I was recently talking to a friend who is approaching 50 years old. We’ve known each other for quite a while, and I was curious about what was changing for her now that she’s approaching a new decade. How was she seeing the world differently? How was she seeing herself differently?

“Does it feel real yet?” “I think so?” I scanned my much emptier home. One stack of boxes sat in the furthest corner, the other behind me. I had been in this house for seven years now, which in the time of typical early-to-mid-20’s apartment hopping felt like a lifetime.

The Greeks had a word, xenia—guest friendship—a command to take care of traveling strangers, to open your door to whoever is out there, because anyone passing by, far from home, might be God.

“You aren’t treating this like a therapy session. We’re just talking.” Our conversation had become more serious, but it wasn't a burden. We were talking about our lives...which are kinda stressful these days. Every problem is a crisis. Emergency is the rule, not the exception. The funniest part was…this was very similar to therapy (but not in the way he thought.)

I get distracted so easily, it’s embarrassing. Music of any kind is absolutely out of the question. If I’m reading, I cut off at least 45 minutes so that with every word my mind doesn’t flit to work that needs to be done, dishes that need to be cleaned, cats that need to fed.

And when I was in positions like the ones I mentioned above, people helped. They might not have a lot either. But they helped because they care about you specifically or they care about people in general or they just understand what it’s like to feel totally helpless…and then have someone help.

Contrary to what some people tell you, you can’t just change your attitude and be peaceful all the time. I like to think of peace like a flower or a plant. If you want certain results: flowers to bloom, new leaves to unfurl – you cultivate an environment where it can flourish. Copious amounts of patience and tending are required.