I first began to consider the concept of unlimited abundance in the spring, after reading Rhonda Byrne’s The Secret. As with any remarkable happenstance, it came to me like a just-in-time supply order: A copy of the book rested on the top shelf of a bookcase in the local indie juice shop, and there I was, staring right at it. When it was still there the next time I visited, a week later, I asked Helen, the juicemaker on duty, if I could borrow it—a bold move it was for me to ask.
A couple weeks later, I sat waiting on a bench outside of P’s school. It was then that I first appreciated the concept of nonfinancial abundance.
Considering I hadn’t yet perceived—I hesitate to say manifested—monetary abundance resulting from my study, I was being extra open, I suppose, to anything I can assign the abundance label to. On that day, I defined abundance as the glory of a sun-showered walk to the school grounds through the loveliest of neighborhoods clarified by taking a seat on a worn, slatted wood bench, looking up above the school’s gables and angles to an unreal, tree-frayed blue heaven.
I reveled, in my mind, in my head, in my heart, and in my soul. With soul lifting spine, I rose to meet my gift. The gift I recognized as abundance is the inimitable honor to, the satisfaction in having the wherewithal to, wait for my son’s class dismissal knowing I would be smiling and he would be gleeful.
On that day and others since, that opening up of senses transcended financial prosperity and was my abundance.