The tree’s branches were heavy with bluebirds - so many of them, perching lightly as if they were smiling and content. The tree itself was deeply rooted in the earth, with a thick knobby trunk and branches like arms ready for an embrace. It seemed as if this particular tree could reach the sky if it just kept trying.

The tree represents growth and the bluebirds are all about confidence. You walk into a room and you know that you are the person to be noticed, that is how you carry yourself, she explained.

On the ceiling, tiny white Christmas lights shone from around the rafters. It was a peaceful moment and a heartening one, on the eve of a holiday dedicated to gratitude.

There are an increasing number of businesses today that convey their missions, their messages, in the very fabric of their storefronts. Lululemon, for one, with its messages of meaning hanging in word clouds above the cash registers. And even Starbucks. What brilliant concepts and they both have flocks of customers, like birds returning to a familiar nest.

In the book I bought by chance at a Starbucks recently, entitled 1: How many people does it take to make a difference?, I marveled at the message in the pages.

For a coffee shop to seek to produce a book for sale beside the treats and lattes, well, it’s a novel concept to begin with - but so is having a private record label on which famous performers agree to do exclusive projects. Brilliant marketing.

And this book, at a time when so many are teetering, it’s about living a life of meaning, not living a life of money. It’s not a book about making a living; it’s a book about making a life.

And so I put before you this very important question on a Monday morning in the last month of this year: What are you doing to make your life worth living? When you look back at the end of your days, what will you be glad you did? And what will be your imprint on this earth when you are gone?

A friend recently flew to Kathmandu for work. She spent 2 and a half days en route in order to improve the maternal-fetal health care system in that Nepal city at the foot of the world’s tallest peaks.

“I’m glad I go there on business,” she told me, “because I really get to meet the people and see how they live. If I went as a tourist, I’d spend my time in shops and restaurants - and that’s not the truth of a place.”

We all make choices every single day - we choose to live a certain way, choose to work in a certain field, select the people we surround ourselves with and whom we turn to for inspiration. I’ve been trying these past few months to clean house - eliminate the bad energy and make room only for the good. I sure hope you can do the same.

The email read that all leafy greens are infested with bugs and bugs are not kosher so other greens should be eaten. Don’t even try the leaf ones because you’ll fail. Because they all must have bugs. Because it no longer applies to wash and check the leaves and if you see a bug, get rid of it in the sink. Because we live at a time when excess is affordable, even though rumor has it there’s a recession going on.

I tried to be religious for 10 years, which is a pretty good run. It didn’t stick for me, like bugs to a leafy green, so today I look at the question before me and decide how I feel and what is right and choose the best course of action for my situation. It’s working out ok. In fact, it’s pretty great.

Life is good and I cherish the moments. Maybe even more than when I was checking off rules and ways of doing things.

The assumption that all of anything is identical is ludicrous. You know that. And anything to an extreme loses its semblance of sanity. You know that too. So why persist?

The leafy greens grow in the fading sunlight and warm air sailing through an afternoon. They have vitamins, minerals, fiber - all the things our fat nation should be eating. But oh there may be bugs hidden in the folds of the leaf.

And some would say there’s no sense even taking a look because what would happen if there were not, in fact, any bugs at all hiding in the crevices? What then? Would you actually be able to add something new to this moment?

My weekend past was an exercise in exploration and discovery with an element of relaxation, too. It was Indian Summer full-fledged with bacon for breakfast. Brick buildings trembled in their streetfronts.

The children were happy. And last night, back in their comfortable beds, they slept easily and well.

The morning rises dark but prescient. A week of gratitude unfolds. The violin strings quiver. In the kitchen, dough rises. Some religious folks say the rising represents arrogance - it’s a story they tell for the spring holiday. Metaphor is everything.

But the other 51 weeks of the year, it’s the dough they seek to start their meals.

Last night, as the plane descended over Detroit, Asher looked out the window and motioned me closer.

“Look Mommy! It’s so beautiful - the city lights,” he said.

“Yes. It really is,” I replied. “On the ground, it sure doesn’t seem so beautiful, does it?”

He shook his head.

It truly is all about perspective.

