I was recently in Australia speaking at the I Can Do It® conference. The generous folks at Hay House Australia, who organized the workshops, provided sumptuous hotels for me and the other authors who were speaking at the conference. We were greeted by bellmen in fancy, starched uniforms. The hotel views were panoramic and the food and wine were peerless. At home I usually wear frayed jeans, a t-shirt and rubber flip flops, so at first I felt a bit out of my element. But I opened my heart to receive it all. . . and it was wonderful.

A couple of days after I returned home to Summerhill Ranch, I had to take my car to an auto repair shop to fix a taillight that had been hit by an errant cart in a shopping center parking lot. Since my dog, Pepper, had had surgery while I was away and hadn't been feeling very well, I decided to take him with me. He looked so pitiful—more like a junkyard dog than my normal sweet boy. Part of his head was shaved and there were scabs healing above his eyes where tubes had been placed. I didn't think it would be a problem bringing him since they were just replacing the taillight.

When I arrived at the shop, which was in a small, run-down building in the center of a treeless parking lot, the repair guy sauntered out to my car.

Ma'am, you're going to have to take that dog out of the car while we change the light. And we don't allow dogs in our waiting room.

I was too jet-lagged to argue with him. I didn't have a leash for Pepper, so I found an old plastic bag and fashioned a makeshift leash for him. I scanned the parking lot but couldn't find anywhere to sit—no chair, no bench, not even a curb. It looked like acres of dull, black tarmack, stretching in every direction, so Pepper and I both just plopped down on the asphalt to wait under the hot summer sun.

A man walking by must have thought I was begging with my pitiful-looking dog (I can only imagine what we looked like) because he pulled out his wallet to give me something.

Oh, no!! I'm just waiting for my car, I explained, a bit embarrassed. I really must have looked decrepit because he acted like he wasn't sure he believed me.

As strange as it might sound, I savored the moment. Only a few days before, the head concierge at a four-star hotel made sure that I had his personal card, in case I needed anything. . . and now someone thought I was homeless and was trying to give me money.

When I thought about it, I realized that each experience enriched the other. I don't know if I would truly appreciate a four-star hotel and highly rated wines, if I had them all the time. And I don't think that I would have as much compassion as I do, if I hadn't gone through many low periods of my life. I cherish all of it. . . the highs and the lows.

It's in the challenges as well as the triumphs that I've found the juice of life. If we didn't have the bad times how would we know how good the really good ones are? They teach us to be grateful for everything. In the new age movement there's a push to always be happy, fulfilled and abundant. These qualities are wonderful. . . and I love it when they occur in my life. But when they don't, it's okay. I embrace the lows as well as the highs. All my experiences, even those I judge as bad, are a valuable part of my evolution as a soul.

My experience in the parking lot also made me realize how quickly life can change and the importance of embracing every moment of life, no matter what form it takes.