"How are you?" He almost said "fine" without thinking. Automatic. The script everyone follows. But then he stopped. Actually felt into the question. How was he? Tired. Uncertain. A little scared about money. Grateful for his health. Missing his dad. Excited about next week. All of it at once. "Honestly? I don't know. Kind of everything at the same time." She looked at him. Really looked. "Yeah. I get that." And then they both just stood there. Two people in the coffee shop line. No small talk. No performance. Just... honesty hanging in the air. "Thanks for the real answer," she said. "Thanks for asking like you meant it." They got their coffees. Went separate ways. Probably wouldn't see each other again. But something had happened in that moment. Some small crack in the armor everyone wears. And through that crack? Just presence. Just two humans being honest for thirty seconds. It wasn't much. But it was enough. See you in presence.

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Yes Superstars, please welcome @Leaping Waters to the group 🔥

Hey Superstars, please welcome @Brenda Diaz to the Fam 📿

She was in the produce section reaching for apples when time slowed down. Not dramatically. Not like a movie. Just... slower. Like someone adjusted the speed slightly and everything became more spacious. Her hand touching the apple. The cool smooth skin. The weight of it. The red gradient from dark to light. She stood there holding it. And for some reason, she started crying. Not sad crying. Something else. Something that didn't have a name. An old woman next to her noticed. "You okay, dear?" She nodded. Smiled. "Yeah. Just... really present with this apple for some reason." The woman laughed. "Well, they are particularly good this week." And then the moment passed. Time sped back up. She put the apple in her bag. Kept shopping. But something had shifted. Every item she picked up after that—the bread, the cheese, the oranges—she noticed. Really noticed. Like she was touching them for the first time. At checkout, the cashier asked how her day was going. "Good," she said. And meant it. Not because anything special happened. Because she was actually there to answer the question. Driving home, she thought about it. The apple. The crying. The noticing. And she realized something. She'd been grocery shopping for thirty years. Same store. Same routine. But she'd never actually been there. She'd always been thinking about the next thing. Planning dinner. Replaying conversations. Anywhere but the produce section. Until today. Today she touched an apple. And the apple was enough. See you in presence.