THOUGHTS OUT LOUD: A Mindful Journey Through Reflection

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 9 minViews 5

Morning thoughts.

Daniel Harper nearly slept through his shift. He dreaded abandoning his cosy nest and pulling the warm duvet off his feet. He wrapped the blanket over his head and, like a child, waited for the alarm to ring. Perhaps, deep down, he imagined his mother frying fragrant scones with raisins or grilling chicken cutlets, and that she would soon call him down for breakfast.

Even though Daniel was turning thirtyfive this year, the feeling remained the same. Everyone sometimes wishes to be the beloved child that parents cuddle and cherish, dont they? Today, however, his alarm proved a traitor and stayed silent.

His wife, Emily, had already risen and was packing their son Sam and daughter Lily for nursery.
Why didnt you wake me? Daniel asked, a little hurt, instead of the usual kiss goodmorning.
Your alarm is supposed to do that, Emily replied. Didnt it go off? You always get up with it. I thought maybe your timetable had changed, so I tried not to disturb you and kept the house as quiet as possible.

Daniel rushed to dress. He declined the breakfast Emily offeredno time, he muttered, Im already late, and it was all Emilys fault, dear wife. As she closed the front door behind him, Daniel caught her words clearly:

Always the samehe oversleeps and Im the one to blame. He never kissed me goodbye. We havent had a proper talk in months. Weve drifted apart. Something has to change. Its sad; this isnt the life we once dreamed of. He used to be so caring and lively! What went wrong?

Emily, did you say something? Daniel turned.
Nothing at all. Just dont be late. Mrs. Thompson will definitely chastise you if you are. See you later, Daniel! she called, blowing him a quick kiss and waving from the doorway with only her lips forming a smile.

At the bus stop Daniel waited only a few minutes, glancing anxiously at his watch and sighing heavily.

I must make it to the lesson or the headteacher will have my hide, and Deputy Head Mrs. Thompson will add fuel to the fireshes always got something against me for no clear reason, he thought, shifting from foot to foot.

The street was damp and cold. Lonely snowflakes drifted, falling in a melancholy, indecisive swirl that did nothing to change the bleak blackandwhite pictures in Daniels mind. His stomach growled, craving at least a mug of cold tea and a hastily sliced sandwich, but the real trial was that he began to hear other peoples thoughts. They slipped into his ears, lodged in his head the moment he looked at someone and formed an opinion about them.

The snippets were fragmentssometimes curses, groans, accusations, complaints, and occasionally outright profanity from the strangers at the stop. Daniel tried to look down at the pavement where graceful snowflakes were completing their brief, seemingly pointless dance. Were they performing elegant jumps, a quadruple Axel, a Salchow, or a Lutz? Had they achieved perfect form, displaying cascade after cascade of beauty? Or were they simply twirling for an ungrateful audience? Who could read their minds and tally them on paper without using hands?

The constant influx of strangers thoughts overwhelmed him, making his head feel like a stormdrained gutter. He wondered whether everyone could read thoughts, whether he was ill, whether it was a curse or a contagious disease, and if closing his eyes would make it stop. Nothing changed; the intrusive chatter persisted.

Just then the number1 bus rounded the corner. The crowd at the stop hustled for a place inside. An unassuming elderly lady in a faded duster coat and a motheaten green scarf nudged Daniel in the back. Turning to her, he heard her private thoughts:

These halfbaked intellectuals scurry about! Theyre useless. They should be sweeping streets, not teaching our children! If they looked at themselves in the mirror theyd see the truth! I want to hug a fool like him, then choke him so he cant read any more books!

What did you say to me? Daniel shouted.
Nothing, dear, the old woman replied, slipping into the bus without a word.

Desperate not to miss his first physics lesson, Daniel squeezed past the lady and pressed his back against the icy bus doors. He had no spare change for a private hire, so he relied on the public transport that in rush hour was packed with people in parkas, scarves, and determined faces, all hurrying to what they deemed urgent.

