Parking Outside the Lines

As my day was winding down last Saturday, I hastily pulled into a very empty parking lot outside a grocery store. In a rush to pick up my son, I threw the car into park and ran into the store.  When I came outside, I found this note on my car:

THANK YOU

YOU INCONSIDERATE BASTARD

NEXT TIME PARK IN BETWEEN THE LINES

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I took a deep breath and asked myself, what message is the person who wrote this note sending me? I hear you laughing. I mean pretty obvious, right? I looked at my tires. Perhaps I was a bit over the line, but not by much. And the parking lot was empty. This note was not about me.

As I got in my car, I began to wonder what this person’s life has been like that he needed to take the time to write a note like that and stick it on my car. Who was he yelling at, really? Who had invaded his space? Who was the inconsiderate bastard?

Driving away with the note gripped between my hands and the wheel, I thought about a life teaching that says people are showing you where their pain is when they lash out at you. They are actually screaming for you to help. If you can appreciate this, give them a compliment or just acknowledge them you will help them tremendously. In my opinion, a much better alternative to screaming back, right? So was I holding a reminder of this lesson?

Perhaps.

When I got home, I went back to the note and was struck suddenly by his first words: Thank you. While he may have written this with sarcasm at heart, maybe not. Perhaps he was really thanking me for allowing him to vent. What if I had given him the perfect opportunity. What if that is what we are here in life to do – help each other unleash our buried emotions so we can all breathe easier? Today we are the windshield and tomorrow, the bug.

The note didn’t seem half as bad all of a sudden.  In fact it felt like a blessing in disguise.  I was about to toss it when I was reminded about a friend of mine who had been going through a challenge over the past few weeks. She had turned inward and quiet, and this had caused me to feel helpless. The more I tried to help, the more she withdrew. So, I kept trying.  She is not a yeller, but if she was, I bet she would have yelled, THANK YOU, YOU INCONSIDERATE BASTARD!

Have I been invading her space? I have certainly not been staying within the lines. And because I did not get it at the time, some very considerate gentleman helped me out by dropping a not so subtle hint on my windshield.

So, while I was helping out the person who wrote the note, was he not also helping me? Can we not in every interaction be both the windshield and the bug?

I have driven enough to know that receiving a note on your windshield is not unique. We have all been told off in traffic. But what if we all saw anger as a blessing, knowing in some way, we were helping that person?  And what if we needed help back?  Were we speeding?  Distracted?  What if at that moment we needed to slow down, put down the phone, get out of our heads?

If we are always here to help each other, there is never any reason for anyone to feel like we have done something wrong, or to judge another.  No reason for guilt, blame or hatred.  The next time you receive a ticket for speeding from a police man, he may have been saving your life, averting an accident.  Detoured by traffic, life put you out of harms way of a falling tree limb.

When life does not seem harmonious or when something pulls us out of your normal routine, if we stop to pause, there may is a message there. An opportunity to help, make a difference.  Just beyond our frustration, lies a beautiful garden of understanding, forgiveness and grace.  Perhaps next time we get rear ended or told off at a sporting event, even quietly to ourselves, we can say, thank you.

I know I am saying thank you to the beautiful person who left the note on my car. For, we never met but we indeed helped each other out. We are truly all connected, if by nothing else, than by simply being human.  Just being ourselves is all we need to do to begin to change the world, one note at a time.

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Letting Go

Is it not a mother’s job to protect her children no matter what?  I say no.

There comes a time, when we need to allow the disappointments, the judgements, the unfair accusations. Allow the difficulties in life to wreck havoc on our children’s hearts, breaking them, wide open, so that it may put itself back together with insight, understanding and maturity.

It is truly the job of a mother to step aside, and allow life to slowly, or swiftly do its damage.  For a life filled with receiving only beautifully wrapped offerings, teaching nothing.  The passing over for a job, rejection by a crush, loss of a leadership position – all of these occurrences are gifts in disguise, and are there for good.  They are messages letting us know, we are knocking on the wrong door.  That we are stronger than we know.

Our children need to receive these messages, more than we need to save them from experiencing them.  We spend our years praying and hoping that only good fortune is dropped at their doorstep.  We feed, clothe, nourish and teach our children, but we don’t let go.  And so our children do what they can to help us.  They push us away.  They say no.  Stop.  It is enough.  During adolescents, they engage with us like fighters, turning against us, challenging our authority.  And suddenly, we feel as if our children are crazy, and know nothing about life.  And yet, they are wiser than us.

