My downstairs neighbor, whom I’ll call Kathy, moved in last fall. She didn’t seem entirely happy with the move and, for whatever reason, she turned down an invitation for a potluck supper with the rest of us on the property. I must admit she scared me a bit.

Shortly after the new year, Kathy began practicing guitar and playing later into the evening than I would prefer. I hesitated to speak up; in fact, my imagination took over to picture the worst possible outcome if I did. She’d get defensive, the conversation would turn sour, and tension would hang in the air until one of us moved out. [My theater background has me well trained.]

One night, though Kathy was playing quietly, I couldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have her number, so I emailed to ask if we could chat the next day. The next afternoon while warming up my car in the parking lot, Kathy drove in. Here was my moment. I’d planned what to say. Since I play guitar and love to sing with other musicians, I thought I’d invite her to play together—and at the same time make a request that she stop practicing by 10pm. This would take finesse.

Kathy got out of her car with a wary look when I called her name and asked if she’d gotten my e-mail. You play guitar, I said as an opener. Yes, she answered somewhat guardedly, you can hear? I commented that the walls are thin, and she mentioned being able to hear my cat howling at times. She said she didn’t mind since she has a loud-meowing cat named Tally, but I apologized nonetheless.

I shared with Kathy how her playing was inspiring me to pick up my mostly sedentary guitar. She asked about my musical background, and in the next several minutes, a veritable miracle opened up. It turned out we both had spent time in the worlds of theater and music. We’d worked with some of the same directors and actors. When she mentioned a particular theater company, I showed her a tax document in the mail I’d just picked up—from that theater.

Kathy went on to talk about open mic nights in the area, how she wanted to get back to playing out and was looking for someone to sing back-up vocals. I said I’d be happy to harmonize and suggested we get together on the weekend.

As the conversation waned, Kathy asked for my cat’s name. Belle, I said. Belle and Tally, she replied. That sounds like a duo. We laughed, and I gave her a high five. As I walked back to my car, I promised to check in on Sunday afternoon.

What great relief I felt as I drove to the grocery store! Once again, the mind had played its tricks with fear. Yet once again, a gift moment opened like a flower to sunlight—in this case, bringing literal harmony.

After a week of communication challenges everywhere I turned, I woke up Friday morning determined to bring my world into balance. In three situations, this required patience, persistence and trust despite any agitation or anxiety I might be feeling about money.

First, I had to find a way to turn down a job offer tactfully. For karmic balance, it was important to honor my own position and to cause no harm or insult to the program’s founder. Since there had been some disharmony in the past, this required a deft hand.

Next, a rental car scenario proved frustrating. I didn’t notice until I was driving home that the car they gave me smelled like smoke. Bad weather delayed a trade in, and limited availability at that location further complicated the exchange. I had to drive to another site; I ended up with a large SUV; and, I was charged incorrectly. At some point during the week, I’d spoken with every representative at that office. This was the morning to work it out.

Before making that call, however, I happened to look at my cell phone bill online. I hadn’t been notified of the due date (yesterday), and the amount startled me. This meant another call to work out charges and correct the notification.

I was up to my nose in financial misunderstandings. But what did I expect? On Monday morning, I’d asked Life to teach me about financial flow.

I often use a simple technique as a learning tool, which works something like this: Knowing that somewhere in the universe is someone who can teach me the truth about a topic (in this case, money), I ask to be taught. Then I watch carefully for anything that appears in my world to answer my request.

This week’s lesson and challenge was to slow down to the moment of goodwill and allow a resolution to occur naturally —a different rhythm than forcing my point. To help me learn, Life gave me a polite, proficient customer service representative at the phone company who even had a sense of humor. He walked me through the charges to my account as I put attention on calming my instinctive reaction to panic, fight or defend. He posted a credit where he could, even though the mistake had, unknowingly, been mine.

By the time I called the rental car company, the costs had somehow been corrected, and I was given a way for a third party to pay the bill. Then I wrote an email to the program director with as much grace as I could muster, releasing the job offer as well as any residual angst from my heart.

Charges may come and go; jobs may come and go. But the opportunity to ask and learn from Life directly is a constant gift. Isn’t it interesting that the same words used for the uplifting qualities of life—balance, trust—also have significant meaning in the world of finance?

A certain pattern has played out behind the scenes in my life for years. It has to do with pace. I’ve found that the natural pace of life differs from the time schedule by which the world runs. Three times this week, I had to decide whether to tend the moment as it unfolded or ignore that service to be on time.

First, after attending a business meeting in Manhattan, I called a friend who works nearby to meet for lunch. She joined me at a health food store just as I was locating a hard-to-find supplement. We then walked to Grand Central Terminal in search of salmon rolls.

