Finding Strength in What We Can Shape

Sometimes, I think about how much of what happens in our lives is truly *ours* to direct, and how much is simply… circumstance. Not that I believe in fatalism, goodness no. My Jerry, he’d chuckle at that. He’s always been a pragmatist, a man who fixes what’s broken and keeps moving forward. But after a lifetime of teaching, of watching young people grapple with disappointments and triumphs, you start to wonder.

I remember Eli, bless his heart, fretting about his first day of school. Just a little boy, nervous about a new place, new faces. It’s a common feeling, isn’t it? That flutter of anxiety, that sense that things are beyond our control. And he’s right, of course, to some degree. There are things he *can’t* change – the teacher assigned to him, the size of the classroom, even the other children who will be there.

But the way he *responds* to those things? That’s entirely his. And that’s where a measure of power resides, a quiet strength that can get a person through a great deal. It's not about pretending there are no obstacles, no moments of frustration or sadness. It’s about believing that you have the ability to navigate them, to learn from them, to rise again.

I saw it firsthand with Kevin, too. Those first few weeks after Lily arrived were… difficult. He and Adrienne were overjoyed, absolutely, but utterly exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a month, which, truthfully, wasn’t far from the truth. He kept saying, "I just need a little more time," which is fair. But it was more than just time; it was a shift in perspective. Accepting the reality of a newborn's needs, the relentless demands on his energy…that’s a step toward understanding what *can* be influenced, and what simply *is*.

Jerry and I took Lily to Ponte Vedra. Just sitting with her on the couch, he seemed remarkably at peace. He just held her, quiet as could be. Watching that, I thought about the countless times I'd worried, fretted over things beyond my reach – a child struggling with a concept, a colleague’s stubbornness. So much wasted energy. So much unnecessary distress.

It's not about blaming anyone or expecting a perfect life. It's about recognizing the difference between what we can affect and what we can't. That drive to Fredericksburg, to see Eli off to school, felt like a race against time. I wanted to be there for him, to offer a comforting hug, a reassuring word. And I could do that. I could be present. But I couldn't guarantee his day would be perfect.

That drive home from Georgia, after visiting with them, was just beautiful. The light on the trees, the way the fields stretched out… it gave me a sense of quiet satisfaction. Retirement, I told Jerry, it's going to be good. And he just smiled, that knowing smile of his, and said he’d been waiting for me to notice. He understands that happiness isn’t found in controlling every outcome, but in appreciating the beauty of the journey, in embracing what we *can* shape and accepting the rest with grace.

And that, I believe, is a lesson worth teaching, a truth worth living. It's not about blaming circumstances, or pretending everything is within our power. It’s about facing the world with an open heart and a quiet resolve, knowing that even in the midst of uncertainty, we are stronger than we think.