Blog Layout

Its’ Never the How; It’s the Why

carriesuepepper • Dec 19, 2010

I have always known that in achieving big goals, important milestones, that focusing on HOW I’d get there didn’t help move me toward that goal at all. All I had to know is that I would get there and why I wanted to do so – the how would take care of itself.  Lately, I let myself slip back a little and I started focusing on the how.  What good did that do?  None; in fact it just made me anxious and left me feeling a little uncertain.  Then, I remembered — the how isn’t always clear, in fact, it rarely is.  Just decide what you want and keep looking ahead – knowing you’ll get it and all kinds of “hows” will be revealed to you.  If you focus on the how, you may never arrive!

So, this morning, as I sat in our hot tub, sliding down further and further into the warmth against a blustery winter storm that pelted me with icy raindrops, I pondered how Nature deals with the how and the why of the seasons.  I watched the little lilac tree, its branches shiny with rain, buds waiting like tiny clenched fists for spring.  I imagined how ridiculous it was for it to think – with this cold winter storm and no sun, how will I be able to stand here in summer, offering my fragrant purple flowers to the day?  How is that going to happen?   And of course, it does happen, season upon season. 

I look up at the hundreds of seed pods swinging in the wind on the sycamore that spreads out across the fence from our neighbor’s yard, and I imagine the tree saying, where will all these seeds land?  Where will a tree be planted? How many will grow and survive?  The seeds will float on the wind and few will actually take root – some will end up in flower pots where they’ll be pulled up in annoyance; others will land on cement; and a few will land in fertile soil and grow tall and strong reaching their arms across clear blue skies.  Birds will come and sit among the branches and squirrels will romp and play. 

I hear the cranes overhead, heading north in a “V.”  Instinctively, they just head north and keep flying, knowing that they are on course toward their destination.  They do not question; they do not second guess their leader, they do not ask, how are we going to make this journey of thousands of miles?  How will we be strong enough?  How will we keep going mile after mile?  What if our wings get too tired and we cannot go on?  They just fly; they course correct from time to time, and keep heading north.  And that’s the way I want to be – steady on course without asking how – just knowing my purpose and my course.

First Spring , then summer, the soft air fluttering with big green leaves and scented with lilac blossoms and eggs laid in soft nests.  It is all done with purpose and belief and faith.

The post Its' Never the How; It's the Why first appeared on Carrie Pepper.

Carrie Pepper

Relaunch

By Carrie Pepper • 15 Feb, 2024
Separate Lives

Time to Fly

By Carrie Pepper • 04 Feb, 2024
Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and shook the branches. Hold on, little one, I thought. And just then, this quote came to mind. “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.” ― Charlie Wardle As I watched her, I imagined my own wings and wondered just how hard the wind is going to need to blow in my life for me to loosen them, pinned tightly to my sides, unfurl them—then TRUST as the currents lift me off my (branch) and I soar effortless and without fear.

Street Signs Can Be Memory Joggers

By Carrie Pepper • 30 Nov, 2023
Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.
More Posts
Share by: