Take a Penny, Leave a Penny

I realize some people have a whole lot more pennies than others. Some people save their pennies. Some people have glass jars of pennies all over the house. Some people look for pennies in the seat cushions to collect enough gas money. Some pennies buy things and some pennies are worthless, but a penny is a penny is a penny.

When I was very young, my mom called me Jenny Penny. That's before I became Jena Henna. But I digress.

It's a bit utopian on my part, I admit. This image of a place where folks can come get what they need and offer something of use to someone else. In theory, it's a nice idea. In reality, it's a way of life we can participate in every day, and it's not about the money.

In every exchange, in every encounter, what am I taking, what am I leaving behind?

What about days when my pockets are empty?

What about moments when I'm overflowing with joy?

What about when I'm rushing, forgetting to breathe?

What about when I forget to stand up from my chair, forget to go press my face against her soft, warm neck, where I remember who I am and why I'm here?

I asked the writers in one of my groups this morning -- where is the sweet spot between ease and effort? Fully knowing that there is no sweet spot, that it's a moving target, and that the best we can do is cultivate more awareness about how we're moving through the day, how we're relating to ourselves and our work, how detached we are from the body.

What brings you back?

What do you need?

How can we help?