Currently it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, and I’m in my room at The Waters Hotel in beautiful Hot Springs, Arkansas. I woke up at ten this morning–before noon!–and I’m proud to say I did so without the use of an alarm. After spending about an hour getting ready (eating a piece of fruit, drinking two cups of coffee, meditating, and putting on some clothes), I hit the streets of Hot Springs, where I walked for the last several hours. It’s a glorious day–the sun is shining, the air is cool, and spring has definitely sprung.

Strolling along Central Avenue, the main street here in Hot Springs, I stopped in a number of local shops. Y’all, this city–this world–has so much to take in, food and candy of every sort, multi-colored rocks and geodes, antique books and chandeliers. Why, there’s a museum here FULL of Star Wars and superhero memorabilia, all part of one man’s private collection. And talk about generous people. I found out that three of the four gifts that were left in my room yesterday were provided by a single family that owns several businesses here–evilO Olive Oils & Vinegars, Bathhouse Soapery and Caldarium, and Pour Some Sugar on Me Sweet Shoppe.

When I left the hotel this morning, my intention was to not eat until dinner this evening. I thought, I need to stick with snacks until tonight’s big meal. I need to walk and burn some calories. And whereas the walking felt great and definitely burned some calories, it also made me extremely hungry, so I ended up going into Colonial Pancake and Waffle House and carb-loading on some buttermilk biscuits. I say “carb-loading” as if I’ll be participating in a marathon later today, but I won’t be participating in a marathon later today–unless, of course, that marathon is on Netflix.

I’m writing now, earlier in the day, because our travel-writers group will be meeting in two short hours for a welcome reception followed by dinner. And since tomorrow’s activities start at 6:30 in the morning (I’m not kidding), I need to make a concerted effort to get some sleep tonight.

That effort, I’m assuming, will require anti-histamines.

For the last few days, I’ve been meditating to a song called “Don’t Let Me Down” by Joy Williams. The song starts off by saying, Crashing, hit a wall, right now I need a miracle. Hurry up now, I need a miracle. This lyric brings tears to my eyes, as it often feels as if I’m crying out to God or the universe, asking for help in my current situation, for direction in my life and healing in my body. The singer’s voice might as well be mine–I need ya, I need ya, I need you right now. Yeah, I need you right now. So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me down. I think I’m losing my mind now.

Each time I hear these words, I imagine it differently. Two weeks ago when I first heard the song, I pictured myself as I just described, crying out to a deity bigger than myself. There’s a line that says, I really thought you were on my side. Growing up in church, I’ve often felt this way, disappointed by the heavens, thinking that life owed me easier, less challenging, or simply better experiences–experiences less sorrowful. And yet my life has been what it’s been because life is what it is–a symphony of both major and oh-so-many minor chords. I guess in preparation for those minor moments, those storms that inevitably enter every life, I’ve built up defenses in order to protect myself from (and therefore, separate myself from) life itself.

Of course, this can’t be done. For how can a person be separated from life itself?

Two days ago while listening to “Don’t Let Me Down,” I lost all my defenses because, in a moment of grace, I imagined that God, the universe, or life, were singing the song to me. Stranded, reaching out, I call your name but you’re not around. I say your name but you’re not around. I hope this makes sense. Picturing an invisible “something bigger than me,” I thought, What if IT needs ME to be its arms and legs, to be a kinder, more compassionate, less defensive human being in order to make the world a more beautiful place? What if that’s part of the reason I’m here? What if life were saying to me, Don’t let down, don’t let me down?

I’m coming to believe that all of us are this important, this critical to what’s going on down here.

This morning while listening to “Don’t Let Me Down,” I got a picture of a small child lost in a forrest, crying out for help. Then came the image of a strong adult, rescuing the child, protecting the child. I see this as my inner adult coming to the rescue of my inner child. So many times over the years I’ve built up defenses in an effort to protect myself. And yet now I see clearly that defenses don’t just wall you off from the world–they wall you off from yourself, leaving you feeling alone and frightened, terrified of experiencing the ever-changing music that is life itself. But now I know that whatever comes my way, I don’t need walls in my life so much as I need my authentic self–my strong, able-to-rise-to-any-occasion, authentic self. Darling, I hope that you’ll be here when I need you the most. To me, this coming back to my authentic self feels like sipping a warm cup of coffee, a cool breeze blowing on my skin, or the sun shining on my face. This returning home feels like the arrival of spring, the most natural thing in the world.