My spiritual underpinnings are quite eclectic at this point in my life. I was raised Catholic, 16 years of Catholic school, fell in love with the Christian mystics when I was in college (especially Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross), practice yoga and meditation, and sat with Buddhists for a year. As a result, I look for the evidence of spirit in the everyday world.

A month ago Reed and I arrived in Penn Station to catch our train back home. We shook out our umbrellas and peeled off our dripping raincoats as we oriented ourselves to the track we would depart from. We stood waiting and people watching, a wonderful pastime in New York City. A charismatic African-American station agent was helping a woman with a baby buggy and her pregnant friend identify their departure platform. He was gracious and courteous, and went out of his way. When he returned he had the attention of two middle age black men standing ten feet from him and he began talking with them. They carried on an upbeat conversation then he began to speak like a Baptist preacher. He spoke about how he loved his work. “It is a privilege to work here. I am grateful for this job. Every morning I get up and thank god for the opportunity to have work, to have the opportunity to serve.” He went on to tell them that a few months ago, a gentleman who ran a large organization had heard him talking to passengers at the station. The man had invited him to give a keynote at a retreat for his 20,000 employees, a motivational talk about work and service. Then the agent continued to greet passengers, answering questions and directing travelers to where ever they needed to go. He buoyed those around him including me.

He was telling me something I needed to hear.I studied Carl Jung in high school and college and learned about synchronicity—meaningful coincidences that life hands you. I was shocked to hear Yale surgeon, Dr. Bernie Siegel, talk about miracles in patients’ lives, especially with cancer patients, and I went to study with him for a month when I was in medical school. He liked to remind patients that miracles happened every day. You just had to look for them: The elevator that appeared as you walked up, the penny in the parking lot . . . and that day in Penn Station, the charismatic agent who reminded me that I needed to be grateful even on a gray and rainy day, even though I was headed home from a great long weekend.

There many joys and challenges with patient care. You’ve likely heard doctors complain about the electronic health records which are often poorly engineered and require work-arounds that take time to learn—but I digress. One of the joys are the unexpected gifts patients give you, the meaningful coincidences, the miracles, when I am reportedly doing the healing, sometimes I am healed.This week, I was greeting a new patient who was healthy and had not had a primary care doctor for a while. (They are hard to find in Rhode Island.)

I listened to his wellness story. He was derailed from a career in professional sports, when he learned that he was going to be a single father. His daughter was now four years old. He strung together three jobs to make ends meet, kept healthy playing the sport he loved with local groups. His mom had been a big help to him. Spontaneously, he began talk with me about how grateful he was for his life, for his daughter, how the aborted dream, a gift in disguise, had saved him injuries.

So I wish you a happy labor day, and encourage you to spend some labor on listening and seeing the synchronicities and miracles that are coming in your direction. As the station agent reminded me: Life is short. Every day show up on time, be present, be positive and be grateful.