As I Finish My Coffee
On December 30, 2025, I was sitting in a restaurant inside a hospital, positioned against an all-glass wall. Not the cafeteria, just a place to get coffee and wait. Nothing special about it.
As I finished my coffee, I made a small but intentional decision. Instead of sitting there with my mind wandering all over the place, I chose to watch the people passing by.
The restaurant sits in a very busy spot in the hospital, so there was a constant flow of people. Recently, I have been reading, writing, and talking a great deal about the energy people generate and how it affects us, our health, our lives, and those around us. I know from everything I’ve studied that everyone generates energy, and the quality of that energy impacts how we feel, how we heal, and how we experience life.
The day before, I had been reading about how emotions affect physical health and how positive emotional states can support faster and more complete healing. As I sat there watching the steady stream of passersby, something became immediately clear.
Nearly everyone was emitting low energy. Heavy. Muted. Sad.
That realization sparked a question. If positive energy helps people heal, shouldn’t a hospital, of all places, have some of it flowing through the halls?
Of course, people are there because something is wrong. Illness, uncertainty, fear, those are natural generators of low energy. Still, for the next thirty minutes, I decided to observe more intentionally. I took notes on what I saw, looking for signs of positive energy, anything that might be helping someone heal, even briefly.
Here is What I Noticed
This is a large hospital, and confusion is everywhere. You can’t help but see the perplexed looks on people’s faces as they try to figure out where they are going.
The crowd represented many races and all levels of economic success.
Across the restaurant, customers waited for their orders. Some patiently. Some not.
A husband and wife passed by. She was pushing him in a wheelchair. He looked downhearted. She wore the familiar expression of forced reassurance, the “Everything will be okay” face.
The crowd included young people, old people, very old people, and children.
At the information booth, a woman dealt with a constant stream of questions. Her expression never changed, neutral, neither happy nor unhappy, simply present.
A wide variety of wheelchairs rolled past. Some people walked very slowly, others moved quickly, and some stopped to rest along the way.
Nurses passed by continuously in pale green scrubs. I found myself wondering, if they could choose any color they wanted, what would it be?
Doctors strode past, nearly all on important phone calls.
Off to one side sat a security guard at her podium. I watched her for several minutes as people flowed past. She appeared emotionally detached, occasionally reading something on her phone. Her black uniform projected authority and readiness, yet her role seemed to be waiting. I wondered how people do that day after day, standing watch while life moves by.
Many people practiced what I now think of as WAT, Walking And Texting, missing nearly everything happening around them. Can you truly enjoy life without connecting live with others?
Some people wore masks, though they were not hospital staff. Were they sick? Being cautious? Or still carrying lingering fear?
About halfway through this exercise, an important insight surfaced. There was much more to see here than I had ever realized. I didn’t have to sit there staring into my coffee cup. I could choose to engage mentally, imaginatively, creatively. What began as a paragraph or two quickly became several pages. I had underestimated my enthusiasm for paying attention.
This being a large hospital in Chicago, I heard many different languages. When I couldn’t understand what people were saying, I imagined their conversations. I’ll never know if I was right.
Around twenty minutes in, I noticed there were surprisingly few white lab coats passing by. If this is any indication of the ratio of doctors to patients, it’s no wonder it takes so long to get an appointment.
As the steady stream of bland faces continued, a disturbing thought arose.
Is a hospital a place to get well…
or a place to avoid death?
Of course, I saw people who were clearly going home. Yet there were no smiles.
My chair sat right against the window. People passed within two feet of me and could easily see me looking at them. Not one person made eye contact.
Wheelchairs came in different varieties. Some people wheeled themselves with determination. Others were pushed by companions. Still others were rushed quickly toward the exit. I noticed that those who propelled themselves often looked purposeful, focused on where they were going.
As I was watching the wheel chairs, it generated some thoughts on the nature of hospitals.
A hospital as a factory, a sickness factory.
You enter broken in some way and, hopefully, leave less broken. And on the way out, a handful of prescriptions.
Peaceful faces were few and far between.
Then the deeper insight arrived.
I realized I was watching hope in real time,
in others, and in myself.
As I sat there staring into my coffee cup, I became aware of my own energy. It was flat. Guarded. Waiting.
And Then I Made a Choice
I shifted from distraction to engagement.
From passive waiting to active presence.
I engaged my curiosity, my imagination, and one of my deepest talents, paying attention.
The energy changed.
What followed was not just a clearer mind, but something quieter and more sustaining. Writing. Creating. Noticing.
The result was this piece, written with joy in an otherwise heavy moment. And just as important, it softened the waiting. It lessened the quiet agony of sitting with uncertainty while my son was in surgery.
Nothing outside of me changed.
But everything inside did.
HOPE is not passive.
It is holding onto positive energy,
and it is always a choice.
Images © Adobe Stock. Licensed for editorial.
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Having and living your mission is a driving force in Frank’s life and his coaching. His mission is “To experience the joy of living on purpose, sharing what he learns with other seekers. And for thirty years, he has been doing just that.
To learn more about how to live a life of significance, read “Practical Wisdom – The Seekers Guide to a Meaningful Life” by Frank Mallinder.
