90 Minutes

 

Once upon a time, 

There was a woman named 90 Minutes. 

90 Minutes got her name by spending 90 minutes of a 405-minute class talking. 

She dominated conversation

With stories, interruptions, and certainties that contradicted even the professor. 

When others spoke,

She didn’t receive their words. 

And so they wrote. 

And thought. 

And breathed. 

And prayed. 

And remembered a wise sage’s words:

She can be your teacher. 

Pay attention to what you can learn. 

 

And so they learned, 

With 90 minutes as their guide. 

 

They learned to remember that there are people who are truly opposite from them. Some people really care about scholarly things like history and word origin and statistics and data. When you don’t, you still need to give a scholarly nod to those who do. 

 

They learned to remember that some people process out loud and/or struggle with boundaries and/or self-awareness.

 

They learned to remember that some people have deep wounds that come out in wonky ways.

 

They learned to recognize that stress levels increase in their bodies when they hear crinkling snack wrappers and crunching during the middle of class. 

 

They learned to recognize but not judge their pride. 

 

They learned to identify their judgmental limits.

 

And they learned that, in general, they really are gracious people who give others the benefit of the doubt. And when they can’t, they at least have the intention of grace. And that intention can go a long way. 

 

Yes, they learned. 

And 90 minutes was their guide. 

 

She taught them everything they were not expecting to learn. 

 

And more. 

 

The end.