I bought a gift at Starbucks, having forgotten earlier in the day to find something with meaning. I scoured the shelves, scanned the offerings on the counter. What could I buy for one of my dearest friends on the occasion of her office open house?

And there it was. A journal called ONE and with inspiring quotes and quips to ponder and this for a woman who journals incessantly, channeling the universe, communing with Spirit. It’s like I was meant to forget to buy a different gift and steered to nothing less than a ubiquitous chain shop by some hand reaching down from the heavens. Because this gift was waiting for me.

And in her thank you letter to everyone who attended, Carolyn quoted from the journal I gave her. The words are prescient, I think, as we face times filled with fear and gripped by the lowest energy. I share them now but hold on to your seat because I have more to say:

How many people does it take to make a difference?

One.

One song can spark a moment.

One flower can wake a dream.

One tree can start a forest.

One smile begins a friendship.

One handclasp lifts a soul.

One star can guide a ship at sea.

One word can frame the goal.

One vote can change a nation.

One sunbeam lights a room.

One candle wipes out darkness.

One laugh will conquer gloom.

One step must start each journey.

One word must start a prayer.

One hope will raise our spirits.

One touch can show you care.

One voice can speak with wisdom.

One heart can know what’s true.

One live can make a difference.

That difference starts with you.

-Unknown

In the past two weeks, I have felt the acrid air of bad energy and misguided intentions swirling around me like a cloud of locusts. On Monday night, I stared out at the bare trees, their outline against a milk-chocolate night, and let angst spiral out to the universe. I banished the bad energy that I’ve received from others and I invited only love and goodness to stay.

The middle part of this week responded well to that. Conciliatory notes and calls of kindness abounded. There was space to breathe. And I did my work in good conscience and in earnest, proud of every word, connected to the very people I feel lucky to work with.

But the bad energy comes a’knocking at the door again and again. It is tough, I tell you, and it keeps coming back. I believe it will try until/unless I let it in, but I am trying not to succumb to it, trying to weather the storm of insecurity around me and the pervasive fear and loneliness that so many are mired in.

We are living in unprecedented times. But that doesn’t have to forecast failure and demise. It can mean rebirth, it can mean a new existence, it can and should mean a different color on the horizon.

There is still a horizon. There always will be. The economy won’t grind to a standstill. It isn’t possible. And those who are creative and innovative and GOOD will persevere. I’m counting my pennies like everyone else these days but I’m also counting the ways the sun arches over the trees in my backyard and reveling in the soft cheek of my child’s smiling face.

It’s all good, you know. It’s all good.

“Notice every transition.”

Donna, at the Grosse Pointe Yoga Shelter. Leading Monday morning Vinyasa. I swear I thought she called it Strong Vinyasa, only because the class was hard and made me focus early on a Monday about questions and question marks and fault lines.

She was talking about the fluid move from pose to pose, from Warrior 1 to Warrior 2 to Triangle pose to folding down and releasing through a push-up. Every change a chance to connect with the moment and the breath, with the thought and with the mind and yet to shut it off.

Notice every transition.

And the beauty of the statement was that she was really speaking on several levels. yes, the transition between poses but also the transitions in life, in relationships, in work and in play.

Aren’t we living in exceptional times? But really, all times are exceptional. What makes right now any harder? Is it that we have coasted for years, for decades, riding the wave of plenty and believing it would never crash to shore?

Notice the transitions. Which means that in the waiting, in the in-between, lies the challenge and the reward. In the transition, instead of focusing on the discomfort, the what-ifs and the fear, notice the actual BEING.

There is a bad energy circulating right now - whether from the economic recession of the past two years or because another year is ending and with it comes the transitional period until a new year and a new existence, a new way of doing things. It doesn’t mean we have to give in to the bad energy. Or that we even have to see it as BAD.

Perhaps it is alternative or confronting or arresting. Perhaps it is simply different. And the person who can shroud another in purple light as well as themselves and send out only positivity and joy and, well, love - that’s the person who will endure.

Transition that.

Last night, women gathered in the beautiful Maria’s Bridal Couture boutique for an evening of introductions, of networking, of kind interaction. Carol Kirkland of AVE Office Supplies spoke about the importance of relationships in business.

