It was a beautiful sunny morning when I paused to enjoy the reflection of trees on a smooth as glass pond. On the other side of the water, something caused me to stare in disbelief.
My eyes must be deceiving me, I thought. A closer look was needed. Unfortunately, my initial impression was confirmed. Although we were still in the first half of August, the leaves on a small tree had turned from green to a reddish orange.
I knew that summer would come to an end but wasn’t ready for it to happen yet. Shouldn’t we have another month before fall arrived?
Over the next week, the temperature dropped and so did the leaves from that particular tree. Its branches were now bare. Other trees seemed to have a few more yellow leaves each time I passed by.
I’m reminded of the game of Hide and Seek. When the chaser is finished counting and about to start seeking, he opens his eyes and says, “Ready or not, here I come!” This is true for more than the seasons or a childhood game.
While talking to a friend about something completely unrelated to weather, he said, “We knew it would come to an end one day. We just thought we could choose when and how it would happen.” Life is often like that!
I’ve lived long enough to know the world does not revolve around my timetable. I don’t have to like it but I do need to accept and make the best of it. Because, ready or not, change is often just around the corner.
Month: August 2021
People Watching
Earlier in the morning the lakefront was calm and quiet. A couple of hours later the area was crowded with people, blankets, towels, coolers and the items needed for a day at the beach.
We set up our camp chairs on a grassy slope facing the water. Despite the fact I had a book with me, most of my time was spent people watching.
Laughter echoed in the air as children frolicked in the water. Several were on brightly coloured flotation devices. I watched siblings splash each other and parents introduce toddlers to the water.
A couple carried paddle boards down to the water. They climbed on, quickly found their balance, stood and paddled off. I watched their fluid strokes with admiration.
A little farther out a bright yellow kayak made its way close to the roped off beach area. On the other side of the rope a few speed boats towed water skiers.
The variety of activity was perfect for people watching.
A young boy, about three years old, ran back and forth on the pathway. A butterfly had captured his attention and he followed its flight. When it landed on a nearby patch of grass the boy slowly approached and leaned in for what I assumed was a closer look. I smiled at his curiosity and a moment later was shocked to see him stomp down and grind it into the ground. Not what I expected!
In a public setting, it is easy to watch people. On the lakefront I saw fun and laughter, some sweet loving moments and a few things I wish I hadn’t observed.
Most of us carry on with our lives unaware anyone is watching.
The fact is, I never know for sure if someone has witnessed my actions. I may be the object of someone else’s people watching. If so, what kind of impression am I leaving?
Grief and Gratitude
Twenty-five years ago, my husband and I attended a five-day personal development seminar. It came highly recommended but we hadn’t been given any specific information and weren’t sure what to expect.
I saw several banners on the walls. One said If Better is Possible, Is Good, Good Enough. It caught my interest because I thought my life was pretty good but knew there was room to make it better.
To say the seminar changed our lives sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. I came away happier and with the confidence to believe in myself. Our family became stronger and my marriage reached a depth I never could have imagined before. I learned firsthand that better was possible.
Over the years we witnessed countless others, including friends and family, benefit from the program. Volunteer roles allowed me to make a small difference in someone else’s life. I was stretched and challenged and learned I could do much more than I realized. Deep friendships were formed with those I served with and for.
Last week it was announced that this amazing program would not be able to continue. The global pandemic had imposed restrictions that couldn’t be overcome.
Feelings of grief and gratitude intermingle. We were not just participants or volunteers in a program, we had become family. Many are scattered across the country and we will no longer come together on a regular basis. I don’t know if, or when, I will again see these people I’ve come to care for. This is where the grief comes in.
I’ve heard the saying, Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. With that in mind, I look back in gratitude for the Choices program. It truly was the adventure of a lifetime. I am a better person because I took what I learned there and applied it to my life. The training will forever live in my heart.
I am a confident and valuable woman, gently leading and making a difference by sharing from my heart.