The Magic of Willingness

My favorite season is summer. I appreciate the unique offerings of each season but I have, in the past, had a hard time letting my favorite season go.

I saw a post recently that said “It’s not officially fall until September 22 so sit your Happy Halloween, Sweater wearing, pumpkin spice latte drinking, scarf donning self down until I finish my margarita.” I agree with this, not because I don’t like cozy sweaters or root vegetable recipes and snuggle scarves or because I just love summer so damn much but because I’m all about being in the moment.

In fact I had a conversation with my grade nine class about being in the moment. I don’t know if they got it but one day when they are having an absolutely fabulous time, a decade from now, so fabulous that they forget to look at their phones—I hope it will hit them like a lightning bolt, that conversation that I had with them in grade nine about how being fully present truly makes you happier.

I try to stay as present as possible

Ashlee and I went for a drive.

It was a grey day but that didn’t stop us. Actually Ashlee has a pretty unstoppable attitude. She often replies with “What’s a little rain. I’m not scared of it. Let’s go and see what happens.” I feel like she’s always listening to what I’m saying and I feel like my adventure is rubbing off.

We took a short-ish road trip to Roche Percee. It was on the bucket list. We packed snacks and sandwiches and headed out on the prairie road. The magic of willingness has taught me that often, when I have hit the road, grey day, it has evolved into something more beautiful than I expected. This magic happened on Sunday.

We explored the formations of Roche Percee and then, me, being me, pointed to hills in the distance with additional interesting rock formations and I said “I want to go there” and we did. We wandered and wandered until we were stuck on the wrong side of the river. Bramble and thistles and twigs and forest bullied us but we didn’t give up. We carried on but eventually turned around to get back to the road before the sun made a complete disappearance behind the low rolling hills. Even with the creepy end trail everything was beautiful. Everything.

Sometimes when I’m so caught by the prettiness of my environment I wonder if I’m having a chemical imbalance in my brain (of the good kind) and then I shrug and think nothing wrong with that. That’s the best kind of episode, isn’t it?

Back at the car we popped the hood of her SUV and tailgated, watching the stars pop into the sky. We devoured our sandwiches after the15 km hike. The air was perfect. Not hot. Not cold. And there was no rush. We were just capping our end of day, storing the memories, the steps, and the moment.

The preciousness of each season

Summer feels precious because it doesn’t last very long. It’s here. Everything turns green before our eyes. Our activities shift from inside to outside: socializing, bonfires, long days, warm nights and star gazing. Green turns to yellow and a quiet moodiness falls with all the leaves in autumn but that’s pretty too. Winter comes, sparkling crisp and quiet reminding us that resting is okay and so is cocooning. And finally the drips of icicles, the first rain and the slow blooms of spring reappear, tossing rain drop hope on everything. They all serve their purpose. They all offer something. They’re all precious if we’re willing to see them that way.

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