There was wine and shrimp and homemade mini-muffins with olive and feta cheese. Samira made three desserts by hand. And a feeling of pervasive warmth and integrity permeated the night.

Except for one woman.

She came late, and in the middle of Carol’s speech, said loudly, “Sorry I’m late.” As if anyone knew her. I didn’t even, and I was the host of the night, but then I’d invited everyone via email with the hope of bringing together good people who do good work.

We exchanged a chuckle at one point of the night, she in her heavy irreverent smoker’s voice, and I thought I had expanded my circle. Until I learned from two of my clients present in the night that she had slinked up to them and said, “I know you’re working with Meredith, but if you want another perspective, give me a call.”

They told me, I cornered her and frankly, I don’t know if it was that she didn’t even get my name right, or that in the generosity of my invitation she viewed an opportunity to try to steal business.

But I operate with integrity and from a place of goodness and so I know that my hard work stands for itself and the people I trust are worth trusting. I called her out, she apologized to all, and slinked out the door into the dark of the night.

And then she sent me an email, calling me insecure and tacky and pointing out that it was a networking event, wasn’t it?

I asked kindly to be deleted from her contact list. And I wondered where some people learn their definitions.

Yes, it was a networking night. Carol spoke beautifully about the power of a handwritten note and the kindness in a gesture like a birthday card unexpected or a bag of bagels before the meeting.

I was taught by mentors, my parents and virtually everyone I know that networking is an opportunity to introduce yourself and show what you stand for. That in-your-face tactics never get you far and your integrity and work ethic and the actual work you do say more than anything else.

Yep, it was a networking night and a beautiful one at that. But the bad energy seeped in through the glass doors. I’m sending it back to the universe and residing only in goodness.

Hello old friend, where have you been?

I’ve been combing the nights late to find more time to breathe. And then the morning begins before dawn. Circling back unto itself, tether of warm air and the promise of a new day. I couldn’t help it. I was a cog in a cycle, stuck going round and round until someone other than myself pulled the lever down.

So stop. You, old friend, you know. Money is not love and loving yourself is more important and more challenging than any outside source. Stop the cycle. Take up with yourself and walk the freedom trail. Remember those moments?

You were scared because you couldn’t see the end of the road. But you started with the first step and then you felt the rush of cool air, reassuring freedom. You named the tall trees for that moment. You crystallized the ginger-sugar in the echo of your living room. If only you had refinished the wood floors by hand. Always outsourcing.

Yes. I do remember that. The autumn was ending into itself and the tall trees masked the brightness of the sky. We didn’t even broach the subject until after we’d eclipsed hill and fall and collapsed back into plush velvet chairs with coffee that was too strong.

It was such a simple question - where is your power? And it was rhetorical. You knew you didn’t need an answer. Why do you need one now?

Remember the fear? You carried it like a bundle around each wrist for seven years. And when it materialized into human form, it wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Remember that now.

There is power in the light, she said, and there is power in the dark. If you concentrate on the only thing that exists, right this minute like a daisy in your sweaty palm, you’ll be fine.

One moment continues into the next until you have a string of them, like white holiday lights strung along the sukkah top or dangling before the winter solstice. They are the same lights every time; it’s we who attach meaning to them. Connotation.

And so what is it, now, that gnaws at you?

She asked the question over and over, like a tunnel without end.

What is it? Can you see it?

Yes. She nodded into the echo. It’s that, by his stories, he negates my whole existence. I don’t even hover over the water. From the way he spins it, I was never there.

But I was. She exclaims this and punches into the air for emphasis. I was THERE! And the story spun out of control with different characters, a completely foreign setting.

Yesterday, the children found the word alien in literature to refer to persons from another land. Until that moment, they’d only known the term to mean outer space creatures.

How odd, the eldest said. Or something like that. That’s not even nice, to call them aliens.

It was a different time, the mother explained. Words take on meaning depending on who’s saying them and what the context.

But they had already moved on to another topic, another scene outside the window, another song on the radio.

Yes, she said. I remember the moment.

When he was alive, they wondered sometimes who would turn out for his funeral. Did he have friends? He didn’t seem to be social but then, you never could know whom your father held dear.

