The Violet Moment

(originally drafted 12/2025)

A few months ago, I read a beautiful essay by Dr. Naomi Parrella about motivation. As I sat with my morning smoothie, I found myself nodding along, occasionally responding out loud as though we were having coffee together instead of communicating through a screen.

One idea lingered long after I finished reading.

She described change as something that begins long before our behavior catches up.

What a relief.

So many of us measure ourselves by visible progress while quietly overlooking the work happening beneath the surface. We notice the distance between where we are and where we'd like to be. We criticize ourselves for inconsistency. We forget that our minds, hearts, and bodies are often preparing for change long before anyone else—including ourselves—can see it.

That reflection reminded me of an old Disney movie I loved as a child.

The Gnome-Mobile.

It's probably not the film most people would expect, but there is one scene I have never forgotten.

Near the end of the movie, a young gnome named Violet finds herself repeatedly pushed aside during a contest. Again and again she is knocked down by the other competitors until she finally lands face down in the dirt.

For a brief moment, everything is still.

Then it happens.

She lifts her head.

Nothing has changed around her.

She hasn't won.

She hasn't even stood up yet.

But something has changed within her.

You can see it in her eyes.

She has had enough.

Not enough in the sense of surrender.

Enough in the sense of awakening.

Something quiet has shifted.

The outcome is still unknown, but her relationship to herself has changed.

Years later, I recognized that same moment while watching Saving Mr. Banks.

Throughout the film, we watch P. L. Travers fiercely protect the stories that meant everything to her while wrestling with memories of love, grief, and disappointment. She spends much of the story holding tightly to what feels safe, familiar, and necessary.

Then, almost imperceptibly, something softens.

There isn't a dramatic speech.

There isn't a triumphant declaration.

There is simply a quiet internal movement toward possibility.

Watching as an adult, after experiencing losses of my own, I recognized that moment immediately.

It felt familiar.

Not because I'd lived her story, but because I'd lived that feeling.

I've come to believe that most meaningful change begins this way.

Not with extraordinary motivation.

Not with perfect discipline.

Not even with confidence.

It begins with a quiet decision that is often invisible to everyone else.

A moment when something deep inside us whispers,

"I'm ready."

Or perhaps,

"Not like this anymore."

I've started thinking of these as Violet moments.

Those sacred, almost invisible moments when nothing appears different from the outside, yet everything begins to change on the inside.

Perhaps the smallest moments are the ones that quietly reshape our lives.

A Gentle Offering

May we trust the unseen work taking place within us. And when our own Violet moment arrives, may we recognize it with tenderness, knowing that lasting change often begins long before anyone can see it.