In her sequel to Try Softer, Aundi Kolber explains the concept of glimmers. It is a phrase coined by therapist Deb Dana that is the opposite of a trigger.1 As Kolber describes it, glimmers are “micro moments” that “help us connect with a sense of our felt safety and step back into our window of tolerance.”2 Attending to these experiences “makes us feel connected, curious, creative, compassionate, alive, and more.”3
Shortly after reading about this, in a Starbucks across from the Cottonwood Mall in Albuquerque, I had one such experience.4 Because I was still more or less on eastern time, I had already been reading for a couple of hours before sunrise. When I went outside to shortly after daylight had poured into the valley, I saw that there were some hot air balloons beginning to poke above the western horizon and dot the sky.
This both caught me off guard and also made me really happy.5 I had primarily come to Albuquerque to explore a place that I had experienced through two different TV shows.6 I was there to check out sites from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul and enjoy the view of Sandia Peak. Seeing the balloons put the Balloon Fiesta on my radar, and led to me deciding to come back in October to see them up close and personal, with the bonus of being there during an annular eclipse as well.
So, I couple of weeks ago, I found myself at that same Starbucks, well before sunrise, doing some reading before heading over to Balloon Fiesta Park. For both work and personal reasons I was re-reading Pete Scazzero’s Emotionally Healthy Discipleship.7 As it happened, the particular chapter that morning was Discover the Treasures Buried in Grief and Loss. The chapter opens by recapping a story of grief and loss from Gerald Sittser that climaxes in an extended quote, the last line of which is, “The soul is elastic, like a balloon. It can grow larger through suffering.”8
Now, like I said, I had read this book before. That quote was not particularly memorable on the first read. And, it might not have even stuck out to me on a second reading, if I hadn’t literally just driven more than halfway across the country to see a bunch of hot air balloons.
It is then not an exaggeration, although it may be a bad pun, to say that the balloons were inflated with new significance. And, I mean that in both the sense of importance as well as what they would now signify for me. Watching the balloons start to fill the sky in front of Sandia Peak shortly after my reading time turned into a different experience than I had originally planned. It was now about starting to process past losses and disappointments, which was not how I expected my Saturday morning to unfold.
But it got worse.
Because I hadn’t wanted to fight traffic and be cold in the dark for two hours to wait on the Mass Ascension of balloons, I now had to observe from across the valley. I worked my way closer, but by that point there weren’t many good vantage points. By the time I actually got down to Balloon Fiesta Park, there weren’t any more in the sky. But, it was ok because I was now there for the eclipse and they were going to do a balloon glow on the ground with 72 balloons.9
Except they didn’t, because the winds were just high enough to cancel it. So, no up close views of the balloons that day. But, it was ok, because there would be another Mass Ascension on Sunday.
Except there wasn’t, because the winds were once again just a little too high. And that was the end of the Balloon Fiesta. As I was trying to figure out what to do for the day, I decided to go north. But not just to Santa Fe like I did back in May. This time I’d go further on to Taos, which proved to be farther than expected, but finally put me up in the mountains.
But, then I slowly realized how alone I was, and started to have a less than pleasant experience in the clear, crisp mountain air. I began making my way back, via the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, and soon found myself on a deserted New Mexico highway. I was miles away from civilization, with only the vaguest sense of where I was headed, and with cell service proving to be elusive. The thought that at that moment, literally no one knew where I was, struck me as less exciting than it usually does.
I finally arrived safe and sound back in Albuquerque later in the day, just in time to explore the eastern edge of the valley before returning to my hangout spot near my AirBnB on the western side. I took stock and decided the trip was ultimately a disappointment, which took on a level or irony since it was on the trip that I realized I needed to not try to “optimize” disappointments, but actually own and name them.