And then he passed. It was a long week of agony and wonder, and when it happened in the early morning of a Monday in November, the leaves long since fallen to the ground and the forecast winking of snow, they knew it was time.

That didn’t make it easy, though. One can never prepare to lose a parent, no matter how old they get, no matter how his body takes a beating.

They moved in motions studied and quick and without a trace of thought to make the necessary plans and have the important conversations. And then, they gathered together in the dark hues of the funeral home, in the back room, ready to greet whomever swept through the doors.

It was a gray day and cool, with ample cloud cover. Streams of people poured in until there wasn’t an empty row in the funeral home. The line of people waiting to comfort the mourners ran the length of the building until a half-hour past the scheduled time for the service to begin. The place burst with well-wishers.

And after his body was lowered into the earth, and after the closest few shoveled speckles of dirt onto the plain pine box in which his body rested, the people kept coming. To the house, to the mourners, until there was standing room only for days.

When the youngest son went on the day he died to the bakery, he couldn’t keep the tears back. It was the place his father had gone every Friday for decades, for challah breads and seven-layer cake. And he would never go again.

The woman at the counter asked, “What’s wrong?”

“My father died,” he said.

“Who was your father?” she said.

He told her his father’s name and the woman behind the counter burst into tears of her own. “I wondered why he wasn’t here last Friday. We loved him here. We will miss him so much.”

The son bought his single slice of seven-layer cake, hoping to find comfort in its chocolate piping. And as he left, he was comforted - content in the knowledge that his father had touched many in ways he’d never known.

He knew he missed him greatly and always would. He thought he had been a wonderful, loving father, a great example of someone who cares for his family and lives a life of meaning. But until that moment on the sleek bakery floor, he hadn’t known how much other people valued the man he took for granted.

As he walked to his car, he looked up at the sky. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he saw the clouds break somewhere in the middle and a beam of light shine through. He smiled.

I miss you already, Dad. And you did a wonderful job.

The other day my eldest son asked me what three traits I wish I had. I couldn’t answer right at that moment. I had to let the question percolate until I hit on what I deem to be the three most important characteristics, for a successful person.

(Notice, I am not saying successful businessperson – I mean successful in business and in life, for true success spans both realms.) 

1. Patient - Everything good and worth having takes time. Marathon, not a race. 
2. Optimistic - Believing good will come in the end. Always. 
3. Strong - Physically, mentally, emotionally. Being able to do-it-yourself, whatever IT is. And then I got on a roll. Ambitious. Generous. Compassionate. And really, you have to have a bit of an edge. 

This was my children’s first Halloween as trick-or-treaters. In the cold gray evening, little cheeks rounding into red, they ran from house to house, eager smiles in their voices as they chorused out: “Trick or treat!” Plop, plunk, click.

Candy, potato chips, even a package of two giant chocolate cupcakes, dropped into each of their bright orange jack-o-lantern pouches and they sing-songed thank you before catapulting to the next house. After, my little one already asleep on the way home, the elder two kids and I sat at the kitchen table. I ate dinner.

My daughter downed as much candy as she could ingest. My eldest son had a reasonable amount of chicken soup before delving into his stash.  And he read as he ate.

“Mommy, what superhero quality would you want?” he asked. “ONE,” he reminded me, as my daughter sang out two that she would choose: strength and flying. 

Again, I drew a blank. Superhero quality? All that came to mind, guiltily, was wealth. I tried to spin it positively. “Well, if I had all the money in the world, I could give it to all the people who needed it,” I said. Lame.  

“Mommy,” my daughter implored. “That’s not a superhero quality. Things like strength, flying, speed, fire, water and jumping really high. Stretch – a long stretch.” Her arm extended, fist folded, above her head.

“Did we say strength? I think that’s pretty much all. Wait, no, fighting.” She nodded her head. “Fighting bad criminals.” 

She listened to her lovely little voice and then said, “I think I’d take all of them.” 

“Then you’d be the most powerful person in the world,” I said. 

And I realized the best quality anyone could hope for was imagination. Believing in the impossible. That’s the true key to success. My kid has it at 6.

I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.