This morning,
before the birds had finished
their first conversation,
I woke beneath a sky
that felt strangely unfamiliar.
Nothing had happened.
The walls of my home
had not moved.
The people I love
had not quietly slipped away in the night.
The numbers in my bank account
had not changed while I slept.
Life,
as far as I could tell,
was precisely the same.
And yet...
everywhere I looked, I found uncertainty.
The future seemed fragile.
Relationships felt delicate.
The simplest decisions
carried the weight of consequence.
It was as though the whole world
had become less trustworthy
while I wasn't looking.
It all felt so real.
Then, somewhere between
one worried thought
and the next,
Something broke the trance.
By grace alone, something shifted within me.
Not because the fear disappeared.
Not because I suddenly remembered how to be brave.
There was just a simple, miraculous noticing:
Oh...
I'm wearing the lens of insecurity today.
And in that quiet noticing, something inside me smiled.
Not because I had found a better lens.
Not because I knew
how to take this lens of insecurity off.
But because I remembered
that lenses are not the truth.
And even more, lenses are not mine
to choose or control.
I stood in the shower,
Warm water falling like a spring rain
And even with the lens of insecurity,
it occurred to me...
What if my job is not to choose a better lens?
What if the lens of confidence is no better
than the lens of insecurity?
What if my only role is simply to notice?
Notice with kindness.
Notice with compassion.
Ah, this is not ME.
This is not mine.
This is simply here.
Arising.
Could I offer love to the beautiful soul
who happens to be wearing this lens today?
Back in 2019, before I knew anything about nervous systems or protective parts or the role our minds play in creating meaning, I was living inside what felt like constant panic. Gun-to-the-head terror, as I learned to call it.
Every day felt like survival.
Looking back now, I can see that I was waking up each morning wearing all kinds of lenses. Some days the lens was terror. Some days it was hopelessness. Some days it was catastrophe.
At the time, I had absolutely no language for any of that. I simply believed what I saw. If the world looked dangerous, then surely it must be dangerous. If the future looked hopeless, then surely hopelessness was the truth.
But somewhere in the middle of all of that suffering, the strangest question occurred to me.
"What would Joey do?"
I remember the first time I was in the middle of the most intense fear that my life was never going to get better. And, out of nowhere, the image of Joey Tribbiani from the sitcom FRIENDS popped into my mind.
Joey was like a perpetual 8-year-old or a big fluffy golden retriever. Nothing fazed him. He was always light. Carefree. Hopeful. Endlessly trusting that Life always works out. Even in the midst of what all of his friends on the show called awful or even catastrophic, Joey always remained resolute in his trust that everything always works out—whatever that even means.
At the time, I imagined Joey stepping into whatever terrifying internal experience I happened to be facing, and I would ask myself, How would Joey see this? What would Joey do?
It wasn't magic. My panic didn't suddenly disappear. Nothing outside of me shifted.
But something inside me always softened when it occurred to me that someone—even someone fictional—would NOT see my life as hopeless. Another perspective was indeed possible, even if I couldn’t see it. Yet.
Looking back now, I realize that when I was asking “What would Joey do,” something inside me was pointing me back to something true.
The experience that my mind is narrating is not the TRUTH of my life right now. There is another version of truth I just can’t see right now.
Joey became my gentle reminder that I didn't have to argue with the lens I was wearing. I didn't have to force it away or pretend it wasn't there.
I only needed to remember that my mind’s interpretation of my life was not TRUE—it was simply the only version available while wearing that lens.
And when I began to glimpse that—even for seconds at a time—something inside would relax a little. Even 2%. And something in my belly would whisper:
Ahhh…truth is here, now.
I can’t explain it or touch it, but I can sense that it is here. Truth feels light. Always.
This past Monday morning, I woke up and, by every objective measure, absolutely nothing in my life had changed since the night before when I fell happily asleep in my bed.
And yet, the moment I opened my eyes, it felt as though I had awakened into an entirely different world.
Before my feet touched the floor, my mind quietly whispered, out of absolutely nowhere, "What if Pete left me?"
It was such an odd thought because there had been no argument, no distance between us, no reason whatsoever for that question to appear. And yet there it was, arriving as effortlessly as the sunrise.
What happened next was even more fascinating. My mind immediately began doing what adorable human minds have done for thousands upon thousands of years. It went searching for evidence. It remembered an article I had read about empty nesters having the highest divorce rates. It recalled couples our age whose marriages had unexpectedly ended. It gathered little bits and pieces from memory, news stories, and conversations, carefully assembling a case for something that, only moments earlier, had never even crossed my mind.