The next morning I left Albuquerque several hours before sunrise. I was still more or less on eastern time, but had to wait for Starbucks to open before heading off into the wilderness of eastern New Mexico. I was driving east on I-40, an interstate I grew up driving on nearly every day in Knoxville. I was headed back to Texas, perhaps somewhat poetically, on the path that brought me into Texas the very first time 25 years ago.10
As I got closer to Texas, the landscape flattened out significantly.11 Sunrise approached the horizon, and I was struck by how you could see both night and day simultaneously. The road ahead was starting to glow with brilliant oranges and reds. And yet, in my rearview mirror it was still the dead of night. Looking out the side window, you could almost see the line dividing day and night. But really, it was just liminal space where dawn hadn’t yet arrived, but it wasn’t fully dark anymore.
I realized that the trip didn’t have to all be either disappointment or joyful triumph. It could exist in the space in between, and I could be honest about the darkness, yet hopeful about the light.12 The sun rose fully right as I got to the Texas state line. In Amarillo, I turned south toward Lubbock and queued up a playlist of albums from my first road trip through Texas. By the time I was back in Dallas, I had a dissertation topic nailed down, and a fresh set of realizations about not only how I got there, but where I might be headed. Like every good road trip, what started by committing to drive through the dark eventually led to the light.
Deb Dana, The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation (New York: Norton, 2018), 68. If you’re not up on nomenclature like “polyvagal,” it’s a significant concept in interpersonal neurobiology, and Dana, along with Stephen Porges are good go-to authors on the subject, the latter of whom proposed the theory originally. Kolber’s work is providing some practical applications of the theory. Simplifying in the extreme, polyvagal theory is about how your vagus nerve (which connects heart and brain) helps regulate you emotionally.
Aundi Kolber, Strong Like Water: Finding the Freedom, Safety & Compassion to Move through Hard Things—& Experience True Flourishing (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale Refresh, 2023), 138. Your window of tolerance is the range of emotionality that you are comfortable living in, where you are neither hyperarousal or hypoarousal. I could probably explain that in more detail, but it’s less relevant for this particular post.
Kolber, Strong Like Water, 138.
In Better Call Saul, the sequel/prequel to Breaking Bad, Saul Goodman’s character works in a Cinnabon in this mall. However, there is no Cinnabon in this mall, something I would discover later in that day. Also, in the show, the mall is supposed to be in Omaha, where there is an actual Cinnabon that they filmed in for many scenes throughout the series.
I had a similar experience later in the day when I first saw a coyote and then later came across a roadrunner. It wasn’t something I was looking for, but I was delighted I found it. In my more simplistic understanding of glimmers, they are things that catch you off guard in a good way.
I first watched Breaking Bad at a binge-like pace this time ten years ago while it was wrapping up its live airing. I was an underpaid high school teacher that initially resonated with Walter White, but that obviously did not continue to sit well as the series progressed. It did give me pause and lead me to an ego check that I describe here. I just rewatched it a few months ago (for maybe the 3rd or 4th time), and had a very different experience. I resonated most with Hank and his feelings of betrayal when he found out who Walt really was. I also understood Skylar’s conundrum much more clearly. All of this, perhaps less obviously so, because of events in my personal life over the last 18 months, which I’ll leave ambiguous, but those who have ears to hear will understand.
Peter Scazzero, Emotionally Healthy Discipleship: Moving from Shallow Christianity to Deep Transformation (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2021).
Gerald L. Sittser, A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows through Loss (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1995), 18.
That number is significant, but I don’t remember way because I stopped paying attention when it didn’t happen. Not that I’m salty about it or anything.
That’s a story for another update, since it’s part of a multi week road trip I took with my parents back in 1998. Our return path to Knoxville was from I-40 just outside Los Angeles, all the way back to Knoxville. This also meant it was the first time I at least passed through Albuquerque, although it had not significance for me at that point in my life.
For this particular road trip, you could probably show me a random snapshot of any stretch of road and I could tell you whether it was Texas or New Mexico just from the topography.
I suppose I could have come to a similar conclusion by rewatching Inside Out, where you learn that sadness and joy aren’t incompatible. But, that would have made for a much less compelling story.