Our children want to invite the challenges, the hurt ,that can only help them in the best way possible.  They invite those nuances and challenges into their lives, as if they are welcome.  Because they are.  They are the doorway to everything we have always wanted for our children.

As mothers, with all that we do, the most profound act is to guide, allow and wait with an outstretched hand when our children need help getting back on their feet.  For to control, change, alter the outcome of life will only set them back  They need to navigate storms, and be able to call upon the life jackets that we, as mothers, have sewn into the seem of their minds and hearts.  Calling upon our love, not if, but when life happens.

We, as mothers, have survived our own hurricanes.  Had we not had to buckle down and do what we can to protect ourselves while the storm damages all that is in her path?  Are we not stronger, smarter, more aware because of the rain that pelted us relentlessly?  And is it not time for us to release our children from our grip.  To allow them to take their hard knocks because that is what we signed on for; and at the very least, that is part of life.   To allow their disappointments to become gifts.

As hard as it is, we need be the stump that our children learn upon for support, or just to rest.  We no longer are The Giving Tree that feeds them with apples, or shades them with our branches.  We are not the trunk that provides them with the vessel to go off to far away places.  We are still useful, but must be not get in the way.  For we are doing more harm than good when we reach in and try to change the outcome; to pull them out of their wold.

For each disappointment, argument, break up, rejection is but a death of what was, and an opening into a future of everything we have ever wanted for our child.  We just need to cut the cord – again.  We do it when our children are born, and must do it when they emerge as adolescents with their hearts wide open, ready to break.  And in the place of the cord, we connect through letting go, a stronger and more resilient bond that lasts forever.

It is time to let go.

The Stories Whispered While I Was Sleeping

 

I have a confession. I have been a tyrant. A domineering, controlling, relentless commander for the past forty years, and the victim of my transgressions has been you, my beloved body.

I have judged, manipulated, hated and resented you. I have taken you for granted. When we were younger, I pushed you beyond your limit with exercise and dieting, while always demanding perfection. Then there were the pregnancies. You performed beautifully, feeding and protecting the little bodies growing inside of me – such magic. Yet, there I was again, criticizing those stretch marks, extra pounds and scars. Now, at forty-seven, age has come with its own set of judgments and standards. Too many lines, bulges and sags, where once, there was none. I have plucked, shaved, colored, waxed and whitened. And you have allowed me all along to think this is what mattered.

With all that I have thrown at you, there has been nothing but love and the beautiful workings of a perfectly functioning body in return. Yes, you are perfectly functioning, even with headaches, disease, broken bones and fatigue. Symptoms that I tried to quiet, ever so loudly with pills, surgeries, caffeine and sugar.

You see, I did not like that you were slowing me down. I did not know that you had a bigger plan. That it was your way, the only way you knew how to tell me it was time to put down my sword and pick up my heart. To put aside the future, and release the past, living in the moment through each glorious breath.

I did not know that slowing down was what I needed to do, so I could open my eyes and truly see my life. Appreciate the flawless workings of nature that surrounded me, feel the touch from another human as the connection to all that we are, and understand the thirst of pain in my child’s eye was there for her to feel, not to be quenched.

I did not know that when I slowed down, time became abundant, and love arose, and in that space, came a chance to feel it all. To cast aside judgment and blame, and welcome home all feelings – especially the unfavorable ones like anger, sadness, jealousy confusion and boredom. That allowing my feelings to slowly destroy me, through the lowest moment of despair, was where the miracles began to happen – I found the path back to perfect health. How the power of relaxation is not a luxury, but a necessity, a daily prescription. That too much time with technology is over stimulating, while not enough time alone is stagnating. That nature is calming, as is the company of a dog. How the flow of creativity allows for the joyful fluttering of my heart, and the feeling of an afternoon nap is not about laziness, but self-care. And playing more within the confines of an adult life creates the opportunity to dream, while the healing power of music and laughter is bountiful.

Stillness is the way back to health, for it is in this space, that our heart whispers all the answers. It is here, where we wake up. It is not time to write our own rules? Blanket medical procedures, general prescriptions, mass dieting and exercise do not work. For we are each unique, with our own needs, our own stories whispered from deep within. What makes one heart sing causes another discomfort. What heals one person harms another. Hating our bodies, and quick fixes only up the ante for the lessons we came here to learn. Perhaps, we have all been too busy shouting judgments and opinions that we have never stopped to hear the stories whispered from of our own bodies while we were sleeping.

