As we close out the Thanksgiving weekend, two little moments from 2025 have sprung to mind in contemplating gratitude. I have so much to be grateful for, and I also have a bedtime ritual of detailing those gratitudes from the day. That said, the moments, incidents, good news, etc, that seem to hold the most meaning for me, as far as gratitude goes, are the ones that crack the earth a bit. Jar me. Teach me something I needed to learn. And so these two.

Moment One. About 4 months ago, I bought a man on the street some food. He’d asked for money before I’d walked into a Starbucks to have a coffee, and to sit and read. But I rarely keep cash on me, so I had to decline him. He was an elderly man walking with a cane. It broke my heart that at his age he was in this predicament Made in America, when I could tell this hadn’t always been the case. I was in Starbucks for awhile because I was there to read, but when I came out he was still sitting there. I walked up and asked him if he’d like any food, and when he said “yes please” I told him I’d get him something from the Chipotle next door. I asked him what he liked, he told me, and I did the deed.

I’m SO very grateful that I was nudged to go beyond what I customarily do when someone asks me for money (if I have a few dollars, I give it. If I don’t, I politely decline and keep moving). And, in fact, I’ve had no intentions of sharing this story, because I’ve lately been in this mindset of not wanting to be that person who does something kind just so they can tell everyone about it. But in this case, I didn’t actually walk away thinking ALL THAT about myself, because I was instead given an incredibly humbling experience.

I walked out with his food and handed the bag to him. He was full of gracious thank yous and I offered back, “it’s my pleasure.” I wished him well and turned to walk away, and he mumbled something behind me. I turned back to him, wondering what else does he want? And I said “I’m sorry I didn’t hear that.” He then repeated, his voice still soft, “my name is Roderick Peterson.” And in that moment, which shook me, I realized I hadn’t truly made him human in my mind. He was just a nameless, faceless shadow on the street. In that moment, Roderick Peterson had more self-regard and class than I’d been exhibiting. He wanted me to know who he was.

When we meet someone, don’t we exchange names? Yet it had never dawned on me to do that. I said my name back and repeated what a pleasure it was to meet him. This time, though, that “pleasure” was fueled with something it should’ve been fueled with from the beginning. Sonder. I’ve only recently learned of this noun, which, according to various dictionaries, means “the feeling you have in realizing that every other individual you see has a life as full and as real as your own, making you just a background character in their epic story, a perspective that contrasts with our usual self-centered perspective where WE are always the protagonist.

What’s ironic is that the thing I find most important in being a writer is the ability to see humanity in all its endless layers, and to give (especially if I’m creating characters) each layer, to the best of my ability, the right to be heard, seen, and expressed. And for the most part, as a writer, especially of fiction, I think I’ve honored that ethos. I’ve had friends who, after reading a book of mine, say, “what a horrible person X was” or “I hate Y!” And I always consider that a compliment, because it means I’ve taken a flawed character and made them real enough to elicit such an emotion. Which is the point. And I maintain, always, that any gravely flawed character deserves for their story to be told just as much, if not more, as any hero of a tale. Because it’s in those dark crevices that we find humanity’s depths. It’s a writing practice that I believe expands me as a human being, and I hope it expands a reader.

Now, that example of my consciousness about sonder is not in any way intending to suggest that Roderick Peterson is a horrible character. He actually demonstrated far greater grace than I was demonstrating in that moment. Though, clearly, something horrible had happened in his life that homelessness was now his lot. What my example IS intending to say is that I fully recognize the irony in my being a writer and yet not truly seeing Roderick Peterson until he graciously insisted I see him. I will feel incredibly grateful to him for the rest of my life. Grateful for meeting him. For interacting with him. And for his presence in the grander scheme of my ongoing spiritual lessons.

Moment Two. Somewhere around the same season this year that I encountered Mr. Roderick Peterson, I was hosting a table at a public bazaar to sell some of my books. It was a social event, so I didn’t just stand behind the table; I milled and chatted with others. At one point, I was probably several yards away from my table, chatting with another person who was also selling their wares, and from the corner of my eye I watched a woman pick up one of my books and walk casually away. And I knew for a fact she’d seen me selling copies to others, not giving them away, so I don’t think she was confused about what she was doing. I excused myself from the chat and walked over to her.

“I see you’re interested in my book,” I said.

She looked up and smiled uncomfortably, only then asking, “Is it something you’re selling, or can we just help ourselves to one?” I didn’t challenge her on what I believed she already knew; I simply said the books were for sale. She promptly apologized and in the same breath explained how short of funds she was and how life was not treating her so kindly these days. It was equal parts apology and excuse. And I’ve made those same kind of apologies in my life. The ones that are immediately followed by an excuse for the behavior. I don’t do that anymore. What I learned some good time ago is that, at best, those are sheepish apologies. At worst, they are an unwillingness to be accountable. And while I don’t condone theft, and am not especially interested in those kinds of apologies, this woman’s spin on life being a struggle moved me. Even more so, I realized she was now embarrassed, and I didn’t especially feel great having put her in that position. So, just to end the exchange as quickly as possible, and to give her some tiny semblance of her dignity back, I said, “You know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s my gift. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope life turns around for you soon.” And I smiled and left her to get back to my station.

Several moments later, she came back up to my table, where I was now chatting with another buyer, and said, “please give me your Venmo or Zelle information. I need to pay you.” And when I insisted that it really was okay, she doubled down on her insistence that she be given the opportunity to right her wrong. And it was only then that I realized I was not giving her any dignity back by changing my tactic and offering her the book for free. I was furthering her humiliation. And while I knew that she wanted her dignity restored, she knew what I didn’t. That she had to be the one to restore it. And in that moment, I recognized that, yet again, I was simply out of touch with those who are struggling more than I am.

She’d been caught red-handed. But rather than feel entitled, or run away with her thieved booty while giving me the finger, or throwing the book back at me, humiliated that she’d been caught (all behaviors I’ve seen before), she made a choice to right her wrong, to own it, and to atone, right then and there. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I said, “thank you for buying my book. I hope it gives you something worth buying it for. And I appreciate you.” And she said back, “thank YOU for your understanding.”

I’m not a person of wealth and means. I’ve lived paycheck to paycheck my entire life. But it’s been an extraordinary life in more ways than I can count, and in that way I’m richer than most. I’ve also never been without a roof over my head, and I’ve never stolen something because I couldn’t afford to buy it. I’ve been incredibly fortunate in my life. And more and more do I feel the chasm that exists in this country between rich and poor, and it hurts my heart more than ever, in this time of life.

These two human beings, these divine examples, angels, if you will, were vessels of grace who flowed through my life right when I needed them to, to imbue me with sonder. I say “right when I needed them to” because I always see myself as being on a journey of spiritual transformation. And if I’m to get the fullest benefits of this marvelous journey, I’d better keep on knowing that every incident that comes my way is a portal, and every person a teacher. I’d better keep my eyes wide open, and truly see others. I’ll only be the better for it.

Blessings to Roderick Peterson and Carla Smith for being my little grateful earthquakes this year. I wish them both much ease in this life. They’ve already given me riches.

And get your copy now of HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN: 10 Principles for Reclaiming Your Spirit