Finding Peace in Stillness and Quiet

Sometimes, I think we’ve forgotten how to just *be*. It sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Being. But in this day and age, with a constant hum of notifications and demands on our attention, being still is almost an act of rebellion. I noticed it myself just the other week, after my last luncheon with the ladies from church. We always have such lovely conversations – mostly about grandchildren and what’s happening at the market. But afterward, when I made coffee Monday morning and sat down at my kitchen table, a quietness settled over me that felt…foreign.

For so long, retirement has been a looming question mark; a someday sort of thing I tucked away in the back of my mind while grading papers and attending faculty meetings. Now it’s here. And suddenly, the things that filled those days – the lesson plans, the parent-teacher conferences, even the rush hour traffic - seem far removed. The quiet feels almost unnerving at first. It pulls you inward. A good thing, I realized later, but a little unsettling when you're used to being constantly directed outward.

I remember reading something once about how our minds need time to wander – not to be pointed in a specific direction, not to solve a problem or learn a fact, but just to…wander. Like a river finding its own course through a landscape. It’s easy to dismiss that as unproductive, frivolous even. "Time is money," we're told constantly, and anything that doesn't directly generate income feels wasteful. But I see now – after all these years of teaching others how to learn—that true understanding isn’t always about accumulating knowledge; it’s about letting those fragments settle and arrange themselves into something meaningful.

My grandson, Marcus, he worries so much. Always striving for the next thing, the next achievement. He rarely sits still long enough to truly appreciate what he has. When I went to Brooklyn to stay with him and his family – a decision made easily after years of wishing them closer – I saw how intensely that drive affects everyone around him. His children are restless, constantly vying for attention amidst his whirlwind schedule. They're missing out on the simple joy of letting their imaginations roam free.

It isn’t just about sitting idle, mind you; it's about allowing your thoughts to travel where they will without judgment or pressure. The quiet moments at the food pantry are like that. While I'm packing boxes with canned goods and bagging potatoes, my mind drifts. Sometimes I remember a student’s face, sometimes a line from a poem, sometimes just the scent of fresh-baked bread. There's no agenda; there is only being present in the moment while thoughts gently float by.

Jerry—my husband, bless his heart—used to tease me about needing my “quiet time.” He meant it affectionately, I think, but he didn’t quite understand. It wasn't a need to escape him or anything of the sort; it was a need to reconnect with myself. To listen to that quiet voice within, the one often drowned out by the noise and demands of daily life. He thought I needed something *extra*, when really, what I needed was less. Less noise, less pressure, more space for my mind to simply…be.

I’ve been volunteering at the Fulton Street food pantry now for several weeks. It's a small thing, but it brings a certain peace. Helping others is its own reward, of course. But something about the rhythm of sorting and distributing those groceries allows me – again - that precious space to just *be*. The ladies from church were surprised by how quickly I dove in. Jerry chuckled, as if my reaction was some great mystery. He’s known me for almost forty years; he should know better than anyone that a woman needs to find her place, and sometimes that place is simply in quiet service.

Perhaps it's the wisdom of age talking, or maybe just the slow realization that life isn't about filling every moment with activity. But I think we need to reclaim boredom. Not as an enemy to be vanquished, but as a friend – a necessary respite for our weary minds and souls. A little quiet, a little stillness…that’s where the true treasures are often found.