I Found Peace..........Standing in Line at the Post Office

I went to the post office already tired.

Already overwhelmed.

Already done with the week — and it was only Tuesday.

The line was long.

And getting longer.

The woman at the counter wasn’t prepared. She asked question after question, as if it were her first day on the planet. I could feel the irritation spreading through the room — and especially through me.

I wanted to yell at her.

A lot.

Then I took a breath.

I reminded myself I wasn’t late for anything. That I didn’t actually need to rush. That standing still for a few minutes might be exactly what my system needed, even if my mind didn’t like it.

As I oriented myself back into the present moment, something softened. The stories quieted. The sharp edges of my personality loosened their grip.

And when I looked again, I didn’t see an inconsiderate stranger.

I saw a woman who was already tired.

Who was already overwhelmed.

Who was already done with the week — and it was only Tuesday.

No, I wasn’t looking into a literal mirror.But maybe I was, in a universal sense.

Because what I realized was this: the rage I felt toward her wasn’t really about her at all. It was about me.

How dare you show me my overwhelm? How dare you not hold it together in public? How dare you reflect the parts of myself I insist on hiding — the parts I believe should wait until I’m alone in my car, crying quietly on the drive home?

In that moment, I felt an unexpected surge of compassion for her.

And then I noticed something else.

The postal worker behind the counter was being extraordinarily gentle and kind. He patiently explained every permutation and combination of email inboxes and the Amazon Return System in excruciating detail.

Not just because he knew shipping.

But because he knew how to hold space.

This wasn’t about a return. It was about care and compassion. It was about meeting someone in emotional need with steadiness and kindness — in one of the most unlikely places.

And I saw that is always available to me, if I choose to see it.

Not perfection.

Not control.

But presence.