contemplation. And that, understandably, can be quite daunting for a woman trying to manage a household, raise a family, teach young minds.

I remember young Sarah, one of my students, saying just that, years ago. "Mrs. Peterson," she'd declared, with a sigh, "I just *don't* have the time to meditate." And I, bless my heart, probably offered some well-meaning, but ultimately unhelpful, platitudes. It's only now, in this quieter season of my life, that I'm beginning to truly understand the gentle power of a few moments.

The truth is, you don't need to carve out hours from your day. Marcus’s daughter, Emily, she's a whirlwind of a young woman, juggling work and a toddler and a husband who travels. She confessed to me last Friday at our luncheon—a lovely affair with lemon bars and a great deal of laughter—that she felt completely overwhelmed. She’d been reading about meditation, she said, but felt it was just another thing to add to her already overflowing plate.

I told her, “My dear, start small. Just five minutes.” And I meant it. It’s remarkable what a few minutes can accomplish. It isn't about emptying your mind—that’s a fool’s errand—it’s about noticing the thoughts as they come and go, like clouds drifting across the sky. Don't chase them. Don’t judge them. Simply acknowledge and let them pass.

Jerry, my husband – bless his heart, he’s always been a man of pragmatism – he chuckled when I started talking about it. “Five minutes?” he said. “What can five minutes possibly do?” But I’ve been experiencing it myself. That quiet, that stillness, it’s like a balm for a weary soul. It's especially helpful after a morning at the food pantry; the needs you see there, the faces… they stay with you.

This past week, after coming back from Brooklyn, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table Monday morning, just taking a few deep breaths. It wasn't a planned thing, really, just a moment to gather myself. I listened to the birdsong outside, the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the quiet rhythm of my own breathing. It wasn't 'clearing my mind,' but it *was* bringing a sense of calm, a quiet strength.

It’s not some mystical or complicated thing. It's simply about paying attention. Paying attention to the world around you, and paying attention to the quiet spaces within. That's what I’ve discovered, anyway. It's not about escaping life, it's about engaging with it more fully, more peacefully.

And you know, I think that’s something we all need, especially these days. A little bit of quiet, a little bit of peace. It doesn't require a mountaintop or a vow of silence. Just five minutes, a comfortable chair, and the willingness to simply be. It’s not about *doing* anything, it's about *being*. And that, my dear, is a gift worth giving yourself.