On the step beside him stood his pupil, tenyearold Anabelle from class 10B.
Good morning, Mr. Harper! she chirped, almost missing him as she rushed toward the bus.
Morning, Anabelle, Daniel replied, averting his eyes to avoid her thoughts. Do you think well be late for school?

In a flash, Anabelles mind filled his ears: Mr. Harper is fantastic! Tall, blueeyed, handsomeif only I could fall for him. Mrs. Thompson drools over him and he never notices. Hes always lost in formulas. She swaps lessons just to tease him! She looks at him like shes pouring boiling water.

Ill make sure we get there on time, Daniel said, trying not to stare.

The lesson could start now, Anabelle added eagerly, you explain things so well! The boys listen with their mouths open.

Lets not be late, Daniel warned, hoping shed focus on work, not daydreams. Youve got independent study today, right?

Yes, Im ready, Anabelle replied, hopping off the bus as the school gates loomed.

Outside the school, a woman waited for Daniel. She turned out to be the mother of his student, Victor. He had missed a month of school after a severe ankle fracture.

Good morning, Mr. Harper. Im sorry to hold you up, but could you give Victor some extra physics lessons? Either at our house or via Zoom, whatever suits you. Hes fallen behind and needs help. Of course Ill pay you.

Daniel, already hearing her thoughts, knew the truth: We have no money; everythings gone to surgery. Well have to ask the maths teacher for help, and the costs will be huge. Ill clean the stairwells after work, maybe a neighbour will lend us some money. Well survive.

Mrs. Clarke, you dont need to pay, Daniel said. Ill send Victor the Zoom link this evening. Well catch up on algebra and geometry together. Hell be walking again soon.

Thank you so much, she whispered, tears welling. Please take these apples from our garden as a token. She handed him a hefty bag.

Inside the bag were bright red apples, their skin gleaming like small suns. Daniel felt warmth spread through his chest. Doing good, he realized, brings its own happiness.

In the school hall, Daniel greeted Deputy Head Mrs. Thompson. He tried not to listen to her thoughts, but they pierced his mind:

You cheeky, speechless fool! Ill give him a chaotic schedule to keep him on his toes. Hell stay a lowpaid teacher forever, living in poverty while his wife deserts him. Hell beg for extra duties, and Ill enjoy watching him struggle.

He smiled despite the poison, entered his classroom, and glanced at his bag. Tucked inside was the breakfast box his wife had left for him, complete with a thermos of scalding coffee. A small miracle, indeed.

During break, Svetlana, a pupil from class 8A, slipped into the room. She avoided eye contact.

What do you want, Svetlana? Daniel asked.

Her thoughts flooded him: Mrs. Thompson wants me to loosen my blouse and stand near the teacher. Shell give me a good grade if I do it.

Instinctively, Daniel bolted from the room, colliding with Mrs. Thompson at the door. These theatrics could happen every day, he muttered. Maybe I should look for another job.

After the third lesson, an old university friend called, offering Daniel a position as deputy head at a private academy. Daniel promised to think it over and arranged to discuss it over coffee with Emily. That evening his bank account showed a healthy salary in pounds, but he realised true wealth lay in his loving family and his generous heart.

As he closed the school doors, a snowball bounced off his head. He shrugged it off, stepped outside, and thought about reconciling with Emily.

Hopefully I wont have to hear other peoples thoughts any morethough today they were oddly useful, he mused while buying a bouquet of white chrysanthemums from a station vendor. He paid in pounds, thanked the florist, and for the first time, didnt eavesdrop on her mind.

He walked through the snowy streets, feeling the bustle of the city fade into a gentle hush. Emily rushed toward him, smiling, a stray lock of hair escaping her bun and falling across her face. He gently brushed it away, kissed the strand, and inhaled the scent of home and comfort.

Snowflakes kept twirling, performing graceful aerial feats. Perhaps it was their silent dance that helped mend the rift between Daniel and Emilyjust a little flutter of white wings to remind them that love, like snow, can cover the harshest ground if you let it fall.