Stillness does speak. I heard in beautiful verse, the answers emerging from my tingling skin. It was sinus pressure that erupted, each time I held my feelings inside. Migraines, when I have given away my power. Adrenal fatigue when I have pushed you beyond limits, choosing another over myself. Broken bones, a way to slow myself down, take a break.

There is always more to know and learn, and with patience, the understanding will come. Until then, I accept and I receive each physical discomfort as a gift, knowing there is something beautiful waiting on the other side.

Wrapped within these gifts are the hearts yearning for self-love. Here begins the process of dissolving the physical reminders, steering us gently back to the path of perfect health. And it is you, my body, surrounding my all- knowing heart with your beautiful layers of perfectly working divine miracles that have opened my eyes and led the way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Mirror of Truth

How often do we tell ourselves lies within the walls of our relationships?  It all begins innocently, as small untruths cloaked in a dress of feigned indifference.  We tell our significant other that we do not care what restaurant we go to, when we do.  Or we choose to go out with a friend, when what we really want is to be home alone, with a good book.  Once the wound is opened, the occurrence of lies increases, thickening like dried blood upon our skin.  Eventually, we become lost, forgoing ourselves completely.  We do not know who we are or what we want.  Our needs are buried deep within ourselves, beneath layers of denial and lies.  We continue through our days, sliding across the moments of our lives, having learned these lies as a way of living.

This denial of ourselves continues until we come upon a person who senses our weakness, who commands themselves over us, as they try to fill their own hole, a void in their heart.  And we allow it, until the moment when we don’t.  We snap, and a voice from deep within us creates a wedge, and our own words rise from within us loud and clear.  We sense we began to hide from ourselves long before the innocent lies began.  Yet the anger is felt now, and is raw which enables us to withdraw from another’s embrace, and revel in disbelief at how they have mistreated us.

Our anger serves us well as we step away from our partner.  Our disbelief fuels further awareness.  And although we no longer chose to dance with this inequality of abuse and control, we see that it was always a choice, our choice.  Perhaps this is the dramatic way we chose to learn the lesson to love ourselves beyond a doubt, to come back to ourselves after we have strayed so far.  A respite of relief we cannot deny, after we have been left starving, neglected and alone; shivering in the iciness of another’s actions, which felt nothing but damaging and loveless.

Yet, is it possible to see this person, their attempt to snuff out our being, as a gift, a mirror of truth? Out of love, they have led us so far from ourselves that we have no option than to snap back, like a rubber band that has reached its limit.  Yes, it hurts when the band retreats quickly, whipping against our skin.  Yes, there is loss, sadness, disappointment.  There is rage, disbelief and pain.  But over time, the redness fades, the sting remits.  And we begin to understand that the stretching is just what we needed to grow.

So, we leave.  And with nobody to control, our dance partners have no option but to look at themselves, to see the nature of their behavior.  And this is not easy, so they resort to manipulation as an attempt to take back control.  But if we stay strong, we give back to them what they gave to us.  We become their mirror of truth.

Regardless of which side of the mirror we are on, when the dance ends, we are left standing alone. This is the perfect place to look into our own eyes, and melt into our feelings.  To accept the confusion, anger and loneliness we feel. To learn how to give ourselves all that we need, what we never had, one step at a time.  To love ourselves unconditionally, without judgement for what we have said or done.  To let go of our story.  To treat ourselves like we would a child, with compassion and understanding.  And eventually to forgive, not only another, but ourselves.

And we begin to understand that what we have been searching for our whole lives is the beauty and love of our own heart.  The joy of hearing the cry of our own voice.  The peace of loving ourselves for who we are, not breaking ourselves down for who we are not. The joy of loving all of ourselves, not judging our behaviors as good or bad. And the bliss of knowing everything we need is right here within us.

Until we show ourselves more love, not less, the search for a savior, a temporary fix, will continue.  We will live with the hopes of dancing with the perfect parent, the endlessly adorning lover, the unconditionally loving friend.  And the violins will again begin to play, enticing us to embrace one another desperately, until we are pushed once again to face the mirror of truth. When we come home, accept and love ourselves fully, we will look no more.  Our lesson is learned.  The dance will end.  The mirror will shatter. 