Meanwhile, Pete was still sleeping peacefully beside me.
A few minutes later, I headed out for my morning power walk with one of my dearest friends. She made a couple of comments that, on any other day, probably would have floated by without leaving so much as a ripple. But that morning they landed differently. Through whatever lens I had woken-up with, I suddenly found myself wondering, "Is she upset with me? Did I do something wrong?"
Nothing about her had changed! Nothing about our friendship had changed. But the lens I was wearing was different that morning.
After my walk, as I was showering, another random thought popped into my mind about my Sunday afternoon game of Mahjong. It had been a truly wonderful afternoon with good food and great friends. I left my friend's house after we finished playing, feeling on top of the world.
But somehow, with my Monday-morning lenses on, that exact same memory had become tinged with ICK. The new story in my head went something like this: "I wonder why my good friend didn't choose to sit at my table. Maybe she doesn't really like me any more. Maybe I did something to annoy her. Maybe she thinks I am a terrible Mahjong player." The images and stories in my mind were relentless.
As I stood in the shower, my mind racing from images of Sunday afternoon Mahjong to Pete leaving me, something suddenly shifted.
By grace, it occurred to me: OH! I am wearing a lens of insecurity today!
And I literally laughed out loud in the shower.
It was such a simple realization.
That one sentence changed everything.
OH! I am wearing a lens of insecurity today!
And in that instant, I stopped confusing the lens of insecurity with reality.
I remembered that what I was seeing was not the truth. It was simply the view through the particular pair of glasses I had happened to wake up wearing that morning.
And because of that, I no longer felt compelled to stay in my head, attempting to secure, protect, and defend myself against these "horrible people" who were all going to leave me.
Instead, I found myself letting the lens just be there without collapsing into its compelling narrative.
Just that simple noticing: I am wearing a lens of insecurity today! So simple.
There was so much kindness hidden inside that one little AHA moment because it carried no criticism, no urgency, and no demand that I become someone different. It was simply an acknowledgment of what was true in that moment. I was wearing a lens of insecurity and therefore every corner of my world would need to arise as something insecure. Simple. Neutral. Straightforward.
And as Life would have it, the very next day, I met with one of my dearest clients, who opened our session by describing the lens he had been wearing.
Hopelessness. Despair. Too many problems to find solutions for. Too many mistakes to correct. Through those lenses, life felt impossible.
But after a few moments together, holding a space of love and kindness for my client's heaviness, he asked me a question that felt completely out of left field:
“Have you ever watched Ted Lasso?”
My entire body smiled from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Ted Lasso is my JOY. My Happy Place. I’ve watched all three seasons at least 5 times.
My client went on to describe a scene he had just watched on YouTube. It was the scene in which Coach Roy Kent was sitting before a room of reporters demanding an explanation for a shocking, rage-filled incident from one of his players—Isaac. When asked if Roy Kent condoned Isaac's behavior, the solemn coach took a deep breath and paused. He put his hand to his chest and pointed to his heart quietly replied, "For Isaac to do what he did today, even though it was wrong, I give him love."
After describing that scene in breathtaking detail to me, my client put his own hand to his chest, pointed to his own heart and said, “I give me love.”
I give me love.
Somehow, my client's compelling lens of hopelessness, shame, and heaviness had quietly made space for something else...
Kindness. Love. Compassion. Grace.
I don't know that I can fully explain what happened inside of me in that moment.
I found my own hand reaching for my heart, and the same words tumbling out of my mouth. I give me love.
As I sat with that conversation over the next several days, I began to realize that those four simple words—"I give me love"—weren't just a beautiful response to a difficult moment. They were, in many ways, the destination of everything we've been talking about in Office Hours lately.
Kindness.
Love.
Compassion.
Grace.
And our miraculous super power of noticing.
So now, the question can no longer be, “How do I get a clearer or better lens?”
And it can’t be “How long until this lens goes away”
Now, the only question that makes any sense is,
"How will I meet the one who is wearing this lens?"
What if the goal was never to wake up wearing better lenses?
What if it was more to simply notice THAT we are wearing a lens that is coloring the truth of reality?
And offer it some space to breathe. To help us remember who we are. To grow our capacity to trust.
I give me love.
That is enough.
