The Power of Eight Minutes
Hello,
Do you have a minute...or eight?
Simon Sinek tells a story about learning that a close friend had been going through a difficult chapter. When he found out, his reaction was immediate. "Why didn't you call me?"
That conversation eventually led to a simple phrase between friends: "Do you have eight minutes?"
The idea is rooted in research suggesting that a brief moment of meaningful connection can help someone who is struggling begin to see a little light. At first glance, that feels almost absurd. Eight minutes is barely enough time to finish a cup of coffee. It certainly isn't enough time to solve a problem.
But the older I get, the more I think the power of those eight minutes has very little to do with the number itself. The power is in everything that came before it.
More Than Eight Minutes
Most of us have relationships that operate on shorthand. A spouse can give us a look from across a room and we know exactly what they are thinking. A close friend can reference an inside joke from twenty years ago and instantly transport us back to a specific moment in time. Families develop phrases that make perfect sense to the people inside them and no sense at all to anyone else. The words themselves are not what matter. The relationship is what gives the words meaning.
I think "Do you have eight minutes?" works the same way. It is not really a question about time. It is a signal. A way of saying, "I'm struggling," that creates space for another person to respond, "I'm here." The phrase works because the relationship already exists. The trust has already been built. The foundation was laid long before the difficult season arrived.
When Life Gets Heavy
I know what it feels like to carry something heavy, but ironically, things that feel heavy cause me to lose weight because, for me, stress does not lead to comfort eating. It does the opposite. When I'm under enough pressure, I lose my appetite entirely. What starts as a subtle change can become something much bigger if the circumstances persist long enough.
There have been seasons when I lost enough weight that people noticed. They would tell me how good I looked. I understood what they were seeing and why they thought it was a compliment. What they couldn't see was the story behind it.
The best example of this happened during one particularly difficult season when I wore a dress for the first time in a while and realized, as I walked, that my underwear was sliding down because I had lost so much weight. That was the moment I understood how dramatically my body had changed.
What makes those seasons difficult is not believing they will last forever. Intellectually, I know they won't. The challenge is not knowing when they will end.
When we don't know when something will end, time starts to behave differently. A difficult week feels like a month. A difficult month feels like a year. We stop asking what we need today and start wondering how long we can keep carrying what we're carrying. The uncertainty becomes its own burden, and when people are carrying something heavy, they often do something surprising. They retreat.
The Lie We Tell Ourselves
When I have been at my lowest, both in emotional strength and, as a result, weight, a thought sometimes creeps into my head: "I'm not fit for human consumption." It is not a rational thought, and it certainly isn't a kind one.
Yet difficult seasons have a way of convincing us that we should isolate ourselves until we have everything figured out. We tell ourselves we will reach out when we feel more like ourselves. We convince ourselves that other people do not need to be burdened with what we are carrying. The irony is that those are often the moments when we need connection most.
Looking back, the people who helped me most never solved the problem itself. They checked in, listened, sat with uncertainty when there were no easy answers, and reminded me that what I was feeling was a normal response to a difficult situation. Most importantly, they reminded me that I was not alone. What they gave me was not a solution, but companionship.
Building the Bridge Before You Need It
I think that is what I love most about the idea of eight minutes. The conversation starts before anyone needs it. The trust is built in ordinary moments through shared experiences, inside jokes, text messages, lunches, phone calls, and years of showing up for one another. That is what allows a simple phrase to carry so much meaning.
It also reminds me that none of us knows when we will need those eight minutes. We don't know when a friend will lose a parent, when a family member will face a health challenge, when a coworker will be carrying something they haven't told anyone about, or when we will be the one struggling. What we do know is that relationships built during the good times become lifelines during the hard times.
Eight Minutes
If you've lived long enough, you've probably been on both sides of this equation. You've probably needed someone's eight minutes, and you've probably had opportunities to offer your own.
I know I'm not always great at knowing exactly what to say. When someone I care about is struggling, I often worry that I will say the wrong thing. Yet I keep coming back to the same realization: people rarely need me to have the perfect words. They need me to show up. Whether that means listening, sitting quietly beside them, or simply reminding them that they are seen, the goal is rarely to solve the problem. The goal is to help carry it. After all, eight minutes won't solve someone's problem, but it might remind them that they don't have to carry it alone.
~Heather
P.S. Some television shows are entertaining. A few stay with you long after the credits roll.
That is why my Catch of the Week this week is Dying for Sex.
On the surface, the show is about a woman facing a terminal cancer diagnosis. At its heart, though, it is about friendship. Specifically, it is about the kind of friendship that shows up when life becomes messy, painful, inconvenient, and uncertain.
The relationship between the two main characters is one of the most special I have ever seen portrayed on television. It is funny, honest, imperfect, and fiercely devoted. There are moments that will make you laugh out loud and others that will leave you reaching for a tissue. Through it all, there is a powerful reminder that we do not have to carry life's hardest moments alone.
The catch is this: when people talk about love, they often focus on romance. Dying for Sex is a beautiful reminder that some of the deepest expressions of love are found in friendship, presence, and the simple act of staying beside someone when they need you most.
For a week when I have been thinking about how important it is not to face hard times alone, this show felt like the perfect companion.
P.P.S. Please remember to...
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Thank you for sharing and for your vulnerability. It's not easy... We are meant to be in community and relationship with others, but I also struggle with prioritizing time for it.
I'm reminded of 2 books I've read recently:
1. The Common Rule by Justin W. Earley. Among other habits, he talks about building the habit of a 1 hr (or so) conversation with a friend each week...
2. The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld (children's book for my kids). It's about a boy who is upset and all these animals want to "help" by providing solutions or suggestions for dealing with his feelings; but the boy doesn't want the help. Until the rabbit comes and just sits with him…