Just a Boy and His Sixty-Year-Old Best Friend

About five years ago, my husband and I found ourselves in the thick of the weeds, adopting our son from Russia.  Also around this same time, I stopped watching the news and reading the newspaper.  I felt the truth, that what we put our attention on, is what we bring into our lives.  Like everything else I put my mind to, I went about this with a vengeance.  I read and followed positive Facebook groups, sought out new friendships with spiritually guided people, watched inspirational videos, and used my newfound time to just get quiet.  This all served me well in the adoption process, for I did not dwell on horror stories, but the inspirational moments that can often come from opening your heart and home to a child in need.  I thought about all I would teach my new son, guiding and loving him through those precious first few years.

When the questions arose throughout the adoption process, whether our son will be ok physically, mentally, emotionally or if he would fit in with our family, I simply placed them upon a shelf.  With faith in my heart, we marched on, eventually carrying Drew across the threshold of our home at the tender age of eighteen months.  As a new family of five, it turned out to be a whirlwind first few years filled with both joy and rough patches that took every ounce of energy to keep us on track.  Over time, Drew was in all senses of the word, a typical average American boy.  He liked cartoons, light up superhero sneakers, and macaroni and cheese.  And yet, there was this one thing that was a bit different – Drew gravitated towards older people, about sixty years older.  Maybe it was because older women raised him the first year of his life, or perhaps his whirlwind of a beginning in this world allowed him to never count anybody out in life.  Either way, his heart was wide open, the day he met John.

Next door, John and his wife Peggy, had three kids of their own, grown and married.  Drew began to ask to play with John, often wandering into their backyard.  I would see John and Drew watering the plants together, looking in the woods for cool insects, and often wandering inside for a game of flashlight tag.  Soon, requests to hang out with John became more regular.  He would become excited, gather his army figures or trucks, and head off to John’s house as if it was all perfectly normal to have a best friend who was sixty. To Drew, John was simply a friend, the coolest friend he knew.  I thought about my own friendships, how I loved them dearly, and yet how many, if not all, were just like me.

The friendship between Drew and John grew, illustrated by their spending hours mowing the lawn, walking the dog and simply, talking.  Then came the summer when Drew turned 6.  We were slotted to move with both an air of excitement and a heavy heart.  Although we were only moving across town, it felt like the other side of the world.  As the moving truck pulled away with our belongings, I felt a tug at my heart.  A lot of effort would need to be made for their friendship to continue.  “John’s going to come to our new house everyday,” Drew said with the light in his eyes.  I looked away, not able to meet his gaze.  I knew Drew loved John with all his heart, and I knew John liked him, but what I did not know was if the visits would continue.  As a mother, you make decisions everyday that affect your children, you just never want one to them to break your child’s heart.

As we set out for the mountainous job of unpacking and becoming settled in, I tried to lift Drew’s spirits by pointing out the awesome new pinball machine, and how the woods around our house would be a great place to search for bugs.  “I think John will love them,” Drew said.  I sighed, and simply knew his feelings would fade over time.  After all, the saying time heals all wounds speaks to an undeniable truth.  The question of whether this friendship would continue, I put upon a shelf.

During the next few weeks Drew and his dad played in the woods, searching for fish in the stream, both coming home tired and dirty.  It was sweet, and Drew loves his dad, but still, in his heart, I knew he missed his best friend.  He missed John.

One morning soon after, I was sitting with a cup of coffee and sifting through my emails.  I clicked on the address that was not familiar.   One line stood in the middle of the page.

Would Drew like to come over and play?  John.

My heart leapt, as I let out a huge breath I did not know I had been holding.  It was then that I knew that this friendship was just as meaningful to John, as it was to Drew.  Had it not been obvious the way their faces light up when they are around each other, each giving their hearts shamelessly, sharing in the same likes and interests.  They were happy to just be with each other, as if a few miles could break that kind of bond.  I smiled as my question came off the shelf, and vanished into thin air.

