One’s spiritual center and a Birmingham, Michigan, Coney Island Restaurant would appear to have nothing in common.

The first is an intangible–one’s source of higher knowing, tuned into through calm and focused stillness. The other, a restaurant at which you might grab a hot dog, greek salad, and chicken finger pita.

For me, the two are inextricably linked.

There was a year or two in my childhood when my mom and I had dates at Leo’s Coney Island so often that we had a regular booth, waitress, and order. It was a tumultuous time for my family; my sister was struggling, and my mom’s MS was rearing its brutally ugly head. Sensing my increased need for respite, my mom made our lunch dates a priority. Some days she insisted it was more important than school.

The two of us would sit in that little red leather booth for what felt like hours. We talked and laughed and ate.

I can’t recall any one conversation in particular, but I remember what it felt like. I remember our delight in having a secret escape, a place no one else knew we went, but where we were known. I remember the feeling of her presence and focused attention, and the way she saw me so fully for who I was. No pretense, no distraction, no performing. Pure connection. Joy. Love.

When I feel my busy brain go into warp speed, cataloguing the list of things I need to do and the things I’m not doing that I ought to be, I close my eyes, and think of the two of us in that booth. I focus on the feeling that the memory represents. All of the busy-ness and bullshit fades away, and I feel myself centering again.

Whatever kind of life you’ve lived, there must surely have been a moment along the way when you remember feeling good, safe, and at peace.

Maybe it was the time you spent at the beach as a child. Or, maybe it’s holding your own child. Maybe it’s a vacation you took, or a time you sat and marveled at a particularly beautiful scene.

When you feel yourself going off kilter, close your eyes, take three deep breaths, and tune into it. The place. The people there. The way it looked. How you felt.

Let that memory be your portal to your spiritual core and to the truth of who you are.