I Snapped… in a Life I Actually Love

“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.” — Rumi“

I have found the One whom my heart loves.” — Mirabai“

Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you, all things are passing; God never changes.” — Teresa of Ávila

“Where do you search me? I am with you.” — Kabir

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It was last night, and everything about it was intentional. I had Kentucky Derby napkins set out, roses placed throughout the house, Derby plates stacked and ready, and several charcuterie boards arranged across the kitchen, including a dessert board that felt like a small celebration in itself. I had even found the makings for Mint Juleps with a Kentucky spiritless bourbon, which felt like a fun, thoughtful touch and something a little different to offer, even though none of us ended up using it, which somehow fits the night perfectly. It is sitting there waiting for me now, and I already know it will find its way into one of the vegan dessert recipes I have suddenly decided I want to try.

It was not a large party, just a handful of people, but it was exactly what I wanted it to be, which is probably why the moment that stands out to me has nothing to do with how it looked and everything to do with how I showed up inside of it. It did not feel heavy, and that is important to say clearly, because it really did not. It felt full, layered, alive, and very much like my life right now, and the only thing that was off in that moment was me being overtired and stretched just enough to lose my footing internally.

I had already worked out twice, stayed on track with my PhD work, and spent hours emptying and reorganizing my kitchen because my cabinet doors had been removed for painting, which meant every dish, every pantry item, and every small system had to be recreated temporarily. I went all in on doing it right, labeling, sorting, and creating order where there was none, and there was something satisfying about restoring a sense of control in the middle of visible disruption.

Layered into all of this, of course, were my dogs, two huge white German Shepherds with voices that carry in a way that feels almost disproportionate to their already large presence. Every time someone arrived, they went wild, barking madly as if each guest was either an intruder or the most important person they had ever encountered, and with the house partially emptied out from the remodel, the sound echoed in a way that made everything feel louder and more animated than usual, which is both the charm and the reality of my life.

At the same time, everything else in my life is continuing to move at its normal pace, which right now means work that is full and demanding, PhD work that requires consistent focus, a house that is mid-project, and a meditation practice that I have remained deeply committed to, sitting for two and a half to three hours every day because that is the anchor that holds everything else in place. I am also, somewhat imperfectly, trying to get enough sleep, which matters more than I sometimes allow it to.

Minutes before the race, I decided to place a bet, which is something I never really do and was meant to be light and fun, just part of the experience. The app kept crashing repeatedly, refusing to load or process anything, and in that moment, I could feel the edge of my capacity not because anything significant was wrong, but because I had simply run out of margin.

At the exact same time, my daughter called needing something immediately, including papers signed and my license sent, and there was no space between what I was doing and what she needed from me. This is not just any request, and it is not just any moment in her life. I had agreed to help her with the purchase of her first car, used, and at 30 years old, I could not be more proud of her for everything she has overcome and everything she is stepping into now.

She has fought through chronic, severe illness, including Lupus and Raynaud’s disease, that have left her bedridden at times, and she also lived through a horrible car accident when she was young that left her so traumatized she would not drive for years. Horses became her way back, not just as an interest but as something that helped her heal in a very real and grounded way, and now her barn, which used to be two miles away, has moved an hour away and offered her a job three days a week while she finishes her undergraduate degree and works toward becoming an equine therapist.

Part of that path will be shaped by the hours she will spend working under a woman who recently moved to the new barn and is already an equine therapist, and there is something deeply meaningful about watching her life come together in a way that feels aligned with both her healing and her purpose. I am genuinely thrilled to help her take this step, and I am so proud of her resilience and the inner strength she continues to build.

Which is exactly why the next moment matters to me.

There was no space, no transition, and no pause, and everything collided at once, and I snapped, not at her, but out loud, in front of my friends, in a way that was sharp, reactive, and not aligned with who I am working to become. The awareness came immediately, which is the gift and sometimes the discomfort of doing this kind of inner work, because you do not get to miss it when you step out of alignment.

