The 10:40 Ceiling

It happened fast, didn't it?

Someone asked. Maybe it was at work, maybe it was in the church lobby, maybe it was a text that came in while you were making dinner. And before you even finished reading it — before you checked your calendar, before you checked your heart — the word was already out.

Of course. Happy to. No problem at all.

And it wasn't until later — 10:40 that night, staring at the ceiling — that you felt the weight of it settle onto your chest. One more thing. One more Saturday. One more piece of yourself, promised away before you ever asked yourself if you had it to give.

I know that ceiling. I've stared at it too.

Here's what I've learned about the fast yes: it's almost never about the thing we agreed to. It's not the committee or the carpool or the extra project. The yes comes from somewhere deeper — from the part of us that learned, a long time ago, that keeping the peace was our job. That being easy to ask was the same thing as being loved.

That's not generosity. That's a reflex. And reflexes don't get to run your one life.

I wrote a whole letter to the one who says yes before they mean it — about where the fast yes comes from, and the smallest, most radical permission I know for interrupting it. It's the first letter I send to everyone who joins The S.T.A.Y. Way, and it's waiting for you.

Read the letter →

Hold Your Lantern, Trust Your Anchor, S.T.A.Y.,

Heather

If this letter found you at the right time, there are more where it came from. My book, Letters from the Lantern, is a whole collection of them on Amazon.