I thought back to all those hours I had spent dreaming about teaching Drew how to throw a ball and ride a bike.  And here he was teaching me something of far greater importance.  How we put restrictions on ourselves every day, and not only as parents but as human beings.  My son has taught me that we need to discard our boundaries.  We should not overlook dusty corners, out-of-the-way nooks and crannies for love and friendship.   We need to change the route we always take home and say yes, when we always say no.  Only then can we begin to become familiar with the scent of the energy, the hint of their heart, and the depths of a soul we may never have given a second glance.  We can choose a quiet person to talk to, engage a homeless person, look into the eyes of a teenager with baggy pants and a hoodie tied snugly, and know that beneath his mask, he has a heart just like our own.  Drew has taught me that life has no walls except the ones we erect.

I still receive the emails from John, and his friendship with Drew continues to this day.  Drew is more than just a boy with a sixty-year-old best friend. He is my teacher.  For he has shown me that if we don’t count anybody out, they may turn out to be someone who will get down on his knees and get dirty with us.  It is time to break apart our well-crafted boxes.  It is time we all change the channel.

My Forever Moment

My Forever Moment

En route to Yankee Stadium, I was involved in a head on collision with life. The day had begun like every other Saturday with coffee brewing, cartoons blaring, dog barking and teenagers sleeping through it all. Soon enough, we found ourselves humming along the Cross Bronx Expressway, the tires of our SUV mindlessly dipping and swerving between potholes. Stuffed in the back of the car, along with our children, were snacks, oversized bottles of water, and an air of excitement. My husband helped the radio dance between channels, finding the right song to keep the mood up beat, while I set up our lunch of chicken salad.

I glanced out the front windshield to assess the traffic, and that was when I saw him. Had I been thinking about my grocery list or wondering whether I had answered all my emails, I might have missed him. There, on the side of the road, stood a man. He was dirty and frail, his fingers gripping a sign, too sloppy to read. Car after car passed him by, their windows firmly closed, shutting out the possibility to make a connection. I do not judge them. Homeless people on the side of the road are as common as deer grazing suburban neighborhoods. I have walked by many myself. But this time, I noticed him. It seemed that my passion for introspection, meditation and spiritual teachings had made its mark. I needed to give this man something, anything.

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The contrast was not lost on me that through the open window, we handed him expensive, organic, health food store bought, chicken salad. Our worlds, this man and ours, were colliding, giving way to a shame that reddened my cheeks; a contrast so stark for all we had, and all he did not. Our eyes met. I felt his desperation pass through me as chills. The moment felt like forever. Through a toothless smile, he nodded in thanks. The entire interaction took less than 15 seconds, yet a moment I will remember forever.

After the game, exhausted and satisfied, we filed quietly into our home, plunging into the security of our warm beds. Everyone slept, except for me. I thought about the man. His face etched in my mind like the dirt beneath his fingernails. Where is he sleeping? Is he insane or just unlucky? How do we teach our children who have so many luxuries, to have compassion for those that have so little? Eventually sleep came, although it was restless.

The next morning, with a mouthful of syrup drenched, home made, pancakes, my son uttered, “Why did we give that man our food?” My forever moment continued.

As parents, we spend hours teaching our children right and from wrong, trying to find a balance between guiding, redirecting and reassuring. Some of what we say sticks, but most flies out the window. No sooner as the words leave our lips, our children are on to look at the next Instagram post or Facebook friend request. If the average attention span for the general population is now eight seconds, for children living in the technological age, it must be half that. Telling our children to “Clean up your room” has the same vibrational frequency as, “Say thank you and please.” Or, “Don’t be mean to anyone.” It all becomes white noise until that one moment in life where we act without thinking; that moment when life puts someone in our path to remind us that our actions mean more than words. And when it comes from the heart, it just sticks.

And these opportunities come every day, from all walks of life. Some are obvious, far reaching and heart wrenching, like 9/11. While others seem less obvious, as easy to miss as the holding of a door for the person behind you. But when we follow our own heart in everyday life, this penetrates deeply into the souls of our children. When we say no to an invitation because we are tired, we are teaching our children how to take care of themselves. Standing up to a friend who takes advantage, shows them what it means to have self-respect. Including others in our circle of life, regardless of where they go to University and what they do for a living. Speaking kindly to the waiter in a restaurant because he is as important as the financial advisor who invests our money – all expressions of unconditional love. And to be able to help someone in need because this is what generosity and compassion is all about.

Perhaps it was just chicken salad. Or maybe for a moment, this man felt like someone saw him; that he mattered. Maybe we all just want to know that we matter. When we see the beauty of the sun crying farewell tears against the nighttime sky, we feel something. But how often do we do this? We are all so busy; there is barely time to breathe. If we slow down, we will find we have endless opportunities to make a difference, to follow our heart because this is what we are supposed to do; this is how we are designed. There are so many forever moments, dressed up as ordinary life. And if we stop listening to the voices in our head, we will all hear our hearts.

