People who look through keyholes are apt to get the idea that most things are keyhole shaped.  ~ Anonymous

Sometimes your reality all depends on your point of view.

The other day I witnessed a man driving a pricey little sports car. As I climbed into my trusty little Honda with way too many miles on it, I felt a pang of jealousy. For a couple of years now, I've been hoping and planning to purchase a new car, but it hasn't happened yet. "How lucky is he," I thought.

Then I realized that his sporty little set of wheels was specially equipped, modified to accommodate the needs tied to the driver's other set of wheels — his wheelchair.

I was looking at life through the keyhole; maybe it's time to broaden my perspective.

As we approach the Thanksgiving holiday, I'm going to make an extra effort to be thankful for what I have instead of longing for what I lack. I'm going to relish the time that I'll spend with loved ones and try to savor the bounty of food that will fill my table. I'm going to try and remember that:

Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect; it means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections. ~ Unknown

Whether you're heading out today in a BMW, a Kia or a beaten-up jalopy, I wish you a safe, happy and joyous Thanksgiving holiday. 

UPDATE (Nov. 21, 2012): Since writing this a year ago, I finally replaced that trusty old Honda with a brand-new one. Reliable wheels: One more thing to be thankful for this year.

Have recent events led you to change your life perspective? What are you thankful for? Comments are welcome and appreciated. 

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

This quote has been attributed to a number of people, including author Maya Angelou. Regardless of its origin, this simple phrase lends a poetic touch to the old adage of "quality over quantity."  This week, take the time to look for life's breathtaking moments; you never know where you're going to find them. Whether it's the unexpected kindness of a stranger or a glorious moment in our natural world, allow yourself to be awed.

Have you recently experienced a breathtaking moment? Feel free to share it in the Comments section below. To leave a response, click Comment(s) and enter information in the Leave A Reply form.

It's Monday, the beginning of another work week rife with opportunities. Will you take the time to notice them? Whether it's an opportunity to help a friend or further your own goals and dreams, be sure to slow down enough to notice windows of opportunity.

We're all in such a hurry, it's often easier to dwell on the negative that we see than to look for creative ways to seek out opportunities. If you knocked on a door and no one answered, or if the door was closed in your face, take the time to look around for other opportunities. As the saying goes: "When God closes a door, he opens a window." Your challenge today is to look for the window. Opportunity is knocking. You just have to find it.

The opportunity may not look quite the way you expected, but take a chance and reach through that open window to see what lies beyond it. You never know when or where you'll find the chance that you've been hoping for to put you closer to achieving a goal or helping someone else to fulfill theirs. A volunteer opportunity will help others, make you feel good and could be a bridge to the career opportunity you're looking for. Open your mind to possibilities that might lead to the outcome you seek.

You never know what opportunities are lurking nearby. So, don't look back at the closed door. Look forward — at the window. 

Comments are welcome and appreciated! To leave a response, click Comment(s) and enter information in the Leave A Reply form. 

Last December, an unlikely glance at an obituary in the newspaper led me to reconnect with a long-lost (but never forgotten) grade-school friend. That unlikely event also allowed me to rediscover long-forgotten memories that lay within the pages of my earliest work as a writer: my five-year diary.

Most girls of my era had one. You know the type: A colorful girly cover guarding dated pages within that serve up a five-year timeline of what you were doing and thinking on a particular day. There was always the requisite lock, intended to keep out the prying eyes of parents and siblings. I'm not sure how well that lock guarded my secrets, but I do know that unlocking the pages of my tattered little tome revealed events that would have remained forgotten if not for the proof — written by my own hand — that they occurred. There were events that had long since faded from my memory. Knitting a purse for my best friend. Boys that I mooned over but who had long since faded from memory. Seeing the movie Billy Jack three times. How devastated I was when my best friend moved away.

My diary was a constant friend during my youth, an item that I treasured long into adulthood. For a time, the book was lost. But thanks to a family member, it was rescued from a box of belongings taken from my mother's home after her death. The day that it arrived in my mailbox, it was like seeing an old friend. And when I reconnected with my childhood friend through that obituary, I pulled out my diary to relive our times together. In the process, I reconnected with my inner child — the young girl who loved reading books, listening to sappy love songs, roaming in the woods near home and writing down her thoughts in a diary.

Why do I write? For a variety of reasons. I love to read, and I cherish words and books. I also find joy in sharing stories, both my own and those of others. Putting thoughts and words on paper (or screen) can be cathartic. It's also a way to preserve and validate precious moments from my life — to prove that they happened. Somehow those moments take on new life when they are put into words.

Recently I read about a New York Times article that cited a woman taking the drastic measure of burning her diaries. I was aghast that any writer could bring herself to commit such an act. Since childhood, I've been scribbling stories, reflections and recollections onto everything from notebook paper to diaries to handmade journals. And I could never see my way to burn those precious pages and deny myself the privilege of returning to them and reliving the moments of life from whence they sprang.

Burn my journals? Destroy my diaries? Never. They are part of me and who I am. I'm not sure how or why my friend and I lost touch, and the intervening years have taken us light years away from the naive adolescents we once were. But in sharing with her the thoughts from my diary, I had the chance to reconnect with the little girl I once was. To remember her hopes and dreams — and to find the inspiration to keep pursuing the dreams of the woman she's become.

P.S. Special thanks to the friend who rescued and returned the diary. You know who you are.

Did you keep a diary as a youngster? Are you a journal writer as an adult? How has writing affected your life? To leave a response, click Comment(s) and enter information in the Leave A Reply form.