I’m in a small waiting room at the hospital, waiting to have a couple of procedures. Soft and gentle spa-like music plays in the background. I breathe deep and invite the Divine into this space, then smile, realizing the little room is already a holy place, and the invitation is for me to be still and know.
A painting depicting five women standing in a flower field with their arms around one another holds my attention. I take note of the artist’s name so I can look her up later. (Turns out she’s a local artist.)
Not so many years ago, there would have been an assortment of magazines on an end table, but we don’t do that anymore. Either the pandemic or the use of smart phones caused the shift. There’s nothing to do but be present in the moment.
I’m not alone for long. Other women come, wait, and go into an adjoining room when their name is called. None of us have our phones, having locked our belongings up in a small locker after we undressed from the waist up and donned open-to-the-front pink gowns. Instead of scrolling, we make eye contact and chat. It’s quite refreshing.
One is a first-timer. “Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Everyone’s different,” I tell her. “It’s uncomfortable, but not bad.”
Her name is called, and she leaves for the procedure. When she’s finished, she pauses to thank me with a smile on her way out.
I chat with other women, closer to my age, who are used to this game. One, also like me, has been called back after just being here a couple of weeks ago. We compare notes. We’re both going to be going down the hall for another test when we’re finished with this one.
There’s something sweet and sacred about the quiet company of women that we miss out on with the distraction of our devices. Ordinarily, I’m not much for small talk, but the sanctuary of this room on this day with these women changes that. I’m not there for long, but the feminine energy in the space is precious and calming.
Later, when I’m finished and back in my car, validated parking stub in hand, I pull my phone out of my purse and peek at my email. There’s one with a tone that causes a knot in my stomach. I feel irritation bubble up, then remind myself that sender’s tone only reflects what’s in their heart. I don’t want to let go of the peace gifted me from the women in the waiting room, so I let the harsh feelings go.
So much of how we are with other people in our day-to-day is influenced by what’s in our heart. The women waiting with me were all in need of comfort and, instinctively, we gave it to one another through the gentle words we shared. The person who sent me the email (and another one with a similar tone less than a half hour later) was coming from a different place.
Sometimes, I need to check myself when what’s coming out doesn’t align with the kind of person I want to be in the world. It’s pretty easy for me to remain closed off and, yes, judgmental. If I believe the divine is everywhere and in all things, that every place I go is I holy ground, and that every person I encounter is so, so loved, that should influence how I am with other people. My quirkiness and yours is what makes us unique—and beautifully unique we all are. When I’m tender with myself, I can be gentle with those around me. This morning reminded me to remain soft, to look and act through the filter of love.
I still believe that it’s in the small moments where we have the most influence, that healing the world starts with me choosing to be gentle and kind, and that when I mess up, I begin again. Maybe, while we’re waiting for the churning to settle down, we can be present together, offer intangible gifts of peace, and lean in to the sacred. I believe that’ll help.
I’m gonna try.