I walked out of the gym one morning into a cold, dreary New Jersey rain.
After my challenging workout, I gingerly lowered myself into the driver’s seat. Taking stock, I felt cold, damp, and hungry. My butt muscles hurt and I didn’t think my packed lunch of edamame, turkey, and pineapple was sufficient to fuel my entire work day.
A warm cup of turkey chili from Panera seemed like a nice addition to my little lunch.
I pulled over, opened the Panera app, ordered my chili. I appreciated the convenience as it would be ready for me when I arrived. I chose the option to pick it up myself in the cafe. Of course. I’m a considerate human. I don’t need a server to have to run through the rain while I stay dry in my comfy car.
Arriving, I figured I’d run in real fast and grab that chili.
With only my umbrella and keys, I left my purse behind as I made a beeline for the pick up shelf. As I spotted my little brown bag sitting all alone, I heard my name called.
Turns out, the ice tea was suggestive selling. “Kathy, take me home. I’m delicious.”
Yum. A large cup of ice, tea sweetened with stevia, and a hint of caffeine enticed me to grab a cup. Just what the doctor ordered. As I waited behind a woman filling her cup with ice, I realized I had no purse or phone to pay for my drink. Uh oh.
I was in a quandary.
My head was on swivel between that alluring ice tea machine and my car parked far, far away in the cold drizzle. I might have looked lost, but there was no one around to notice me except for the woman slowly topping off her soda.
Undisturbed, I had the freedom to swivel my thoughts back and forth as I debated the choices before me.
I want an ice tea. I don’t have money. My desire is in front of me. My purse is far away. I’m dry and kinda warm. I don’t wanna be cold and damp again (and again and again). The cup is in reach and I could just take one without paying for it.
Which, in case you haven’t caught on, would be stealing.
That was interesting. Here I was, an adult woman with a purse full of money, contemplating how to get my iced tea without the discomfort of two extra trips in the cold drizzle. My body joined the conversation and suggested I limit extra travel time given how sore my butt and legs were in the moment.
Which was interesting ‘cause my feet would’t move. There was no way I was stealing from Panera.
I really wanted that ice tea and I really wanted to stay dry. It seemed a long time that this debate went on, but I think that’s just proof that I was a bit foggy and required caffeine in the moment.
When the woman moved away from the drink machine, it hit me. Eureka!
I had ordered my chili online. I could take the drink, go to my car (in one trip), and order a drink. I’d be warm and cozy. Panera and I would be square. And my angel would’ve earned her halo. That’s a win, win, win.
I left Panera feeling proud, soon to be satiated, and righteously moral.
Before heading to my office, I opened that app and paid for my small drink. I sweetened my ice tea, blasted the heat, and took a sip. Sweet success. I didn’t give it another thought until an hour later when I reached for my drink.
I looked at my big cup in confusion. How did my small ice tea get so large?
Then it dawned on me. I grabbed a large to go cup, as usual. So here I was drinking a large ice tea after paying for a small drink.
So, I guess I stole from Panera after all. 1 point to that tricky devil.
Guess where I headed the next day? I figured I could explain to the manager that I stole the difference between a small and large ice tea. Maybe together we could do the math and I’d hand over my dollar and change. But I decided to just pull up the app and order a large drink. Then I sauntered into Panera (with my purse) and grabbed my tiny cup of ice tea.
My angel was happy with that decision. My devil just called me a wimp.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
I walked out of the gym one morning into a cold, dreary New Jersey rain.
After my challenging workout, I gingerly lowered myself into the driver’s seat. Taking stock, I felt cold, damp, and hungry. My butt muscles hurt and I didn’t think my packed lunch was sufficient to fuel my entire work day.
I was driving home with my daughter when we noticed a large snapping turtle crossing the roadway. It was a tiny back street lined with a small pond.
I recently found myself thinking about activism. About the many ways we show up for what matters to us.
As I considered this, three memories arrived. Rapidly, as if they were part of my contemplation.
The first was a conversation I had with a woman in my town. She was giving me an update on her recent gathering with other mothers protesting against gun violence. I was interested as we had explored what mattered to her as she approached retirement. Protecting children in schools and on street corners mattered, so she joined with other moms who cared about the same.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
Eight years ago, I traveled to Costa Rica for a week-long retreat centered around ayahuasca, breathwork, yoga, and deep inner exploration.
Like many people who are drawn to these experiences, I went seeking something. You might call it a Divine encounter. You might call it awakening. You might call it healing.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for. I only knew there seemed to be a place people spoke about. That place beyond ordinary life.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
