Afternoon has just come, I’m sitting on the plane flying home from #SethinLondon, and it’s all creeping up on me.
A lack of sleep. A multitude of impressions, of intake, words, questions, new friendships forged, heartfelt hugs from people I didn’t know walked the Earth a few hours before.
Slowing down.
Letting it sink in.
Exhale.
Feel like I’m coming in for landing, in so many more ways than physically.
The chill in the cabin makes the hairs on my arm stand up.
Inhale. Exhale.
Look out the window at the landscape of clouds, so many layers, thick, thin, white – grey – blue in a billion hues. Seen from above they truly form a landscape. Like moutain plateaus, separated by crevices, nooks and crannies, as well as the steepest ravines. Seen from below they look like a silken parasol, a light and flimsy fabric, yet still able to shield me from the sharpest rays of the sun.
Yawn.
Chills running through my entire body.
Yawn.
Body telling me to rest. Close my eyes, take ten of solitude and silence.
Shake and shiver, tired, elated, inspired. And grateful.
For everything I have, all that I am, and all I will be.
All there will be.
Float away.
Happily.
I am alive, and I get to do work that matters. I get to live a life that matters. What a gift I’ve been given. And you too. You know that right?



Michel Martin is apparently a well known and accomplished journalist

Anyway. Sometimes you might be making a valid point, and sometimes you’re just trying to wield your power over me, and the challenge for me is to be able to tell the difference. The easiest way for me to discern whether or not your message can be in service to me or not, is to ask myself just that: Is this serving me right now? 