The irony is that the bets eventually went through, and I placed them for all of us, and we lost, which is exactly why I do not gamble, but something else was happening at the same time that I did not fully register in that moment. The Kentucky Derby was won by the first-ever woman trainer, and when I step back now, I cannot ignore the symmetry between that and what is unfolding in my daughter’s life.

At the same moment that I felt compressed and reactive, there was also expansion happening, a woman breaking through in a space that has not historically made room for that kind of leadership, and my daughter stepping into a path shaped by healing, resilience, and purpose, rooted in the same world of horses that helped bring her back to herself. There is something about that parallel that feels important, especially when I consider how easy it is to miss those deeper alignments when I am focused only on the surface level of what is happening in front of me.

It makes me think that the moments that feel the most intense or overstretched are often carrying something larger underneath them, something that asks for awareness rather than reaction, and that those messages can be easily missed when I am not paying attention or when I am simply too tired to hold that level of awareness in real time.

Kathy always taught us to direct our attention inward, toward the Shabd, the Sound Current, where steadiness exists regardless of external movement, and emphasized living fully in the world without being pulled under by it, which sounds simple until you are in a moment where everything overlaps and your capacity is being tested in a very human way. That is where the practice becomes real, not in ideal conditions, but in the exact moments where I am most likely to forget it.

Even now, as I am writing this, life is not quiet or contained, and my dogs are circling because they are waiting for their after-breakfast treats, even though they have not actually eaten breakfast yet, and one of them, who gets excited about everything, especially when my voice shifts into something happy and welcoming, just ran in and jumped up on me. I am sitting at a simple table I recently set up as a workspace and am still getting used to, and we both went right over onto the floor, where she immediately started kissing me all over with complete joy and zero awareness of personal boundaries.

I love my life, and that feels important to say clearly, because it is loud and intrusive and full in a way that could easily be overwhelming if I were not genuinely grateful for it. People call when they need something and assume I will respond, and they are usually right, and my dogs bark, and my house echoes, and my responsibilities overlap, and somehow, in the middle of all of it, I am actually happy, which still feels like a bit of a surprise when I say it out loud.

What I am not okay with is the snapping, that moment where I step out of alignment with the person I am working to become, because that is where the real work still is for me.

So I do what I always do, which is not dramatic or complicated but is consistent. I course-correct, I got up this morning and got in the chair, I sat and did my practice, I apologized immediately to my friends for my reaction, and I made the quiet commitment to try again with more awareness next time.

Human error is not going away, and I am not under the illusion that I will suddenly stop having these moments, but the question for me is how quickly I return, how honestly I see what happened, and how willing I am to keep adjusting without turning it into something heavier than it actually is.

Today also happens to be the opening of my favorite farmer’s market, I have Satsang, and I am going to see the new The Devil Wears Prada 2 with a group of girlfriends before coming back to my PhD work, and as I write this, my dogs are very clearly reminding me that it is time to take them back outside.

This really is about balance, or at least my version of it, which someone once described as the thing you pass when running from one extreme to another, and I do not think I have ever laughed louder because it felt just a little too accurate to ignore.

And maybe the part I did not expect, the part that still feels almost surreal when I say it out loud, is this.

Kathy used to tell me, “I want you to be happy,” and I always answered that I would be when we were all reunited again in Sach Khand, somewhere far beyond this world, somewhere untouched by all of this movement and noise and imperfection.

And yet here I am, in the middle of a life that is loud and demanding and unfinished and very human, with barking dogs and ringing phones and too many things happening at once, and I can feel it clearly now in a way I could not before.

I am happy.

Not someday, not somewhere else, not when everything settles or aligns perfectly, but here, in the middle of all of it, learning, adjusting, missing the mark and returning, over and over again.

Last night was not perfect, but it was real, and somehow, even in the moment where I lost my footing, everything else was still exactly where it was meant to be.

And today, I begin again.