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.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.”
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
Over the past several months, I have been immersed in conversation with women. In therapy sessions, Via Sophia circles, and at dinner tables. During walks, ceremonies, and quiet moments after gatherings have ended. I’ve been listening as stories unfold. Different women. Different lives, histories, and circumstances. Yet beneath the details, I keep hearing a remarkably similar story. Many women are tired.
Last week, I left the house a little earlier than usual.
Not because the day ahead was spacious. Quite the opposite. It was full. Appointments, responsibilities, errands to run, bags still to pack for my upcoming conference. One of those days where the hours already seem spoken for before they even begin.
And yet, before leaving, I found myself lingering in the garden.
The overgrown bushes had finally been removed, opening up an entire section of the bed I hadn’t really seen clearly in years. New flowers and shrubs had recently been planted, and I stood there for a few moments appreciating the fresh openness of it all. The morning light and the possibility of adding a few colorful blossoms. The beauty of something being tended and made new.
