THE JOY OF WALKING ALONE

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I enjoy walking alone as much as I enjoy walking with friends.

I must admit, though, that walking with a buddy is so much more fun. There is always something to talk about, and in every conversation, I seem to learn something new. There is always something to laugh about that makes the morning even more enjoyable.

But when no one is around, I don’t fret. It’s not as if the whole world has failed to show up! I certainly won’t ask, “Where have all the flowers gone?” Instead, I take it as an opportunity to turn my attention to Nature’s beauty.

I turn on Spotify, put on my favorite playlist, and enjoy the music as I walk.

Then I begin to notice the world around me. And sure enough, I often discover something interesting to write about. I admire the leaves of the plants, still glistening after the rain. I breathe in the fresh scent of the grass, stop to admire the blooming flowers, listen to the sounds of the morning, and greet the people I meet along the way.

There is so much to see and appreciate when I take the time to look.

I know many people feel lonely or bored when they are alone—not only while walking, but in everyday life. My cardiologist once told us that many of her patients, mostly seniors, say that boredom is one of their foremost concerns.

Recently, I read that perhaps the true measure of a person’s happiness is how content they are when they are alone—not when surrounded by family, bonding with friends, or enjoying a party. I have observed this in myself, and I totally agree.

Of course, the saying “No man is an island” has its truth. We need people. We need family, friends, laughter, and companionship. But I have also learned that being alone does not have to mean being lonely.

For me, solitude is simply another way of enjoying life.

Sometimes, it is good to walk alone, listen to your own thoughts, notice the beauty around you—and most of all, love your own company.

A LITTLE BLESSING, A LOT OF HOPE

​I was happy to see that, despite the two weeks of almost nonstop rain, Jim’s little bell peppers managed to ripen. The rain had been so relentless that he finally had no choice but to harvest them.

Sadly, this is all that remains of the plant. Even the seedlings my brother gave us did not survive the wet weather.

But there is still a little reason to be hopeful. Our helper thoughtfully saved some of the seeds and dried them, ready to be planted again.

So, while this little pepper plant may be at the end of its life, its seeds carry the promise of a new beginning.

And that, I suppose, is one of nature’s quiet lessons: sometimes, even after something is lost, there is still hope for it to grow again.