Last month we enjoyed our annual escape to the mountains with dear family friends. In the weeks leading up to the trip each year both families create and execute a detailed plan to ensure we have everything we could possibly need to eat, wear, and play for the week. With cars packed to their limits, we set out for the nearly four hour drive with logistical details and mental lists still swirling in our heads. But within an hour of arriving, our lungs are full of mountain air and our hearts are light. Before long, we lose sight of any agenda we had for our time together and experience a powerful shift into a more restful, peaceful state.
It was in this blissful mindset that my husband and I set out early one morning for a family "nature walk" with our budding explorer. Having become familiar with the wildlife in the area over the past five years, we prepared her for sightings of bears, deer, unique birds, and unfamiliar plant life. Less than five minutes into our walk, however, she spied a small worm making its way s...l...o...w...l...y... across the road. My husband and I acknowledged it and proceeded with our mission, but she was transfixed. "I think it's a baby worm! Where do you think its mama is? Can we follow it?"
My initial inclination was to push back. There are so many far more interesting things to see! We have worms in D.C. We haven't even reached the beginning of the trail. Let's go! I tried (calmly) to impart this sentiment, but she was having none of it. So we stopped. And followed a worm.
I would love to tell you I was able to tap into her sweet and sincere fascination with the simple creature. I tried to be fully present with her in that moment, but it was to little avail. I fell immediately back into planning-executing-checking-boxes mode and impatiently scanned the horizon for something more "special." I wanted her to see the beauty of nature I knew lay just steps ahead of where we stood.
It wasn't until we returned to the house and she regaled our friends with an elaborate account of our worm sighting that I was seized by a pang of regret. With the benefit of hindsight, I wanted to rewind time, abandon my agenda, and share her wonder. While a worm isn’t MY idea of unique wildlife, it was special in her eyes. And that should have been sufficient.
How often does our (often misplaced) focus on a particular vision of how things "should" be cause us to miss a beautiful moment? How many times have we failed to fully experience something special with someone we love because of our unwillingness to appreciate the simple pleasures in life?
As we enter the final month of Summer, I encourage you to pause, set aside your agenda, and open your eyes - and minds - to the simple joys around you. I am committing to let go of what I think is “best” and allowing the day/journey to unfold in surprising ways. Won’t you join me?