My mom hung a new wall calendar next to her desk this week.
As she smoothed her hand over the page, I sensed in her the same emotion that I get when I start down a brand-new hiking trail. Every fallen tree could be sheltering a nest of baby skunks. Every pile of leaves could be hiding a decomposing mouse carcass. Could this finally be the path that I have been looking for all of my life?
Perhaps this trail will answer all of the questions, loop around all of the dark and dismal valleys and eventually wind up at Nirvana?
Well, I know that last part sounds a little far-fetched, but when you first turn onto a new trail, hope soars higher than an eagle and joy dances on every new scent.
Breaking trail over a fresh layer of snow is one of my all-time winter delights. The path ahead is pure and unblemished, and the possibilities are endless. I can go this way. I can go that way. I can zig. I can zag. No dog has passed this way, and not even the fox or deer have ventured out across the clean white slate in front of me. It is mine to write the story and, once I begin to walk, my footprints determine the direction of my tale. When others come behind me, they will have to choose to either follow my trail or, if they want to leave their own fresh story, to walk on either side of my prints.
Sometimes the trail can be arduous. Rocky. The steep hills lead you to lofty views, but then descend to muddy bottoms. Trees have fallen across the path. Briars have crept in along the edges. I have learned from experience that if there are spots to rest along the trail, take full advantage of them. Breathe in the fresh, clean air. Contemplate the next move. Trust your inner compass and move on when you are ready.
Some trails are wide and easy. The pace is steady and relaxed. There is time to check out interesting things along the way, and contentment in the companionship of good friends.
Occasionally along the way there are things that are very new and possible very cool, but also potentially a little bit scary. Some dogs are brave, and they sprint toward the big scary stuff without a second thought. Some dogs hide behind their owner’s legs and cower, even afraid of their own shadow, it seems. I’m a little bit in between.
In fact, my mom says I am the most interesting bit of quirk and caution because, when I see an animal like a deer or fox along the way, I back up. FAST! Sometimes I run into my mom’s legs. She might find it amusing, but instead she should be impressed with my ability to buy time while I assess the danger level.
In the human world, this might be similar to saying “Let’s do it!” but then reconsidering. “Should we do it?” Important decisions warrant giving yourself time to make the best choice.
Scary. Fun. Hard. New trails can be some or all of these things, but you'll never know if you don't do one important thing. Take the first step. Breathe a little if you have to, then take the second step. Don't let a little mud or the big hill up ahead send you back to the easy trail that everyone else goes on. Stay on YOUR trail. Check for good smells along the way. Listen to the squeak of the snow, or the rustle of the grass as you pass. Lift your face to the breeze, and feel the sun on the back of your neck.
And if you do slip and fall? Well, then, that becomes part of the story! And if people laugh or judge you, or try to tell you how to maneuver on your path? Well, I suspect that most naysayers are the folks that have so many fences criss-crossing their minds that they can't even figure out how to start down their own trail in life. Instead, they spend all of their energy barking at others who are brave enough to venture out on their own individual trail.
When that happens, be calm. Take a breath. When the noise is deafening, don't try to make sense of the entire trail lying ahead of you.
Just take the next good step.
Then take another step. And another. Nose to the wind, feet to the trail, and off we'll go to make some tracks in the fresh, new year.
Happy trails to you, and Happy New Year, too!
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