👊 Make it Happen

When something good but infrequent or unexpected happens, isn't it remarkable how quickly we turn to sadness that we cannot experience that same good all the time?

What do we lose when we pivot so quickly to maligning what we don't have?

Almost exactly two years ago, I journaled:

My first thought was to write "I wish I could have a spot like this to start every day." A better thought is "I'm thankful I had this spot for these last two mornings, and I look forward to when I can return."

Absorbing the Infrequent Good

Those reflections came from a dock on an annual guys' trip to Wisconsin. For all the winding paths and destinations of my life, I remain connected to my high school friends, and collectively, we remain committed to one weekend a year on a lake somewhere in the northern woods.

This annual trip happens to fall in a period of relative calm for me, somewhere after my chaotic but fulfilling summers of work travel and after my kids have returned to school.

I use this brief escape to reset, thinking less about the projects I've yet to accomplish and more about the rigorous schedule of these vacation days: do I start the fire early to get the perfect bed of coals prepared for cast iron campfire biscuits, or do I indulge in a morning New Glarus variant? Why not both?

It is no surprise that these woodland adventures are better when I allow myself to actually be here now. To celebrate the moments I catch myself just staring out over the water or listening to good friends share stories and jabs.

When I find myself subconsciously reaching for my phone to check email or the news, I clock the behavior and resist. If something was urgent, I'd hear about it. The emails and the news will both be there for my consumption when I don't have a kayak at my ready disposal.

Accepting Endings

Each Sunday morning of these trips, I steal my last few moments on the water and pay attention to where my head and heart are truly at.

Invariably, that sadness enters. Why can't this be forever.

That's a real and valid feeling, and I try not to dismiss it. It suggests that the trip did what it was supposed to do, creating the strong desire to keep that particular good time rolling.

But of course, I can't. The kids are back in school the next day and need someone to get them there. The work calendar has calls and tasks that someone needs to tend to. The dog needs walks. The plants need water. The civic duties need attention.

So yes, this brief reprieve is ending. And that's okay.

Creating the Next Beginning

What I appreciate about the snippet I journaled a couple years back is that it shows a point of growth. I was giving space for myself to recognize the goodness and that it was ending, but then forcing myself to take it a step further: what can I do to make this happen again?

Because I did make it happen again.

It may be in life that something is truly fleeting. A one-off that speaks to you and changes you and breathes life into your soul and renews your spirit and that wraps you in its sweet embrace...only to never return.

But there are plenty of other slices of goodness that can be recreated—with the right intention and approach. Once I leave Wisconsin this year, I'll put next year's trip on the calendar and do everything I can to make it back here in 2027.

That doesn't preserve the goodness itself—I can't exactly take the lake back with me to Chicago—but it's an internal commitment to make it happen again when I can.

--

Life is a never ending series of decisions. Do yourself a kindness and make some that improve your wellbeing.

The next time you experience something wholesomely good and you feel that pang of sadness as it comes to its natural, inevitable conclusion, consider what actions you can take to make that goodness return.

I, for one, look forward to reporting back from the lake next year 🫡

Shimmeringly Yours,

—Rye