I can still feel the deafening silence that circulated within our car after we drove away that day. I want to believe our children were taking in what occurred, and storing it in a part of their brain under how to live in this often perplexing, confusing and unfair world. Or maybe they felt it too, just an auspicious moment that held a greater importance than we all could ever understand.

I have always admired the road less travelled, but perhaps it does not matter what route you take as long as you bring your heart along for the ride.

An Angel in Disguise

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During an interview at work recently, I met a man, a very desperate man, who wanted to work for our small agency.

The interview began just as any other. Introductions were made and work history was reviewed, while the critical analysis of his appearance, age and his general fit was swimming around my subconscious.

In general, candidates tell you things you are not supposed to ask, so I simply nodded when he offered up the information that he has a wife and two children. But when he added that he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis five years ago, that life has certainly handed him some challenges, I was unprepared for what happened next. Like a light bulb that blows unexpectedly when you turn on a switch, I was surprised when he began to cry.

Feeling a lump growing in my throat, I tried to ignore it. But events that come unexpectedly, especially ones that change your life, have an undeniable, underlying truth that cannot be swallowed away. It seemed that my years of soul-searching, meditating and determination to make a difference in others’ lives, came smack up against my hardened professionalism in the world of business.

My inner and outer worlds were about to crumble together in one heaping pile of tears. My heart began to speak over my head, and I found myself asking him how he managed with his plate so full. How he sounded like an amazing father with the strength to move mountains. I knew I stumbled upon not just a man, a body who needed a job, but a soul with an open heart, who was suddenly touching mine.

Through his tears, he voiced how he could not understand why nobody has given him a chance. That he was a good person and a hard worker. That being out of work for over a year was chipping away at his self esteem.

As I took a breath, I could no longer deny how I was immeasurably touched by his vulnerability. I wanted to toss my pen and paper, and reach out and hug him, thank him for his openness. I wanted to explain to him that most people who interview for a job, have created a hard professionalism, surrounding their heart with armour. They think there is a “right way” to go on an interview, and too often, it is an act, an image thrown out at an employer, fooling them into hiring a drone, one seemingly without a heart.

But life is not exactly like the movies, so I did not hug him, or give him a high-five. I simply allowed the shift inside myself to settle. And awareness came to the forefront of my mind. Life has thrown this man so many curve balls that he has forgotten how to hold up his shield, put on his mask.

Nobody had hired him, despite his good experience. Perhaps, they were afraid—their own armor snugly in place. I do not judge. It is just an observation, because that was me. In my professional life as a recruiter, I interviewed thousands of people, all with my heart deeply buried. I checked them each off my list like they were pieces of scrap metal and I was the junkyard dog. And I got paid a lot of money.

But somewhere over the course of my soul-searching, I must have woken up. And when we wake up, life gives us beautiful gifts disguised as reminders, teachers and messengers—to confirm we are on the right path. Intuitively, I knew why this man was sitting in front of me. A gentle soul, he was there to teach me to listen to my heart. To tell me that I am on the right path, that it is my mission to show others how we all need to bring our hearts back into our businesses.

It is time we start merging our outer and inner lives. To not wait until somebody shows up at the office with a gun or for terrorists who tear apart our families, shaking the foundation of our lives, to wake up and listen to one another. To allow our vulnerability and hearts to remain open, whether we are pouring coffee, selling commodities or creating websites.

After all, it is all too easy to let our hearts open in the safety of a dark movie theater or beneath the security of our blankets at night. But how does this look in real life? What about in those hard to reach places like behind a desk? What if we all began to merge this outer and inner life? To ask the person making our coffee at our local hang out how he is doing, and mean it. Instead of cursing them out silently, to see another who is complaining, as someone who needs more understanding and love, not less.

If we stop trying so hard to look a certain way, and turn inward to how we feel, might we all breathe a little easier? There are teachers and messengers everywhere we go, reminding us, we are all here to open our hearts more, and feeling is simply human. This man who sat in front of me was not just another resume, but a check mark in the employment box of life; a yes in favor of humanity.

I hired this gentle soul. I look forward to all he has to teach me, for he is truly, an angel in disguise