The Monday after break, I started a new mindfulness program at a middle school in which I teach eleven 30-minute lessons a week about mindfulness. The fifth and sixth grade groups were all adorably attentive and respectful, and then I walked into an eighth grade classroom, who happened to have a sub that day.

“Uuughhhh….mindfulness?” one boy from the back said, and he was echoed by several of his classmates. And another, “so boring…”

Uh-oh.

As I unpacked my things, I tried to figure out how to respond. Do I ignore it and charge on through? Do I try to make it extra interesting or entertaining?

I took a breath and began, “When I just came in, I heard a number of you groan. Tell me about that.”

There was a moment of silence, and then hands shot up,

“It’s just so boring.”

“It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with us.”

“It’s, like, about watching sunsets and stuff…so what?”

“One time last year in seventh grade we just had to, like, listen to this recording and they didn’t even say why.”

Ah.

"So it sounds like it feels pretty irrelevant and boring to you all, is that true?” I tried. Heads nod. “Cool, I can see why you would react that way. Here’s what it means to me…” and they listened.

Had I chosen to ignore, or even talk up mindfulness, I think I would have emerged from that room defeated. Giving space for these students to air these grievances, and feel heard, opened the door to me building understanding about what they had experienced before, and considering how I might approach it this time around.

Mindfulness invites us to come from a place of true curiosity, without defensiveness or the need to fix. It gives us space to learn and others a chance to fully express themselves. So the next time a student groans and the prospect of whatever it might be, try asking, “What’s that about?”