Holding Space Under Fluorescent Lighting ✨

I went to renew my passport today and accidentally became someone’s life coach.

Not officially, of course.

There was no intake form involved. Just fluorescent lighting, a government cubicle, a scheduled passport appointment, and a man we’ll call Fred who appeared to be one Outlook notification away from disappearing into the woods indefinitely.

The day had already started the way many of my days seem to lately. A manuscript still asking things of me.A calendar filling by the hour.A client appointment later in the day.And somewhere in the middle of it all, I needed to renew my passport before I ran out of time.

Still, I approached the day the way I seem to approach most days lately:coffee in hand ☕️, feeling stretched in several directions at once and quietly asking the universe to pace itself.

Some days I feel like I live in two very different worlds.

One rooted in leadership, systems, deadlines, and organizational change. The other rooted in writing, creativity, grief, healing, and the quieter emotional realities people carry beneath the surface.

Today those two worlds unexpectedly collided under fluorescent lighting at the passport office.

Within minutes, Fred had moved well beyond passport logistics.

Apparently the people in the “ivory tower” don’t understand frontline burnout, morale is collapsing, nobody listens anymore, and Fred was hanging on by a very thin emotional thread.

The strange thing was… Fred was hilarious. 😂

Not polished-comedian hilarious. More like emotionally exhausted, fluorescent-lighting-induced survival humour hilarious. The kind of humour people develop when they’ve spent too many years working with the public while quietly carrying more than anyone realizes.

Meanwhile, my nervous system was having a full-body reaction to the interaction.

You know when someone is so emotionally charged that your shoulders tense without permission and your body starts preparing for an emergency you weren’t technically invited to?

It was like that.

And yet instead of quietly collecting my paperwork and leaving like a psychologically healthy person, I found myself standing there inhaling and exhaling with this man in a government cubicle.

Together.

At one point I looked at him gently and said, “Just breathe.”

Somewhere between the breathwork and passport renewal, I realized this was no longer just a passport appointment.

By the end, he was introducing me to his coworkers like I had officially joined the department. One of them was on the verge of retirement and positively glowing. The woman radiated the kind of peace normally only achieved by monks and people who no longer have to answer emails after 4 p.m.

Meanwhile Fred continued emotionally unloading while processing my passport renewal.

And honestly, as absurd as the entire interaction was, I left thinking about something I’ve been noticing more and more lately.

People are tired. Not regular tired. Soul Tired.

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that exists right now beneath the surface of people’s lives. The kind that leaks out unexpectedly in grocery store lineups, workplace meetings, customer service interactions, and apparently passport offices.

Maybe grief has made me more aware of it. Maybe holding space for others and creatively has changed the way I move through the world. Or maybe people are simply desperate to feel seen by someone long enough to stop performing for five minutes.

I used to think holding space happened in intentional settings. In healing rooms.In deep conversations. In carefully curated moments where people arrived prepared to unravel.

Now I think sometimes it happens accidentally. Under fluorescent lighting. Between passport forms. In conversations that somehow become deeply human.

And maybe that’s the real reminder.

Not everyone needs advice.

Sometimes people just need someone to look at them long enough to remind them they’re still human. 🤍

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