Aura
Last semester, a senior I deeply admire, Virginia Hostetter ’25, told me, “It’s one of the most meaningful courses I’ve taken here.” She was speaking about the Mindfulness Meditation course taught by Professor Kim Daubman. The sincerity in her voice stayed with me, and I knew that I wanted to experience what she had found. When Professor Daubman kindly granted me special permission to enroll this semester, I was overjoyed and grateful.
Beginning on October 1, our small class met each week to practice, read, and reflect together. Our main text was The Mindful Twenty-Something, a thoughtful companion that guided our understanding of what it means to live with awareness. Each week followed a steady rhythm. We would arrive, leave behind the noise of the day, and dedicate time to being fully present with our breath, our bodies, and our thoughts. That space quickly became one of the few places on campus where stillness was not only encouraged but embraced.
We started with the simplest practices. Belly breathing allowed me to pay attention to how the body moves with each breath. The body scan revealed small pockets of tension I did not even know existed. The instruction was never to fix anything but simply to notice. That small shift in perspective, from reacting to observing, began to change how I experienced everything around me.
As the semester progressed, we explored more dynamic practices such as walking meditation and dynamic breathing. They carried an energy that kept us alert yet calm. I loved walking meditation most of all because it transformed something as ordinary as walking into an act of deep attention. You start to notice how your feet touch the ground, how the air feels on your skin, and how your mind slowly settles into rhythm with your steps.
Some of the most memorable sessions were playful and surprising. Mindful eating encouraged us to slow down and truly taste our food. Something as simple as savoring a piece of fruit became a lesson in patience and gratitude. Another exercise involved labeling thoughts and emotions, giving words to what we often overlook. Recognizing a thought as “worry” or an emotion as “irritation” creates space between you and the feeling, allowing you to choose how to respond. These lessons were not abstract. They quietly entered daily life and began to shape it from within.
Outside of class, we maintained mindfulness logs, gratitude journals, and weekly reflections. Writing down three small things I was thankful for each day brought unexpected light into busy weeks. When things felt overwhelming, I could always return to those pages. They reminded me that even on difficult days, there were still reasons to feel grounded and hopeful. Gratitude became my way of reconnecting with joy.
Gradually, mindfulness began to influence how I handled challenges. When assignments piled up or meetings overlapped, I learned to take a breath before reacting. That pause, brief as it was, changed everything. It gave me clarity and calm. The class did not remove the stress of college life, but it gave me tools to face it with steadiness. I began sleeping better, focusing longer, and finding comfort in simple acts like noticing the sky or sharing silence with a friend.
Our classroom community added another dimension to the experience. Everyone participated openly, sharing what worked for them and what did not. No one tried to appear perfect. We spoke with honesty and listened with compassion. Hearing how others experienced mindfulness helped me see its many forms. Some found peace in silence, others in motion, but all of us shared the same desire to live more fully and kindly.
The silent retreat at the end of the course was one of the most moving experiences I have had at Bucknell. We gathered in a quiet space, put away our phones, and practiced everything we had learned. Before we began, Professor Daubman said, “Silence connects people the most because it silences the ego.” I understood those words only after living them. In that silence, the room felt deeply alive. We were connected not by conversation but by presence. Every small movement and gesture carried meaning. When someone adjusted a chair or poured tea, the act felt gentle and human. The silence was not empty; it was full of care.
That day taught me that mindfulness is not about escaping the world but about meeting it more fully. It shows you how to live with attention, patience, and grace. It helps you see that slowing down does not mean falling behind. It means allowing yourself to experience what is already here.
The Mindful Twenty-Something offered scientific insights and practical reflections that made these ideas accessible. It reminded us that mindfulness is a skill, not a personality trait. Anyone can learn to be present with time and effort. This understanding took away the pressure to be perfect and replaced it with curiosity. We were encouraged to adapt practices to our lives, to try shorter meditations or different times of day, and to experiment until we found what worked best.
If you are considering taking this course, know that it is more than an academic experience. It is an invitation to pause and to listen. Each session is an hour and a half of stillness, reflection, and gentle discovery. You will leave not only with knowledge but with a new way of relating to your thoughts and emotions. Professor Daubman will offer two sessions next semester, and if you can find a place in one of them, I cannot recommend it enough. If not, the Tuesday sessions offer the same meaningful opportunity to begin this journey.
At the end of it all, I realized that mindfulness is not just about meditation. It is about being alive to each moment, however ordinary it may seem. It teaches that there is peace even in the midst of movement and that gratitude can be a steady companion through uncertainty.
Virginia was right. This truly is one of the most meaningful courses one can take. It does not promise a different life but helps you see the beauty of the one you already have. It reminds you that presence is enough, that kindness toward yourself is possible, and that even amid all the noise, there is always room for stillness.
