The Red Couch

After weeks of journeying through India, witnessing people finding refuge under makeshift tents of garbage bags, their bodies sprawled on unforgiving concrete, drenched by relentless rain, I finally arrived at my guesthouse in Santa Barbara, CA—a sanctuary of warmth and comfort.

The sheer bliss of having my own room, a heavenly mattress, a plush comforter, and the softest pillows—it felt like a dream. Gratitude filled me as I anticipated the luxury of a deep, restful sleep.

But in the dead of night, an incessant, maddening noise echoed from the attic vent, jolting me awake. No solution in sight, I surrendered, grabbing my comforter and a pillow, retreating to the living room. The red couch awaited me—far from my bed’s embrace, stiff and unwelcoming. Restlessness crept in as I spiraled into self-pity… Poor me, forced to sleep on a couch.

And then, in an instant, clarity struck—I am resting on a COUCH. WOW. I HAVE a couch. What a gift! What a privilege! Gratitude washed over me, replacing my frustration with peace. And with that shift, sleep found me once more.