Grounded in Coffee.

The other day I was having one of those rough starts we all know too well. Everything already felt a little heavier than usual.

I was heading out on the highway to my first visit when a reckless driver came flying past and cut right in front of me. I slammed on the brakes. My work bag flew forward and knocked my full coffee cup across the seat. The outside of the car was fine. The inside? Total disaster. Coffee everywhere.

Of course, the same driver ended up stopped at the red light just ahead of me. I pulled up beside him and gave him my best stink eye. He rolled down his window and started yelling at me like it was my fault.

In that moment, I had to remind myself: You are a hospice chaplain on your way to care for patients and families. You cannot do this. I kept my eyes forward, left the window up, and let him speed away. But my whole body was shaking with adrenaline.

I had only a few minutes before my first visit, and I needed to show up calm, present, and actually useful to the family I was about to meet. So I pulled over near a quiet field, took a deep breath, and used the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique right there in the driver’s seat.

It goes like this: Five things you can see. Four things you can feel. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste.

I named five things I could see: my work bag, the blue sky, the golden field, my hands gripping the wheel, and the spilled coffee on the floor. Four things I could feel: my feet on the floor mat, the fabric of my clothes, the seat against my back, and the warmth of the coffee still soaking into my pants. Three sounds: the hum of the engine, traffic whooshing by, and my own breathing finally beginning to slow. Two smells: spilled coffee and the crisp morning air coming through the cracked window. And finally, one taste: more of that coffee.

As I finished the exercise, I had to laugh out loud. I was officially grounded in coffee. Four out of five senses, all coffee.

That moment has stayed with me. In this work, and really in all of life, things spill. Plans fall apart. People cut us off (sometimes literally). Our bodies react before our minds can catch up. The question is always: how do we come back to center quickly so we can still show up for the people who need us?

Sometimes the tools are simple. Sometimes the mess itself becomes part of the medicine.

What about you? Have you ever had one of those mornings (or whole seasons) where everything felt like it was spilling over and you had to find your way back to grounded? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments.

If these kinds of real, everyday reflections on chaos, faith, grounding, and the messy beauty of life resonate with you, I’d be grateful if you subscribed. There are plenty more stories where this came from.

Thanks for reading.