As we stood eating at the counter, comparing the food quality to the last time we bought from this vendor, our conversation turned to a challenging situation in her life. I flowed with the natural rhythm that comes from listening. But at one point, I realized I wasn’t going to make the deadline I’d set for my trip home. I had two important errands to run after the hour trip to reach my car. I chose to put aside my planned schedule to remain in the moment, and our dialogue continued to its natural conclusion.

I walked to the subway, calculating my new estimated time of arrival. Suddenly, something told me to check the supplements I’d purchased at the store. While the name on the bottle was correct, the fine print was not. I’d purchased a slightly different formula than intended—for myself and a friend. So again, I had to decide: do I continue on, trying to make up for lost time, or do I return to the store for an exchange? Though it meant further delay, I went back to the store. By some miracle, I still ended up with enough time at day’s end to run the essential errands before returning home.

A few days later, I was tested a third time on this point. As I exited the pet store on a bitter cold afternoon, I was stopped by someone asking if I had jumper cables. Yes, I said, what time is it? But in a heartbeat, I knew I’d help, even if it meant being late for my client meeting. The young couple didn’t know how to use jumper cables, so I talked them through the instructions while we shivered in the wind. Acid corrosion on their battery terminal prevented us from starting the car. But now they knew their next step, and I was free to drive home for my videoconference.

In this case, my client ended up running late, so all worked out. What does that tell me? Before there was time, there was a rhythm in the hearts of people. When we follow this rhythm, maybe time itself shifts. Our minds release their grip, we experience a greater trust, and we choose to move at the pace of love.

This week while driving down the main street of a small nearby town, a car pulled out from a parking spot into my right fender. I thought the driver had seen me, so I was shocked to hear the crunch of metal on metal. I pulled over to get out of the car, somewhat deflated at the irony of life. I’d just gotten my car back from the shop a few weeks before.

Immediately, the other driver began a sincere apology, taking full responsibility for the incident. He told me that I was in his blind spot. I guessed him to be a college student, and as we exchanged information, this turned out to be true. He wasn’t sure how to proceed; in fact, when he returned from his Dad’s car with registration and insurance cards he’d found in the glove compartment, he didn’t even know which was which. His honesty and desire to do the right thing softened the blow. By the end of our short meeting, we shook hands to introduce ourselves, wishing it had been under different circumstances. And I came out of shock long enough to assure him that accidents happen.

Very fortunately, I’d been on my way to my chiropractor’s office when the accident occurred. After about an hour resting between adjustments, I regained my balance. Sometime during the treatment, my phone rang. The young man had told me his Dad would call, and I didn’t know what to expect. I had my guard up, wondering if I’d have to assert that the accident wasn’t my fault. It turned out to be the driver’s mother. She seemed to be running interference between her husband (who was not pleased at that moment) and her son. She wanted to connect, to be sure I was OK, and to express their desire not to report the fender bender to the insurance company, if that was acceptable to me.

Over the next few days, we spoke several times. I got an estimate for the damage as well as the rental car cost for the four days it would take to repair and repaint. I texted pictures and documentation. She assured me all costs would be covered, and we agreed it would be best for them to pay the auto body shop directly.

Something else happened during these phone calls and texts. Politeness and mutual respect built a sense of trust and goodwill between strangers. We talked a bit about where her son was attending college, and we wished each other a happy new year. When she apologized for any inconvenience to me, I said, That’s alright; everybody learned something. She wholeheartedly agreed, Absolutely! And no one was hurt; that’s what’s most important.

It’s a pleasure to do business with people who demonstrate integrity and goodwill. When we step up to take responsibility, everyone benefits. And who knows that a chance meeting might not be entirely random after all.

P.S. 86 Photos of Acts of Kindness : http://www.viralnova.com/acts-of-kindness-random/

At a holiday breakfast this week for Employee Assistance Professionals and friends, I happened to sit next to a nurse who serves as the Quality Assurance Director of a nearby recovery center. As we chatted about day-to-day work activities, she mentioned a drawback of her current position—the lack of direct contact with patients. But, she said, I like to think that I’m making changes from the top down now.

I asked this nurse-turned administrator (whom I’ll call Elisabeth) more about her past experience in patient care. The energy in the room shifted. She lit up as she shared stories of her earlier career, helping young mothers with babies and small children to turn their lives around.

We were told to report cases to CPS [Child Protective Services], she said, but I thought, how is that going to help the child? So we went into the homes, cleaned the houses, decorated kids’ rooms, and taught young mothers how to run a household. We taught them how to take care of themselves and their children. They were so dirty. We cleaned them up. Cleaned the house. Showed them how to be organized. I wasn’t specially trained in this; it was just from having been a mother myself.

