“Accept—then act. Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it.”

–Eckhart Tolle (b. 1948). German-born spiritual teacher and author of The Power of Now and A New Earth, whose teachings focus on presence, acceptance, and personal transformation.

A few weeks ago, over cocktails and conversation, my neighbor—an IT guy with a philosophical streak—offered a twist on the old “glass half full or half empty” dilemma. His late wife, Jody, always saw the glass as half-full, but as an engineer, Gary sees it differently:

“Just get a glass that’s the right size for what you’ve got.”

At the time, I nodded politely and filed it under:

“Clever things other people say that may or may not linger in my memory.”

Turns out, I remembered.

A few mornings later—cue ominous music!—my tablet powered up with all the charm of a sulky teenager and promptly informed me that Microsoft had done me the favor of wiping my PowerPoint app into oblivion.

This, mind you, on the eve of speaking to the Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Society—an international gathering of scholars and fellow literary sleuths—about a woman who has occupied both my imagination and my file drawers for over fifty years. The event was titled An Hour with Mary E. Wilkins Freeman and Brent L. Kendrick. The tech test was hours away. I clicked. I reinstalled. I cursed. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

And then I thought of my neighbor.

“Wrong glass, Brent.”

I hauled my all-in-one PC upstairs to the better WiFi zone, and boom—there it was. Slides intact. Calm restored. Presentation saved.

Turns out, sometimes you don’t need more water. You just need the right-size glass.

Since then, I’ve been thinking more about the right-size-glass concept, and I can think of several other times when I applied it unawares.

There was a time, for example, when I thought my glass had shattered completely. Not cracked—shattered. After Allen died, I wasn’t sure there was any vessel left that could hold what I’d once poured so freely: love, joy, even hope. For a long while, I didn’t try. But healing has its own quiet rhythm, and eventually, I realized I didn’t need the same glass. I just needed one shaped for the life I have now. It took a while, but recently I’ve found one the right size to hold who I’ve become. To hold who I am. Now.

Long before that right-size-glass moment came the time when I first moved to my mountain. I wanted a cabin in the clearing—so I cleared a wide swath of woods to make it so. I cleared far more than I could have imagined, and certainly more than I could realistically manage, especially now at my age. Some days, it feels like my glass is half empty, like I’m falling behind. But the truth is, I just need a different-sized glass. If I choose—as I have chosen—to let some of those cleared areas return to their wild, natural state, I haven’t lost anything. In fact, my glass is now full—full of birdsong and the wisdom of knowing when to stop clearing and simply let things grow.

I think we can apply the “right-size-glass” concept to more than gardening and grief.

Let’s begin with a few low-stakes moments—the ones that test our patience more than our purpose.

● Cooking substitution. Out of buttermilk? Use yogurt and lemon. Different glass. Same outcome.

● Gardening workaround. Tried planting in the wrong spot? Don’t mourn the wilt—move the pot.

● Home décor puzzle. Wardrobe too big for one wall? Move it to a room with a larger wall that showcases all of its Shaker joinery.

Some shifts, though, aren’t minor—they’re wake-up calls. Still, the right-size glass helps.

● Travel plans. Canceled? Money’s tight? Plan a “staycation” with the same sense of purpose.

● Exercise limitations. Can’t run anymore? Try swimming or yoga. Same vitality, different vessel.

● Friendship shift. Someone pulls away? Focus on others who consistently show up.

● Career detours. Passed over for a promotion? Use the freedom to explore a side gig or project with heart.

Or let’s move on up a little higher to some emotional and existential applications.

● Creative droughts. When the writing won’t flow, ask: is it really writer’s block—or just the wrong-shaped glass for the ideas trying to come through?

● Life plan upended. Divorce, retirement, illness—what happens when your “glass” shatters? You pick up what still holds and find a new container for your spirit.

● Shifting beliefs. Formerly held faith, politics, or ideals evolve? Refill your life with what still nourishes—and let go of the brittle framework.

By now, I’m willing to bet you’ve started thinking of your own moments—the ones when you didn’t force what no longer fit, but quietly shifted, adjusted, adapted. Maybe you pivoted. Maybe you paused. Either way, those are the moments that reshape a life.

So, my Dear Readers, consider this your open invitation to rethink how you hold disappointment, change, resistance—or anything else that life sets before you. Not by pouring harder into what doesn’t fit, but by choosing a different container altogether.

Here’s to finding the right-size glass—for your spirit, your strength, your joy.