Author, Mindfulness Teacher & Coach
Have you ever called someone by accident or sent an email to the wrong person, and then cringed? Before you dismiss it as a mistake or coincidence, consider this: what if your soul was trying to get a message through? What if it wasn’t a butt dial at all, but a heart dial?
The ancient wisdom keepers knew something we have forgotten: that unhappiness is not the absence of more, but the absence of depth. We have become strangers to our happiness, living on the surface of a life that was meant to be an ocean.
I have an oyster to offer you; plain on the outside, luminous within. Whether or not you have children, pets, or a “baby” project, life will eventually invite you to open it and find the pearl: "You are becoming your own mother." Not becoming like the mother who raised you, but becoming the person who will nurture you like a mother is called to do. Off course you can refuse it, but I don't advise.
What if I told you that the seemingly innocent pile of mail on your kitchen counter is secretly sabotaging your dreams? Or that the harmless pile of clothes and books on the floor of your bedroom is depleting your sense of identity?
Without a phone in my hand, I looked up. I asked a kind stranger if I could borrow his phone to call my husband. Of course, my husband didn’t answer a call from an unfamiliar number. I left a voicemail. Tried again. This time, he picked up, offering to turn the car around. But the train was about to depart
A week ago, my husband had a heart attack while we were on a quiet day trip to Bennington, Vermont. One moment we were admiring the countryside, the next I was yelling at him to pull over as he gripped his chest. With no cell signal and no time to spare, I took the wheel and drove fast, scanning desperately for an “H” sign on the roads. Somewhere between panic and prayer, we made it to the emergency room. (And yes, I may have tailgated a Florida license plate going 20 in a 30 mph zone. Desperate times, but I didn't honk at the driver.)
