The wonderful thing about blogs is that as a writer, I finally have a place to publish my short musings, those fragments of thoughts that haven’t amounted to much except another short word file on my laptop. So here’s one that I just remembered I wrote, over a year ago. The memory of this musing was triggered by a class I’m taking this weekend on high dreams, low dreams, and the stories that come out of our lives andrelationships. Enjoy.

Tonight, it feels like I am in sacred space. I have peered into the lives of eight strangers—eight sample coaching sessions, one after another, for the staff of a local hotel. The intent was to familiarize the staff with coaching in preparation of rolling it out as a service to their guests.

The result was an overwhelming feeling of how privileged I am to see the tenderness, vulnerability, yearning and awkwardness of the human condition. I heard the Gremlins, the voices that keep one in the status quo, that one would never reveal, even to the closest of friends. I saw in one face the satisfaction that comes with needing so little and giving so much. I witnessed the tears welling up in eyes, a sign of a fully open heart and a reminder of regret for the past.

The staff ranged in age from 19 to 55. How lovely to see what teens struggle with juxtaposed next to mid-life issues. And to know that we all yearn for a life that fits us, one that honors our values and allows us to be fully seen.

People light up when I “get them,” when I call out what they have known all along but couldn’t communicate to others.

I am also in sacred space tonight because I’ve seen what it means to fail yourself, to try a dream out and be bewildered at why your best efforts don’t seem to be good enough. One of my coaching colleagues told me that she is looking for a job—one that will allow her to pay the bills.

I tell her about my own wake-up call this past summer with one of my mentors. I had two years of savings yet to burn through. I’m now turning things around with a concentrated six month effort to be financially sustainable on coaching income alone. She is not as lucky. She doesn’t have six months of savings left. She needs a job now.

My mind races at what she could have done earlier, when she still had savings and time. I also have unceremoniously announced in my mind that she hasn’t tried hard enough, hasn’t tried enough new things, or spent time on her own energy and self-esteem. Anything but having to admit that dreams can’t come true.

My heart aches when the human spirit comes face to face with defeat. It shouldn’t be this way, I tell myself. Yet I know that this moment, too, is sacred.

I’m not sure what all of this means, other than this: To live fully is to experience fully. No matter what is in front of us or the message that it bears. What hath God wrought, if not moments of grace in seeing what is?