On a gorgeous January afternoon in south Texas – clear blue sky, gentle breeze, and mid-sixties temperature – I lay on the slope at the back of my house, stared up and the sky, and listened to the traffic just on the other side of the greenbelt.

A calm blew over me as the sounds carried me away to a conversation that took place many years ago.

I stood outside of my church in Nashville, Tennessee talking to a homeless man named Troy. I never forgot him, and not just because we shared a name (my first name is Troy).

I remember a lesson he taught me on perspective.

Troy shared a secret to coping with the anxiety of living on the streets.

He loved the beach, loved the sound the waves made as they came to shore, but Nashville was a long way away from any coastal area. Still, the sounds of the sea lulled him to sleep every night.

Troy told me that when he closed his eyes and concentrated, the traffic sounded like the waves of the ocean.

At his request, I closed my eyes but failed to hear what he heard.

The older I have gotten, though, the more mindful I have become of our spiritual need to slow down. The more I slow down, the better I become at listening. As my ability to listen grows, so does my ability to hear what Troy heard.

Like Troy, I too, love the beach. Any beach is pure heaven to me – even the brown, seaweed-infested beaches of the Texas gulf. Sadly, I seldom visit. Still, thanks to Troy’s lesson on perspective, I can find the soothing peace and tranquility of the beach right in my own backyard.