I’ve just returned from Sri Lanka, a beautiful, complex, and layered place, and I’m still sitting with a quiet moment that surprised me in its simplicity and depth.
One morning on the beach, while I was collecting sea shells, a young boy approached. He asked my name, offered his, and then, without any more words, simply joined me in searching the sand. We walked along the beach, quietly showing each other what we found. He discovered beautiful shells, interesting seeds, and even moon jellyfish washed up by the tide. Whenever he wanted to show me something from a distance, he’d make a bird sound to catch my attention. We had no shared language, but we didn’t need one; we were connected through a shared sense of wonder, of noticing.
Eventually I began gently returning the washed up moon jellyfish to the sea, and he started doing the same. We never spoke about it. It just happened.
After a while, we turned around and walked back. As we passed his home, he waved goodbye. That was it. I never learned his story, and I’m sure he forgot my name — I forgot his too. But the moment stayed.
Ichigo Ichie
There’s a Japanese phrase I love: Ichigo ichie — “one moment, one meeting.” It’s the idea that every encounter is unique and unrepeatable, and if we meet it with our full presence, that is enough.
This experience reminded me, again, that connection, kindness, and joy do not always require words. Sometimes they ask only that we be awake to the moment.
As I return home, I bring this reflection with me, and it deepens something I already believe in strongly: that small, quiet, nourishing experiences matter. They are not an escape from the suffering of the world, but a way to stay whole within it.
I know there’s pain, injustice, and grief all around us, in many corners of the world. I carry that awareness with me. But I also believe in offering peace where we can. For me, that takes the form of forest walks, gathering and crafting with healing plants, cultural experiences, and shared time in nature. These are not distraction. They are gentle invitations to reconnect with what is real, beautiful, and healing.
And I believe we need people holding many kinds of presence in this world, from those working on the front-lines of change, to those quietly tending the inner and outer landscapes of others.
Thank you for allowing me to share these reflections with you. I hope you, too, find small moments that ground you in what matters.
With care and presence,
Lisa