Elisabeth offered an example: A seventeen-year-old mother from the Mt. Vernon ghetto would repeatedly walk into our facility, drop her son in the nursery, and come to the kitchen to get breakfast. One day I told her, “keep your son with you—this is what we’re going to do. Go check his diaper, wash his hands and wash your hands. Then come get food.” When she had a plateful, I said, “Alright. You can have this food, but he eats first. Feed your baby first, then you can eat. That’s how it works.” It was amazing to see the change in her. She went from cursing at me to happily following the routine.

I had fifteen women in all—and years later, they are all still sober. I hear from them all the time. One sends me flowers every Christmas. She says, ‘as long as you get flowers from me, you’ll know I’m sober.’ Twelve of them even went into nursing as a way to feed their families.

The joy and fulfillment of caring for these women and children poured through Elisabeth with a glow that warmed us both in the true holiday spirit. I saw in her a rare caregiver who chose to be present and available to the needs of the moment beyond what she’d been told to do. Without her courage to listen and follow her instincts, children would have been separated from their mothers, and young women may have struggled for a lifetime with the basics of survival.

Maybe Elisabeth wasn’t “specially trained,” but she clearly had a gift for meeting others where they lived and holding the opportunity for them to take the next step.

Directing a musical theater production at a kids’ program nearby, I found myself in the midst of chaos. It was my first time working with this particular program—learning how things are done and how I might help. In decades of directing, I’d never witnessed a situation quite like this one.

The cast of fifteen middle schoolers floundered in a fall session that lacked clear structure. I was repeatedly told this was not the norm, that issues with staff and students had created a tornado effect. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. I struggled to maintain composure at rehearsals, to validate how things had been done in the past while bringing new, simple practices to the table that might calm and focus the actors. Things like beginning rehearsal sitting in a circle in order to be present to one another, to name what’s working well, and to let kids ask questions or share concerns. Or playing brief warm-up games that, at first, the students could not accomplish.

The week of performance, we moved from a rehearsal space into the theater space. This is the point at which the producer and I had a conversation about how to move forward. I introduced the circle idea and the principle of taking care of one another. He was all for it. Yet, there had been so little focused rehearsal time that we still couldn’t manage to get through the whole show. Without the preparation required, lines/cues/entrances/exits/choreography/lyrics sometimes went out the window. And there’d been no real opportunity to explore character or give notes.

I’ve heard it said that a miracle is a changed consciousness. If that’s true, what happened next was indeed a miracle because a gift moment came through to change mine. In a grueling dress rehearsal, I looked up at the end of a musical number to see all the actors in place in their line downstage. In a flash of recognition through their faces, time stood still—and I heard myself say inwardly, I love these kids. When did that happen?

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, a bond of respect was built while I was busy trying to save a sinking ship. Later that afternoon, two of the older kids approached me to ask if they could please all stay later at the next day’s rehearsal. They wanted to run the show more. There’s nothing more rewarding than having kids trust enough to ask, returning the respect I’d extended. We did stay late the next day, and we made good progress.

At the posting of this story, I’m about to attend the closing performance. We’ve had significant technical challenges, even a snowstorm. Audiences have been extremely patient and forgiving.

While bringing the highest architecture of achievement to a creative endeavor is a worthy goal, perhaps it’s good to experience a bit of a train wreck to remember what’s truly taking place behind the scenes.

At the health food store, I held a paper bag handle in my left hand while trying to load groceries with my right. I juggled my purse, accessing a discount card on my key chain to hand to the checker. I had my hands full.

The woman behind me in line offered assistance. Here, she said, taking the bag handle from the far side, let me help you. I expressed sincere gratitude for her kindness. Then she added, We all need to take care of one another.

Surprised at the synchronicity, I commented, Funny you should say that. I’m on my way to a theater rehearsal for a kid’s show I’m directing and that was going to be my exact message to them—to care of each other on stage.

She smiled. I’ll tell you a story if you have a moment. I’ll be brief. One day I was feeling particularly out of sorts. So, I said to Jesus, Please help me be more like you. I was walking in Manhattan, and there was this homeless man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a shirt, but it was windy and about 60 degrees. I walked by and gave him a dollar. As I continued, I found that I couldn’t take another step—literally I was stopped in my tracks. I realized inside myself that I hadn’t done enough for this man.

She continued. I looked up to see a store in front of me selling sweatshirts for $5.00. I went in and bought a sweatshirt, kneeled down to this man and said, Please put this on; I can’t bear to see you cold. He looked up at me, and actually replied, what are you, a female Jesus Christ?

In that moment, the wave originally gifted to the speaker crashed upon the shore of her listeners—the checker, the woman behind her in line, and me. We fell into a slow motion expression of awe and grace. She finished by saying, I got my answer. What I mean by being more like Jesus is just to take care of your brothers and sisters.