In the end, Daniel learned that listening with the heart, not just the ears, and being honest with those we love, is far more powerful than any mysterious ability. A life lived with empathy and open communication turns everyday chaos into quiet, lasting peace.

Love Isn’t for Show Ann came out of the cottage carrying a full bucket of pig feed, her mood sour as she passed by her husband, Henry, who had been fiddling with the well for three days now. He wanted to carve it to make it pretty—like he had nothing else to do! While his wife rushed about the house and tended the livestock, he just stood there with his chisel, covered in shavings, grinning at her. What sort of husband had God sent her? He never said a gentle word, never banged his fist on the table—instead he worked quietly, occasionally coming over just to look in her eyes and stroke her thick, honey-blonde braid; that was all the affection she got. But she yearned for more—for “my darling” and “my swan”… She pondered her lot as a wife and nearly tripped over old Bully the dog. In a flash, Henry caught her and gave the dog a stern look: “Watch where you’re going, or you’ll end up hurting the missus!” Bully hung his head and slunk off to his kennel. Ann was once again amazed by how her husband understood animals. She’d once asked Henry about it, and he simply replied, “I love animals, and they love me back.” Ann also dreamed of love—being swept off her feet, whispered sweet nothings, flowers on her pillow every morning. But Henry was stubbornly tight-fisted with affection, and she was starting to doubt if he loved her at all. “God bless, neighbours!” called out Victor over the fence, “Henry, are you still busy with that nonsense? Who needs your fancy carvings?” “I want my children to grow up good people, surrounded by beauty.” “You need to make some children first,” laughed Victor, winking at Ann. Henry glanced sadly at his wife, who, blushing, hurried indoors. She wasn’t in a rush for kids—young, pretty, wanting to enjoy life a bit longer, and her husband was neither here nor there. The neighbour, though—he was handsome! And when he met her by the gate, he spoke such sweet words, as gentle as a summer rain: “My little dew drop, my shining sun…” Her soul fluttered, her knees weakened, but Ann always ran away, refusing his advances. When she married, she’d promised to be a faithful wife; her parents had lived together in harmony for years and taught her to cherish her family. But why was she so eager to glance out the window and meet her neighbour’s eyes? The next morning, while driving the cow to graze, she bumped into Victor at the gate: “Ann, my lovely dove, why do you avoid me? Are you afraid? I could stare at your beauty all day—it makes my head spin when I see you. Come to me at dawn. When Henry goes fishing, come to my place. I’ll give you so much tenderness, you’ll be the happiest woman alive.” Ann flushed from head to toe, her cheeks burning, her heart racing, but said nothing—she quickly walked past him. “I’ll be waiting,” he called after her. All day, Ann thought of him. She craved love and affection—and Victor was handsome and looked at her with that fiery gaze—but she simply couldn’t go through with anything. There was still time before dawn tomorrow, maybe… That evening, Henry fired up the sauna. He invited the neighbour to join—they lashed each other with birch twigs, sweating and groaning with pleasure. When they finished, Ann brought them a little jug of homemade moonshine and some snacks, then remembered the pickled cucumbers in the cellar. She went to fetch them, but paused in the stairwell at the sound of their conversation through the half-open door. “Why are you so indecisive, Henry?” Victor’s voice was low. “Come on, you won’t regret it. There are widows there who’ll smother you with affection, real beauties—they’d gladden your heart! Not like your Ann, a grey country mouse.” “No, my friend,” came Henry’s quiet but firm reply. “I don’t want any beauties. I can’t even think about that. My wife isn’t some grey mouse—she’s the most wonderful woman in the whole world. There’s no blossom, no berry lovelier than her. When I look at her, I can’t see the sun—just her beautiful eyes and slender waist. I’m overflowing with love for her, like a river in spring. But I’m no good with sweet words. I guess it hurts her, and I’m to blame. I’m scared of losing her—I couldn’t live a day without her, not even breathe…” Ann stood frozen, her heart thundering, a tear running down her cheek. Then, lifting her head high, she strode into the steam room and declared, “Off you go, neighbour—go cheer up those widows! My husband and I have weightier matters. We’ve no one to admire Henry’s carvings yet. Forgive me, my love, for my foolish thoughts, for my blindness—I was holding happiness in my hands and didn’t see it. Come, we’ve wasted enough time already…” And at dawn, Henry didn’t go fishing after all.

