Five minutes in a chair

You don't need a cushion, a straight back, or a new personality. A chair, a timer, and five minutes will do.

You don't need the floor

Lots of people picture meditation as someone cross-legged on a cushion with a perfectly peaceful face. You can let that picture go. A stiff hip or sore knees won't keep you from practicing, because the practice comes down to this: you put your attention somewhere, and you bring it back when it wanders. The furniture hardly matters.

Pick a chair you can get out of easily, and a kitchen chair works well. Rest both feet on the floor if that's comfortable, and if it isn't, settle in however feels right. You don't need candles or anything special in front of you; a cup, a window, or a bare table is plenty. If you live with other people, ask for five minutes without questions. If you live alone, make yourself the same promise, so you aren't half waiting for an interruption the whole time.

Five minutes on a timer

Five minutes is long enough to notice what your mind gets up to and short enough to feel doable. Set a timer so you aren't checking the clock, and close your eyes or let them rest on a spot on the table. Then notice one ordinary thing: your breath as it actually is, the weight of your hands on your legs, or the sounds in the room, refrigerator hum and passing cars included. Leave the room as it is, since none of it needs fixing.

The minutes count even if you never feel calm. Some days calm shows up and some days it doesn't, and chasing it turns the chair into a test. On this site, meditation is a way to practice attention. It can't promise to ease sorrow, pain, or a restless life, and you won't come out of it a different person.

When your mind wanders off

Your mind will wander, to the shopping list, an old argument, a face, or a song stuck in your head. When you notice, come back to your breath or your hands or the sounds, without scolding yourself. Each time you come back, you've done the practice once, and coming back is the skill teachers have always meant. Wandering doesn't make you bad at meditation, since everyone's mind does it.

If stillness makes you feel worse, with more dread, a sadness that frightens you, or a sense of being far away from the room, stop. Open your eyes, name three things you can see, and stand up if that helps. Nobody here will praise you for pushing through. If the bad feeling lingers, or comes back each time you try, talk with your doctor. Five minutes in a chair can go alongside your care, and any prescribed medicine stays exactly as your doctor set it.

What these minutes are for

These five minutes belong to your own attention, so please keep them away from any plan to make another person easier to manage. Grief, loneliness, and a faith that's worn thin each have their own room on this site, because they need more than a timer.

When the timer goes off, stop. Feel your feet, look at the light, and do the next small job the day needs, so the practice ends inside an ordinary afternoon. You can try again tomorrow or skip it, and either choice is fine. Then put the kettle on.

There's more in the meditation room, a short definition in the glossary, and quick answers in the FAQ. If paying attention this way makes distress worse, stop and talk with your doctor. Nothing on this page is for sale.