The Guest List

​Sometimes, the most profound lessons come in the smallest moments—or the smallest injuries.
A few days ago, while trying to build an indoor tent for my daughter, I let my enthusiasm get ahead of my patience. In a rush to create a sanctuary, I forced a connection that wasn’t ready to snap into place. My finger paid the price: at first, it was just a throb. But by nightfall, the infection had set in—red, swollen, and demanding my total attention. To my luck, yesterday was the day I had the appointment to get my nails done, so when the manicurist took the nail polish off, the mystery of the incredible pain and the existence of the swollen area was finally revealed. It wasn’t just a bent nail. It was broken and infected. We decided my idea to go for red or even black-a first in many years- would have to wait, because this nail is gonna be too visible. Who would have thought that out of every finger possible, the “angry” one will turn out to be the middle one? It’s like a direct “F… you, insecurity!” right at the beginning of the new year. :))

Now, as I sit here on this beautiful day of Epiphany, I’m watching the “inflammation” finally recede thanks to a little bit of family doctor care and a lot of stillness. The warm water-baking soda combination + the Fucicort cream (if I add the letter k, I swear it’s pun intended!) are working wonders already. But this whole…adventure reminded me of a fundamental truth: The most beautiful structures in our lives cannot be rushed into existence.
​Whether we are building a child’s tent, a dream, or a bond with another soul, the moment we use “force” is the moment we risk an injury. When something doesn’t fit, or when a material is not ready (as I sadly believe it’s the case here), the answer isn’t to push harder; it’s to step back, let the materials breathe, and trust that if the design is right, it will find its own alignment in time, however short or long that might be.
​Today, as the bells ring in our mountain resort, I am choosing the path of the “Quiet Builder”. I am healing my physical “battle wounds” with the same grace I use to protect my peace. I’ve learned that a true sanctuary shouldn’t require pressure to stand—it should simply feel like home.

Catalina Oana