Fred Rogers and the Neighborhood Trolley. Wikimedia Commons.
Fred Rogers used to say,
“From the time you were very little, you’ve had people who have smiled you into smiling, people who have talked you into talking, sung you into singing, loved you into loving.”
Sometimes these acts of formation have come from people we expect. And throughout rour lives, these gifts also come from people who surprise us.. We continue to carry these influences.
Who still makes us smile, whether they’re with us physically or not?
Whose speech patterns, stories, and forms of expression have stayed with us?
Whose love still finds us, believes in us, encourages us, and holds us accountable?
Sometimes these influences are so internalized that we don’t even think about them. But when we do, they are worth all our gratitude.
An image of bright orange trees from a different bike ride this week.
As I write this, it’s an unseasonably warm day. Perhaps because of El Niño. Whatever the cause, these warmer days have allowed me to extend my bike riding season, and I’ve been grateful for that.
I was especially looking forward to today because the temperature has reached 73 degrees. But I kept delaying my bike ride, and then the forecast changed. It started raining. It’s a small thing, but I felt genuinely sad about it.
I think when I know that time is limited, I want to squeeze every bit of meaning I can out of it, every bit of adventure I can. I know there won’t be many more days like this before the colder weather settles in, and I want to make the most of them.
But today, I’m giving myself permission to have an utterly unremarkable day. Truth be told, we have lots of those. But I wonder how often we allow ourselves to enjoy them without feeling that we’ve missed an opportunity. What if an ordinary day isn’t something to overcome? What if we can just enjoy it for what it is?
A mentor introduced me to a quote by Alfred Brendel:
“The word ‘listen’ contains the same letters as the word ‘silent.'”
I’ve never noticed that, but indeed, it does. This mentor added, “Brendel’s observation about the words ‘listen’ and ‘silent’ is precious, especially if someone trusts you to consider their problems. A cry for help is not about you.
A colorful display of Indian dishes; Wikimedia Commons — Paridh
I walked into a local Indian restaurant, anticipating glorious scents and tastes throughout the evening. Most importantly, I anticipated seeing a good friend, and I knew she was already there. When I walked through the door, our eyes met, and she just geeked out when she saw me. Her face lit up, and she stood up to hug me. It was a lovely, big, squishy hug, and she exclaimed, “We just need more of Renee in the world!”
To be honest, we need more of my friend in the world. She’s an introvert. I’m an extrovert. And yet, she so frequently has these beautiful bursts of delight for the people around her.
We should never take for granted the people who show their delight in others. Maybe it’s a big gesture. Or maybe it’s picking up coffee for someone. Maybe it includes enthusiastic words. Maybe it’s a smile or an acknowledgment of people’s contributions.
Who has delighted in you lately? Can you thank them?
Who has given you delight lately? How might we show that — in our own way?
I’m smiling big and holding up my “I Voted” sticker.
On Saturday, I walked into my polling place and cast my vote on the very first day of early voting in my state. It felt absolutely amazing. From the moment I walked in from the parking lot to the moment I walked back out, I felt uplifted.
Though it was only the first day in a series of 11 days of early voting, there was already a steady crowd. In fact, after getting my ballot, I had to wait a bit until a voting booth became available. As I filled in the boxes next to the names of people I was choosing, I left one particular race until the end because there was a candidate I was especially excited about. I wanted to finish on that vote. And then, of course, I was delighted to get my voting sticker, which lived on my purse for a little while.
When we think about doing our civic duty, we often feel a sense of urgency, anxiety, or responsibility. All of those are valid feelings for a set of vital commitments. But I found myself thinking about my joy. Can a sense of delight be part of civic engagement as well? I hope so.
I don’t know how it’s all going to land or what kind of chaos could be on the other side. But at least for that moment, I was riding high. And I hope you might experience a feeling like that, too, whether you vote early or show up at the polls on November 3rd.
Though it was slightly more than 14 years ago, I remember quite vividly a significant walk I took. I rolled into Ann Arbor, parked the car, and began making a trek up Washington Street toward downtown. This was my first time here, and there was something about the energy of this place. As I looked around me, even in that brief span of time that I was walking, I could see so much possibility. I could imagine a life here.
That’s when I asked, “How long have I been here?”
Twenty minutes had passed. I said aloud, “It took me 20 minutes to know I would move here.”
This was, in fact, a fact-finding mission. Was this somewhere a life could be built? A new chapter, perhaps one that would span a long stretch of time? I knew what I wanted, but it actually took a couple of attempts to get here. The first possibility completely fell through and left me disoriented. But then a second possibility emerged, also disorienting in how quickly it came together. Gratefully, this one worked.
Exactly one year to the day of that first visit, I rolled into town again, but this time as someone who had just moved here.
It has been a long chapter. This place has brought me relationships, nature, and a host of memories, along with so many restaurants, parks, and shops. I’ve ridden my bike almost 5,000 miles in this town in the last three and a half years. There has been much to explore. There has been much to deepen inside me. Sometimes when I walk up Washington Street, I remember that first visit all over again.
Yesterday, though, I was on my bike, traveling in the opposite direction, down Washington Street. And I found myself reflecting on it all again, with gratitude.
I’m looking to 2027 with some excitement and anticipation. Sometimes dreams take a while to percolate. Sometimes there are closed doors and open doors along the way, and we don’t always know how things will unfold. But even though we live in a time that feels precarious, I still find myself excited about some of the possibilities. I’m still a dreamer.
And I think back to that first walk up Washington Street, when I could already imagine a life here, even though I had no idea how it would unfold. And of course, these years haven’t all been rosy. There have been some significant challenges along the way, too. But I’m grateful for the life I’ve built here, the people who are part of it, and so much that these years have brought. They propel me to more dreaming.
Have you ever had one of those “this could be it” moments? What did you sense, and what became of it? How are you in relationship with it now?
