What I Needed to Hear — and Maybe You Do Too

What if the words you’re waiting for are already in the room? We explore a simple, disarming question—what do you most need to hear today—and discover how a small, overlooked detail becomes a compass for calm. A ceiling sconce turns into a living metaphor for the quiet constants that hold us, even when we don’t flip the switch. The story moves from pressure and creative block to permission and presence, inviting a shift from grit to grace without losing strength.

I share how staring at a blank page led me to lie on the floor, look up, and notice the design above me: nine lines radiating from a calm center, ruby points at the edges, balance without noise. That image unlocks a deeper truth about resilience and choice. We don’t have to force clarity; we can invite it. We don’t have to earn support; we can remember it’s always there. By reframing need as invitation, we create room for the exact message that helps—whether it’s rest, release, or simply turning on a light when we’re ready for illumination.

This conversation is a short, grounding reset for anyone feeling stretched, stuck, or unsure what would actually make today feel better. If you’ve been valuing output over inner alignment, you’ll find practical ease in small shifts of attention: listening with kind curiosity, using your surroundings as friendly mirrors, and trusting steady anchors you’ve been too busy to see. If this resonated, share it with someone who might need a gentle nudge, and subscribe for more reflective, real moments. Leave a review to tell us: what message are you ready to invite today?

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Chapters

• 0:00 The Question You Need
• 0:59 Rethinking Need As Invitation
• 3:51 Facing The Blank Page
• 4:39 The Sconce As Metaphor
• 6:30 Finding Ground In What Endures
• 7:25 Closing And Gentle Reminder

Transcript

Lisa Hopkins: 0:23

Hey there. What's something that you need to hear right now that you wish somebody might say to you? Just think about it for a moment. It's it's not that you are lacking something, but more like an awareness, a feeling that something is missing, that there's potential for more. You know, we hold such high expectations for ourselves to just stay calm and carry on, to keep our head up even when we are weary, nose to the grindstone valuing grit and grind over grace and gratitude. And while we as humans are built to be extremely resilient, I'm gonna ask you that question again. Even though you're doing okay without it, if there was something, just anything, that somebody could say to you that landed in a way that well, that maybe you didn't even realize you needed or wanted to hear. What would be of great value for you to hear, even though it's not important in terms of your output or productivity or functionality in the world? Take a moment to explore this question with kind curiosity. I know if it were me, and actually full disclosure, I am speaking to myself today as I'm speaking with you. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that we are not so different, you and I, and that as humans, we share this innate sense that is often untapped. Sometimes it's because we've lost access to it, and sometimes it's because maybe we didn't stop long enough to realize there's something valuable there for us. You know, the sense of knowing what we need, and I use the word need lightly because we can absolutely survive without it. And quite honestly, most of us do. So instead of the word need, let's use the word invite. If you were to invite something into your life, some kind of a message, either from somebody else or from the universe, or, well, from yourself, from ourselves, from myself, what would that message be? I sat at my desk for a while looking at a blank page today, which is uncomfortable for me. So as I'm talking to you right now, I'm lying on my back in my office with my feet up in the air instead. There's a sconce on my ceiling. I'm looking at it now. It resembles a spider web or a flower. It's beautiful. Not a scary spider web. Its surface has a an opaque pearl luster, and there are nine charcoal colored lines reaching from the same center point to the scalloped edges of the sconce, each arriving at ruby colored points that look like jeweled sunrises. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, there are nine of them. And they're perfectly symmetrical, emanating from the same center, but balanced. You know, in this moment it occurs to me that I have been ensconced, and yes, pun intended, ensconced in my own uncertainty, which is very uncomfortable for me, without realizing that there is something constant, always constant, watching over me. It is quite literally watched over me silently, my sconce, never lit, because I don't like the light that it gives. And yet, even though I never turn it on, it remains there. It's been in every session with me and my clients, in every podcast with my wonderful guests. It's witnessed my inspired moments and my writer's block always there, not judging me. Solid, consistent, centered, beautiful. Right in the middle of my ceiling, in the room where I do all my most inspired and passionate work. If I wanted more light in my room, I could turn the sconce on, and it would give me more light. Maybe my sconce has just offered me what I needed to hear today, but only because I looked at it differently and invited the question. I'm feeling more grounded now, and and I hope that my little brainstorm made you feel a little bit more centered. And maybe you can take this and and make it your own. This could be your God, the universe, your inner compass, but whatever it is, the metaphor is strong. Even though sometimes we don't see it or pay attention to it, or really use it at all. It is always there. I'm Lisa Hopkins. Thanks so much for listening. Stay safe and healthy, everyone. And remember to live in the moment.