Look Back Before You Look Ahead

There is something about this time of year that makes us start thinking about what comes next.

The season is changing. The garden is slowing. The days are getting shorter, and before we know it, another year will begin winding toward its end.

And almost without realizing it, we start looking forward.

What comes next?

What needs to change?

What should I do differently?

Where am I going from here?

We are very good at asking ourselves those questions.

But maybe, before we go any farther, we should turn around for a minute.

Not to go backward.

Just to look.

Because sometimes looking back isn't about dwelling on the past. Sometimes it's simply taking inventory.

What worked?

What didn't?

What surprised you?

What did you learn along the way?

What do you have now that you didn't have when you started?

A garden tells that story beautifully.

By autumn, it doesn't look the way it did in spring. Some things flourished. Some struggled. Some never grew at all. There may be bare patches where you were certain something beautiful would grow, and there may be life in places where you never planted a thing.

But none of that makes the season a failure.

You learned the garden.

You learned where the sun stayed longest. You discovered what needed more water and what preferred to be left alone. You found out what could survive a storm. And maybe you learned that something you desperately wanted to grow simply wasn't meant for that particular patch of earth.

There is something worth knowing in all of it.

We tend to believe that once we recognize a lesson, we're supposed to immediately do something with it.

Make the plan.

Set the goal.

Fix the problem.

Decide what's next.

But not every lesson needs an action plan.

Some lessons are simply meant to become part of you.

Maybe you don't need to decide tonight what you're going to plant next spring.

Maybe you don't need to know exactly where you're headed from here.

Maybe this is simply the season to stand at the edge of your own garden and notice.

Notice what grew.

Notice what didn't.

Notice what you survived.

Notice what surprised you.

And perhaps most importantly, notice the person standing there now—the one who knows things the person who first walked into this garden didn't know yet.

There will be time to decide what comes next.

For now, turn around.

Look at the ground you've already covered.

You may discover that you're carrying far more forward than you realized.

Before you go any farther, ask yourself:

What do I know now that I could only have learned by coming this far?

Maybe reflection isn't about figuring out what comes next.

Maybe sometimes it's simply about honoring what brought you here.

Until next time,

Mary

Of Herb & Stone