It’s a conversation that has lasted for more than fifteen years, one month at a time. Two members of our book group, Mo and Netta, have folded themselves comfortably, side by side, into big chairs separated by just a small table. Our host today, Deena, lies nearby on the floor, her head on a large, soft cushion.

Except for Zoe, the rest of us sit on various parts of the couch, facing all our friends and the big chairs opposite, with the coffee table in between. Casual tonight in a t-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, Zoe has seated herself cross-legged on the floor, halfway between me and a crackling fire.

We’re talking about Donna Tartt’s opium-addled orphan from The Goldfinch when Zoe drops an innocent enough question. She wants to know what our kids would say they remember having heard us say all the time. “God grant me the serenity…”  “Don’t do me any favors.” I am distracted by the light laughter and immediately forget all the other responses. Some of the answers are replies to Zoe’s question, but some, instead, are our own memories of the things that our parents said, once upon a time.

Deena says that her dad always said, “What you see depends on where you sit.” That makes me sit up. What did he see? I wish I knew what made him say that.

What does Deena see from her spot on the floor? The ceiling, our feet, the underside of the coffee table, which is, at the moment, covered with the most delicious goodies. I see friends. My friends.

I see that how you frame something informs your next move. A challenge or an obstacle? A speed bump or a brick wall? A failure or a success?

I see my doctor-self as a teacher who frames obstacles as challenges, who defines and then applauds baby steps, and who methodically teaches her patients how to improve their “self-healthcare.” That’s what I see, until my patients see it for themselves. I believe they can fly. I believe they can touch the sky. I believe the view from up there is quite something.