Lately, I’ve been reminded of the messages, the subtle nudges and quiet whispers, that guide us when we’re quiet enough, still enough, and open enough to receive them.
The need to turn inward. To turn things down. To be still. We all face moments like this, days, weeks, or even seasons where listening matters more than doing. When this occurs, I know I need to embrace the stillness.
While my experience is unique to me, I’m sharing it in the hope that you might recognize the quiet messages you’re in need of, too. The reminders meant to help us learn, grow, or reflect are often around us, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.
I recently re-read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It was a book I loved deeply the first time I read it more than ten years ago. I remembered it shifting my perspective on life, though I couldn’t quite recall how….which felt like reason enough to return to it.
This time, though, it felt different. While there were beautiful moments, it wasn’t landing in the same way. I assumed that maybe this wasn’t the message I needed at this point in my life.
That was until I learned the heartbreaking news that someone I love dearly had lost her father.
His kindness, gentle spirit, and genuine welcome of others left a mark on so many. Watching a friend navigate that kind of loss is devastating. As I sat with the weight of it, I began to recognize the significance of the words I had been reading, and the intention in their timing.
A few passages stayed with me:
“I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”
“No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn’t know it.”
“You don’t have to understand the desert. All you have to do is contemplate a single grain of sand, and you will see in it all the marvels of creation.”
That last line hit especially hard. Thinking of each person as a single grain of sand, carrying within them an entire marvel of creation. A reminder of how much one life matters, and how deeply it can shape others.
I could have brushed past the purpose of this book and its timing. Instead, I felt a gentle nudge to lean into the words, allowing them to guide me through a week filled with grief, reflection, and recalibration.
As I sat with this, more messages appeared:
- Words from Rumi I returned to again and again
- A song about loss that found me at the exact right moment (More to This by Marc Scibilia)
- An unexpected conversation with a close friend that offered both comfort and challenge
- A work presentation that opened with a Rumi quote
- A perfectly timed, confident “I am awesome!” from my son
The details of what each of us carries are different, yet the shared longing for guidance connects us all. Sometimes the messages are loud, but more often, they are whispers.
“And the quieter you become, the more you hear.” — Rumi