There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t see some article about the incredible benefits of meditation. From “100 Benefits of Meditation”  to “7 Reasons You Should Meditate,” I have been inundated with tips about how my aging brain will thank me for sitting quietly in the corner and meditating.

I was game. Lord only knows that I need help focusing these days, and I liked the added bonus of possibly improving my overall outlook on life. I’ve liked Yoga, and there are quiet points during that, so I thought it wouldn’t be all that difficult. I decided 15 minutes sounded like a good amount of time on my first “inner peace” trip.

I did everything I could to help quiet my mind. I turned off the TV (which was sad because Buying and Selling was on). I turned off my phone so I wouldn’t be tempted to look at my email every time one of my devices dinged. I pictured a calming place. When that didn’t quite get me there, I pictured a staircase leading me into relaxation.

I took deep breaths. I tried to think calming thoughts while my spine was sort of stacked—which is kind of more difficult when you have breasts because the weight of these suckers tends to pull my shoulders forward. But I gave it a shot. More deep breaths followed.

The result?

Meditation stresses me out. I don’t think I ever really got into that quiet mind place. I’m not good at turning off everything that is around me. Every minute I’m sitting in the corner, I’m not doing something productive. After each breath I took, I thought of something else that needed to get done, another bill coming due, another option I hadn’t tried on the road to literary management.  I made it all of seven minutes before I just gave up and gave in to the overwhelming anxiety to do something.

I went to the corner shop and picked up a piece of flourless chocolate cake.

Perhaps chocolate really is my only hope for inner peace.