The door shut with a dense “boom” leaving all the chaos of the room next door behind. For a soundproof room, the air didn’t have a sense of being smothered in cotton balls. Rather, it seemed to her that the door had let her out into an open place rather than enclosing her within four walls. As she looked about her, all she could see was a meadow stretching in every direction, alpine wildflowers spattering it with riotous color. She shook her head to clear it of the haggling, shouting, clamoring confusion she had left behind the door–it was her career: she had chosen it, but sometimes it made her tired. This place was so peaceful. If only she could soak it all up; she’d be ok. Maybe.

But maybe not. Then she turned and saw him. An elderly man in a hammock sipping lemonade. That’s who she had really come to see. He waved in greeting and patted the hammock beside him, inviting her to come over and sit down.

So she did. And they talked. And when the sound of her cell phone pulled her back through the door into the swirling chaos of the life she had chosen, the smell of windblown flowers remained with her. But even better, his voice spoke peace in her heart.

And she smiled.

Come boldly . . .