I'm sort of an addict.
I'm addicted to other people's happiness. I love helping people explore their own potential practice of mindful self-love and self-acceptance. It feels so good to help people to teach themselves gratitude.
So, yesterday. I'm in the car, driving to work, and my phone rings. It's my friend William. He's been going through some Serious Shit™ lately. I am not going to get into the exact nature of the serious shit, because this is my blog, not his, and I didn't ask him if I could share it with you.
But it's been going on a while. And William, who is awesome, has embraced all the ideas and philosophies of mindfulness I've exposed him to. He fucking loves Pema Chödrön. We hadn't talked on the phone in a while, and he has some awareness of my patterns, and knew I'd be in the car, so... ring ring!
We had this fantastic talk, about our lives, his serious shit, some of my own serious shit, how little control we have over anything at all, and how utterly, almost painfully beautiful that makes our lives.
If phone-calls-during-commutes were fancy restaurants, this one would be a five star one in the Michelin Guide. It was epic.
And we both thought so.