No Magic at All New Year was approaching like a runaway train—fast and unstoppable. Lena was breathless from the speed, as if she were standing on the platform, realising she didn’t have a ticket, nothing would work out, happiness had slipped away—and so had the festive spirit. Why had she even invited guests? Who wants to ring in the New Year with a failure? *** The 31st of December began with a small catastrophe: the washing machine, faithful for ten years, decided to retire with a spectacular flood in the bathroom. Finding a plumber on New Year’s Eve was a wild goose chase, but after much stress, Lena finally succeeded, hoping her misfortunes were over for the day. But… Later, ginger Basil the cat—household gourmand—devoured all the sausage set aside for the salad, leaving Lena with just sad peas and pickled cucumbers. Apparently unsatisfied, Basil also tried hunting a blue tit who’d landed on the open windowsill… A giant ficus crashed from the window, taking the Christmas tree with it, finally snuffing out Lena’s beloved old fairy lights. Broken baubles collected since childhood and shards of the flower pot were mixed with soil on the carpet. Lena fought back tears as she cleaned. Then came the shattered decanter, burnt roast chicken—and, finally, the last straw: with guests on their way, Lena realised in horror that she’d forgotten to buy the pudding. In a panic, she called her sister. “Kate, disaster! I’ve got no dessert!” “Calm down!” came her sister’s cheerful voice, “I’m outside—come down, we’ll get everything sorted.” “And where are you, again?” “I’m at your front door, I told you!” Downstairs, Lena was greeted by a sight fit for a Christmas card: Kate’s car outside, their friend Maria with an enormous shopping bag, and Aunt Gail—armed with a huge trifle bowl. “A whole trifle, Auntie? That’s a lot!” Lena gasped. “One can never be too prepared!” Aunt Gail replied solemnly, eager as ever to dish out unsolicited advice. “I know your cooking! And it’ll be a long night! You’ve at least got the salad, yes?” Lena shrugged evasively… While the girls dashed out for dessert, Maria hung up streamers—promptly ensnaring Basil, who soon resembled an alien. Kate’s husband Ian arrived just in time, fresh from work, to rescue the cat. Basil didn’t struggle until he spotted Lena, then darted at her so enthusiastically he left a scratch on Ian’s hand. Ian, wounded but heroic, offered to help the ladies in the kitchen, though his contributions amounted to musings about “salad being a state of mind, not a recipe”—which was, frankly, enough for Kate and Lena. “Lena, what’s in this box?” Maria called from the next room. “‘Happy New Year’ it says. Ooh, there’s a note too! ‘Open at midnight. Love, Grandma Val.’” Lena rushed over. “Oh, I completely forgot! Kate, Gran left this! She said to open it at two in the morning for a surprise.” “What is it?” Kate inspected the box with curiosity. “Let’s just open it now!” “No way! She’ll know if we opened it early—just wait.” The intrigue gripped everyone—even Aunt Gail edged closer to the box, eyeing it greedily. *** After the New Year countdown, champagne, the “cat” salad, laughter, and debates, the clock struck two. “Is it time?” asked Lena, as she ceremoniously lifted the box. “Time for Grandma Val’s surprise!” The only gentleman present, Ian, was chosen to open it. Inside, layered on cotton wool, were not money or old photos, but dozens of tiny rolled-up notes tied with colourful ribbons, each tagged with a name. “What’s all this?” Ian wondered aloud. Lena unrolled hers and read aloud: “Lena, my darling granddaughter. Has something gone wrong again? The washing machine broke? Cat ate the salad? Don’t worry! Every problem is just a reason to order pizza and put on your favourite show. Dessert can wait until morning. The only thing that matters is the people who help you eat that pizza. Love you to the moon and back. Your Grandma Val.” There was a stunned silence—then laughter. Lena laughed until the tears streamed down her face. “How did she… how did she know?!” “That’s magic,” whispered Aunt Gail. “Hand mine here!” Kate demanded, impatient. She read her note: “Kate, my love. Stop bickering with Ian over the little things. Just give him a hug—he means well, even with all that philosophizing. And if he starts again, just kiss him—that’s the best way to confuse a man’s logic. Love you both!” Ian blushed scarlet and kissed Kate amid applause. Maria opened hers with a giggle: “Maria, darling. Don’t look for love in the pubs—try the library or local supermarket. That’s where proper people hang out. And for goodness’ sake, stop dying your hair purple. You look best your natural colour!” “How did she know about my hair?!” gasped Maria. “I only changed it two days ago!” Last was Aunt Gail. She carefully unfolded her note as if decoding a secret message. “Gail, my dear. I know you’re our wise one, always in the know. But here’s a secret for you: wisdom and kind advice are wonderful—but sometimes it’s best just to have a slice of cake and say nothing at all. Love you, sweetheart.” Aunt Gail reddened, muttered, took a slice of cake, and—miracle of miracles—remained silent for the rest of the night. Laughter and gossip carried on until dawn. The girls facetimed Grandma Val, who — smiling in her armchair miles away — beamed: “My darlings! I’m so pleased my surprise worked. No magic about it—I just know you all so well, and I love you more than words.” Next morning, tidying up, Lena gathered the notes into a decorated jar and set it on the mantelpiece. These weren’t just messages. They were her grandmother’s recipe for happiness: Don’t fear chaos. Laugh at mishaps. Cherish the ones beside you. Eat what you want (but mind your waistline). And always remember—the best gift of all is knowing there’s someone out there who loves and understands you, no matter what.

