Thoughtful Thursday & Perspective Is Everything (A Short Story)

Hello friends!

I hope you are well on this Thanksgiving Day.

My wish is that you are with loved ones and you enjoying your time together.

Hopefully you have had time to pause and reflect on all that a you are grateful for.

One of the things I am grateful for is perspective.

Learning the skill of gaining perspective has truly been a gift and has changed my life.

Another thing I am grateful for is YOU!

Thank you for being a part of the Seasons Coaching Community!

Here is a short story I wrote about the power of perspective that I would like to share with you.

Enjoy & have a joyful week!

Perspective is Everything (A Short Story by Jill Pack)

It's the summer of 2009. I am with my sister-in-law, Sandy, and my 8-year-old daughter, Jenna. We are beginning our hike back to our family's camp in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness area, near Stanley, Idaho. Jenna is so excited because she just caught her very first fish on our fishing excursion this morning. She is proudly carrying her freshly cleaned catch of the day by its jaw on the end of its stick of honor. Leaving the other family members, to continue their search for more fishing, we happily go on our way because we don't know that this is going to be a very long hike.

It's in this moment of excitement and saying our goodbyes, we don't think to ask for directions or a map. It doesn't matter, we know the way. The lake is so close to camp. Even though there really isn't a trail. It is just about a half mile or so back through the brush. We will be there in no time. We begin bushwacking, believing we will reach our destination before too long.

We spend 30 minutes relishing in and the retelling of Jenna's first fishing adventure. We notice a stream that we don't seem to remember seeing earlier. The foliage is getting thicker and it seems like we are dropping in elevation as well. Looking behind us we are disoriented. We don't know what direction we have even come from.

Jenna is asking how much further we have to go. Sandy and I smile and reassure her it won't be long. The look we give each other tells us both that neither one of us really knows where we are or the way back to camp. But we are optimistic. Camp really can't be much further.

A couple of hours later, Jenna's little catch is barely hanging on by its jaw on the end of its stick. It is no longer a stick of honor. It is more like a stick of shame. I tell Jenna that it is time for the little fishy to leave us. He has fought the good fight but it is time for us to leave him behind. He is beginning to dry out and smell kind of funny. We lay that little fishy along the edge of the stream and say our good-byes.

We keep walking while trying to keep the conversation going in order to stay calm. Sandy and I really don't know where we are headed but we reassure Jenna that we will get back to camp. Eventually.

I am beginning to weaken in my battle to stay positive and hopeful. We stop and pray because fear and uncertainty are settling in on all of us along with their friends, discouragement and defeat. We don't know where we are or really what direction to go. I quietly go inward to make sense of what is happening.

We are in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. The irony of this has not been lost on me. We don't have cell coverage. There is no one to flag down for directions. There is not another soul in sight. I remember the map that is with my husband tucked safely inside his daypack. He is the king of maps but I am definitely not the queen.

I suggest the only thing I can think of, we need to get higher. We need to get our bearings. If we can get up, we can see out, and then we can find our way back to camp.

Perspective is everything.

In making our plan, we know that we need to get to a clearing so we actually are able to see a place where we can get up higher. We come to a small open meadow. In the distance, we see a burnt, shale covered mountain. At this moment, our destination seems obvious and we begin walking towards it.

Now, five hours have passed. Our family probably won't know we are missing until it is dark. It seems inevitable that we are going to be spending the night on this mountain. Search and Rescue will be called and a long, cold night lay ahead of us. We ration our food and water to make it last just a little bit longer.

Tentatively, Sandy and I keep reassuring Jenna and ourselves as we continue to hike, knowing what might be in store for us. But Sandy and I are adults, right? We have to be brave and pretend like we know exactly what to do in order to keep things calm. But I don't feel like an adult. I feel like 8-year-old Jenna–sad, lost, confused, and worried.

Our pace is slowing, our spirits are falling, and our smiles are fading as we work our way up this burnt, shale covered mountain.

From our higher perspective, we look out over the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. We can see in the distance where we have come from and exactly the direction we need to go. As if it is drawn on paper, we can see the great big circle we have been walking in since this morning.

This elevated perspective gives us new found hope and encouragement as we begin our descent back to camp. With our direction set, we trust ourselves more and more with each new step we take.

Perspective is everything.

We stop. We take a double take. Is it true? Is this the trail?

Yes, it is! We have found the trail! The very trail we have been searching for for hours! The trail that will take us back to our camp! We jump up and down while literally screaming for joy. The exhilarating relief is tangible as Jenna and I kiss the ground while Sandy takes our picture. Tears of happiness cover our cheeks and a little spring is added to our remaining steps.

Now, nearing six hours, we finally enter camp with a satisfied exhaustion. Anxiously, we look around for the others. We have so much to tell them. They have probably been sick with worry and have been wondering where we have been this whole time.

Yet, it is quiet. No one is here. We realize that the others haven't even come back from their fishing excursion yet. They have no idea we have been lost for the whole entire day! We look at each other and laugh as we flop into our camp chairs and wait.