What the storyteller didn’t know was that before I left home for rehearsal, I had asked for help from my spiritual teacher, too. Concerned about the upcoming theater performances, and with a personal issue weighing on my heart, I asked, could I please have some kindness, and some reassurance that I’m doing the right thing with these kids?

I walked out of the store with the gift of our “chance” meeting pouring through me. As I pulled out of my parking spot, I happened to see the storyteller getting into her car. In a sizeable lot, we’d parked facing each other. I waved and smiled, and she warmly waved back.

The night before Thanksgiving, I took a train into Manhattan to teach a class in midtown. The cars were far more crowded than usual, but a kind passenger made sure I had room in his 3-seater row. He practically glowed with childlike joy. I soon learned that he, his wife and young son (sitting in the row in front of us) were on their way to a hotel with plans to attend the city’s Thanksgiving Day parade in the morning. Every now and then, the son turned around to whisper a question to his dad about New York, or the father pointed out something fun, like the new Tappan Zee Bridge. Their palpable excitement co-mingled with Dad’s careful tending of his family by offering time checks and carting luggage.

On Thanksgiving morning, my friend Sue walked from her apartment in Times Square to 6th Avenue, hoping to cross to Grand Central Terminal where she’d catch a train to my place. She laughed as she told me, I saw one balloon and figured, I’ve seen the parade. Earlier in the week, Sue’s sister sent her colorful turkey plates and napkins, excitedly insisting that the child artist must have been a leftie like both of them—somehow redeeming their schoolgirl memories of having been different.

After a walk in brisk air and sunshine, Sue and I entered my kitchen to prepare turkey, gluten-free stuffing, sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, string beans. I dug out a favorite cranberry relish recipe from my friend Beth whom I hadn’t seen in decades. As I embellished with pomegranate seeds and ginger powder, I wondered where Beth lived now and how she was spending the holiday.

Our friend Larry joined us following a five hour gig at a psychiatric hospital, having played 30-minute sets on each of ten different floors! He glowed with the kind of love that comes from giving service. He said that when he got to the adolescent floor, the staff warned him up front—don’t take it personally; they don’t like anything. But upon entering the room, someone called out, do you know any Beatles songs? and he was in. He knew every request.

Gift moments know no bounds of time or space. A recipe, a song, a parade balloon. Reverberating through dimensions like a golden thread, alive and dancing, humming through an otherwise muted tapestry. Gratitude unwraps the gifts that connects us, bringing the joy of a child’s first trip to the Thanksgiving Day parade.

My car was in need of repair. I’d scraped the passenger side while pulling into my narrow garage one night. Or, as the lighthearted appraiser said when we met, So I hear your garage jumped out and grabbed your car.

The insurance company made the claims process easy. When I dropped off my vehicle at the body shop, a rental car agent met me with the new white Volvo XC60 I’d be driving for the next couple of weeks. We walked the perimeter of the car, inspecting it for any markings larger than three inches in diameter. The agent, whom I’ll call Debbie, carried a small transparency with two concentric circles. By placing the transparency on the body of the vehicle, she showed me the exact size of any markings she would notate. Everything was pristine.

After Debbie showed me the controls on the interior, she asked if I wanted to purchase additional insurance. As I typically do, I declined, saying that my own insurance would be enough. Then she casually added this comment, That’s fine. But if you’re parked at the grocery store, let’s say, and a cart happens to bang into the car, you’re responsible for the repairs and for your insurance premium going up because of another accident. Now, I’m aware that she’s taught to do this, and I didn’t change my mind. But while driving carefully home, I began to get nervous about having some kind of minor incident. I was already paying a steep deductible on my own car. Maybe it was worth the $20 a day.

In the next couple of days, I kept returning to an increasing anxiety about the rental. But then, I perceived what had happened. I woke up to the fact that Debbie had tried to plant a subtle, but noticeable, seed of fear in my mind. I saw it in my imagination as as a brown seed, and I knew that adding my attention to it would make it grow. I decided to interrrupt the usual cycle of worry (what I like to call hamster head), by asking for inner guidance: do I really need the coverage because it’s in my best interest, or can I let this fear go?

What happened next surprised me. I watched as the seed I pictured in my mind’s eye was slowly coated in gold. I didn’t intend to picture that; it came through to me. I found myself a bit more relaxed and went about my day.

By day’s end, I’d released my concern about the rental car. I knew it was important to be careful, but I needn’t grow the seed of fear. I’d be OK as long as I drove and parked responsibly.

Sometimes a gift moment is revealed when a “negative” experience leads to another step. In this case, the choice to ask for inner guidance uncovered a golden seed of trust and knowing that brought peace of mind.