This is the driveway leading to my house. My neighbor Sarah took the picture. She made the trek to bring me my mail because of the storm, because her daughter parked in a way that blocked my access to my mailbox, because she is nice. She sent me the picture via email with the following note:
“It is pretty even though…
the kids aren’t in school
my back hurts from shoveling
we had to push 3 cars stuck on our road last night
the dogs “go” in the driveway
I am down to wearing mismatching gloves”
A tale of a Minnesota winter. This one has been extraordinarily hard – frigidly cold and an incredible amount of snow since mid-November. And yet my neighbor Sarah writes this poem even though she thought she was just being funny.
The photo strikes me on a number of levels, as do Sarah’s words. The path ahead. The shadows reaching across it. The bend around which the unknown waits. The snow on the tree branches. Usually, when snow stays on the trees, the sun melts it fairly quickly. This is important because the wet, sticky snow means a massive amount of weight for the limps and branches to endure. Unfortunately, a cold front followed this 12 inches of snow, meaning no relief in sight for the trees. Already, a couple have fallen. The beauty in this picture is earned.
And yet, the beauty of this picture is staggering. It reminds me of my life, perhaps it does for you too. The path ahead is not an easy one. It travels an incline. The footing is unsure. Where it leads is impossible to know in advance. And sometimes the weather is cold. I feel much the same way. My path right now is definitely traveling an incline. My shoulder pain is increasing; this winter is kicking my ass; and I am struggling to make significant progress on my next book. At the same time, there is much wonderful happening. My non-profit’s innovative mind-body approach is gaining traction within healthcare; we are launching a karma yoga project called Kiss My Asana that is being met with open arms in the yoga community; and my son Paul’s hockey team plays in the district championship tomorrow.
The story is not just mine. Paul is also traveling an incline right now. At fourteen, he is learning the painful lesson that there is no way to truly succeed in school (or in life) without putting in the work. He is learning this while the path ahead of him is so bright and sunny and full of blue sky. Learning and experiencing is an amazing gift but it is not for free.
What is the story of the path you are traveling right now? As you do, remember Sarah’s words. Laugh, smile, take a deep breath, and continue walking the incline.