I was riding with my husband Ricki in his pirate truck, coming home from an early dinner. Before making the left hand turn onto our street, he slowed down to yield oncoming traffic, when the car behind him continued impatiently to come uncomfortably close, as if urging him to move. With a bit of aggravation, Ricki made a hand gesture out the window, turned left and drove us home. The bad news: the car followed us. The worse news: The guys in it were on a mission.

We stopped at the house, the car pulled along side to the left, window half way down. The driver, a young African American man, leaned over to share some threatening words, ending with something like “do you want me to blow your mf’ing head off?” at which time the passenger rolled the window down even further. Having remained calm, Ricki’s main gesture was to block me from their vision, almost leaning out of his window. His answer: “well, then I’m dead and you’re going to jail.” The tension and silence stretched the next moment into an indefinable time period. The two young men decided it obviously wasn’t worth it and took off, probably high-fiving each other on scaring the living crap out of us.

What surprised me most in this experience was my own reaction, or lack thereof. My awareness encompassed the following: This is not how I had expected to go, but I accepted. The love for my husband was overwhelming and I hoped for a fast conclusion. Tremendous gratitude for being together in this. I was surprised to feel compassion for the boys. I have received and lived so much already, nothing feels incomplete and I’m happy with my share. Now, these thoughts didn’t exactly come this linear and spelled out (OK, except for the “let it be quick if it’s happening now”), but rather flooded me as a knowingness. It’s actually not much different than how we live our daily lives: In awe of the daily gifts, together, grateful, ready for what life presents.

I value this experience as an enormous gift. And one those is definitely enough for now.