Moving one foot in front of the other
Part 1 - Transitioning from the end of 2024 to the start of 2025
When I’m out on a ride or a hike with friends, we sometimes talk about what is called “Trail Magic.”
It’s basically those times when we encounter the most magical and mystical scenarios, that are as close to perfect as possible. Events that are unlikely to happen anywhere else in the world - that require the alignment of the right people, in the right places, at the right time, under the right conditions.
It sometimes looks like an old car driving by on a country road waving an American flag, reaching out to hand riders bottles of Gatorade. Other times, it’s someone coming by with just the right tool, at exactly the moment you need it.
I had one of those moments the other day, out walking on the park trail.
While I was thinking about the various things I consider when I’m out walking, I saw a friend up the trail, walking towards me. We stopped to visit, which we often do.
On this, however, we talked about loss. She offered kind words of support for me, expressing sadness at the outcome of my election. She began to tear up a bit while we were talking, which was more touching than she’ll ever know.
Then we began talking about her life, and how she had been doing lately.
Her husband died in a car accident in late August, and I figured the holidays had been particularly difficult this year. Transitions of any kind can be a challenge, wrought with difficult emotions. Add the complex feelings of loss on top of the holidays, and it’s even harder.
The first steps into a new world, into what the next phase of life will be, isn’t always a peaceful or hopeful vision of the future. Often, that transition first requires stepping through the minefield of loss - and remembering all the things that used to be, the traditions that are lost, and the growing feeling that the future holds a vast emptiness where happiness used to live.
My friend, Deb, told me some of the things she missed about Kris.
How he made her laugh like nobody else.
How they held hands in bed until they both fell asleep.
How he was the more spontaneous and silly one in the family.
And how he would ask Deb if he was a good husband, and if she was happy with him.
Then she told me about the people who had shown up in her life, and how she valued the kindness that had been shown to her. She was surprised, she admitted, about the love that came her way from some unexpected places, and that she had really come to know who was in her “tribe.”
We hugged a couple of times, and turned our own ways to finish our walks.
I left that exchange with a feeling, but it took me a while to figure out what it was.
I settled on “Special.” That’s how it felt to me - like something special and powerful had just happened in the few minutes of an exchange that happened with no one else around.
It reminded me of a podcast I had heard some years back that talked about the power of tiny interactions - and how the loss of those during Covid had affected all of us in ways we didn’t fully appreciate. I think that’s probably right.
It’s not uncommon for me to see Deb out of the trail, and to take a few minutes to visit with her. But this one was more than that.
This one, I think, was a pause - a space in which pain and hope exist at the same time. A space where we could both talk about the joy of having loved so much that its loss left a profoundly painful scar - and how we could see that there’s light on the other side of grief, though the path through is still unknown.
It felt, also, like the sort of trail magic that keeps us moving along the path to where ever it is we’re going.
I hope you all take time to thing about the things you might have lost in the past year - but I hope that pain fades away and is replaced with a hope for the new year and the possibility it can contain.
A couple of notes -
I plan to follow up this week with a project I’ve been working on for the better part of a year - It’s the Values Game, and the people who have played it with me. I think you’ll find this an interesting conversation for the New Year.
Unless the weather goes bad, we’re planning to hold an event at Sandhills Brewing from 5-8 p.m. or so on Jan. 11. We’ll get more specifics out in the coming days (I wanted to get through the holidays), but would like to get everyone who volunteered and helped with this year’s campaign together to say Thank You. Put the date on your calendar - and I’ll hope to see you there.