It was a typical morning — the kind where I did not want to get out of bed. Partly because I love my bed. Partly because it feels safe. But if I am being honest, it was also because I wanted to withdraw. Not depression. Not denial. Just that quiet temptation to sink inward and disengage from the world for a while. To stay small. To not participate.
And then I heard that gentle but firm voice inside me say, No. It’s a beautiful day. So, I got up.
I decided to do Dr. Joe’s walking meditation. I’ll share the details another time, but the practice is simple and powerful. You walk. You stop. You breathe. You embody the future version of yourself. At one point he says something along the lines of: If you want change in the world, be the example. Change yourself, and you change the world. Then you walk again — not as the old you, but as the new vibration you are choosing to live into.
There was barely a cloud in the sky that morning in Seal Beach, CA. You could see for miles. The ocean was steady, expansive. It felt like possibility.
So there I was — walking, stopping, shifting my energy, stepping into this future self — when I noticed an elderly woman waving at me.
I waved back casually, assuming it was just a friendly beach greeting. But she kept motioning. She was calling me over.
In that split second, I had a choice. I could keep walking and pretend I didn’t see her behind my sunglasses. Or I could step out of my meditation and into whatever this moment was asking of me.
Right now, in Seal Beach (California), there are these sand bunkers — small hills formed by high tides and winter storm protection. She had fallen down one of them. Her shoes being left behind on the incline. Her knees, she explained, were not in great working order, and she couldn’t climb back up to grab them.
She asked if I would retrieve her shoes. And of course I did.
As I handed them to her, I noticed sand all over her back and legs. So, I gently dusted her off. Nothing dramatic. Just human helping human.
And that’s when something shifted.
She began thanking me profusely. Her voice started trembling. She asked if she could hug me. I said yes. She wrapped her arms around me and began to cry.
“I’m going to pray for you,” she said. And she did.
She prayed over me right there on the sand. She invoked the blood of Jesus to protect me. She spoke blessings over my life.
In that moment, it wasn’t about whether I subscribe to one belief system or another. It wasn’t about theology. It was about receiving gratitude in the language she knew how to speak it. It could have been Allah. It could have been Buddha. It could have been the Universe. What mattered was the sincerity.
And as she prayed, I began to cry too.
Not because of religion.
But because of connection.
Because had I stayed in bed, I would have missed this.
Had I chosen withdrawal over willingness, I would have missed the exact “coming together” of time and space where a woman needed help — and I needed a hug.
Sometimes strangers deliver gifts we didn’t know we were asking for, as in my earlier post: Sometimes a Game IS More Than Just a Game where I speak to the emptiness of no longer having my Dad.
Missing my mother is just as hollow as that empty feeling. When you cry so much you just want to disappear into oblivion. If your mother is no longer on this three-dimensional planet, sometimes the Universe finds other arms to wrap around you. Sometimes healing arrives disguised as fallen shoes on a sand hill.
We held each other for a moment longer than socially necessary. Then, through my sobbing, I thanked her. She thanked me. And I continued my meditation — but now I was no longer “practicing” being the future version of myself.
I was living my future self.
The choices we make — to get up, to show up, to walk over instead of walk away — determine the direction of our lives more than any grand plan ever could.
This morning, I am deeply grateful that I chose to get out of bed.
Grateful that I chose to walk.
Grateful that I chose to respond.
And grateful that in helping her, I received exactly what I have been asking for in 2026: the ability to receive love as freely as I give it.
Reflection:
Embracing the unknown doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s simply choosing not to withdraw. Sometimes it’s taking the next step on the sand. Sometimes it’s answering a wave. You never know which small decision will open the door to the very blessing you’ve been praying for.