You Were My Teenage Mistake A girl gave birth at sixteen, the father was also sixteen. Skipping the details of the scandal, they quickly split after the birth. When the girl realised the boy didn’t need her or their son, she instantly lost interest in her child. Her parents, the boy’s grandparents, raised him. At eighteen, she left to a nearby town with another young man, never called, never wrote. Her parents made no effort to contact her. There was disappointment, confusion, shame and pain that they’d raised someone capable of abandoning her child. The grandparents raised their grandson. To this day, the boy considers them his parents, and is incredibly grateful for his childhood, education, and everything. When the boy turned eighteen, his cousin was getting married. The whole family gathered at the wedding, including his biological mother. By then, she was married for a third time and had another daughter. Her eldest was ten, her youngest just eighteen months old. The boy was excited—finally, he would meet his mother and sisters. And, of course, ask: “Mum, why did you leave me?” As loving as his grandparents had been, he still missed and remembered his mother. He’d even kept the only surviving photo of her. Granddad had burned the rest. At the party, his mother chatted with relatives, boasting about her wonderful daughters. “And me, what about me, Mum?” he asked. “You? You were my teenage mistake. Your father was right; I should have had an abortion,” she replied indifferently, then turned away. … Seven years later, when he was living comfortably in a two-bedroom flat with his wife and son (thanks to his grandparents and in-laws), his phone rang. An unknown number. “Son, hi, your uncle gave me your number. It’s your mum. Listen, I know you live near the university your sister goes to. Could she stay with you for a while? She’s family. She doesn’t like her dorm, private rent is expensive, my husband left me, times are hard, one daughter’s a student, another’s at school, and the youngest will soon start nursery,” she explained. “You must have the wrong number,” he replied, and hung up. He picked up his own son, hugged him and said: “So, shall we get ready to visit Mum, and then all go see Grandma and Granddad?” “And at the weekend, we’ll go to the countryside together, right, Daddy?” his little boy asked. “Of course, family traditions must never be broken!” … Some relatives criticised the young man’s decision, saying he could have helped his sister. He believes he should help only the grandparents who raised him, not the stranger who sees him as nothing but a mistake.