Throwing Candy
I had an experience a couple summers ago that changed
everything for me. That sounds hyperbolic, I know. But
every once in a while we have these experiences that slice
our lives into before and after, and this was one of those for
me.
A friend of a friend invited me on a trip. To a place I’d
never been, with a group of people most of whom I’d never
met. I didn’t know what to expect, but I did have this sense
that there was something waiting for me there—something I
needed to learn. A conversation, a lesson, a moment.
There was lots of space and silence. The stars were so
bright, and the layers and layers of stress and regret and
toughness I’d been wearing for ages slipped off one by one,
until there I was, just me.
And without that shell, it’s like I could feel everything
and see everything with such clarity. It was like
Technicolor, and I knew that there was something important
there for me to see. I could sense it. For the first time in a
long time, I was really paying attention.
One of the traditions of this place is that when you see
kayakers in the water paddling by from the nearby camp, no
matter what you’re doing, you stop and throw candy to