Looking at this moment with elder eyes ⭐

January finally ended, and with it a month that seemed determined to stretch beyond its own limits.

Welcome to February.

Many of us are still thawing our way out of last week’s ice storm. What remains is not so much a winter wonderland as softened ground and lingering cold--muddy, unsettled conditions that make even ordinary movement feel a little harder than usual. It’s an unglamorous aftermath, and a surprisingly honest metaphor for the wider moment we’re inhabiting.

We are navigating division and distortion alongside a pervasive pressure to show up and speak clearly, act decisively, arrive fully present inside a time we neither chose nor imagined for ourselves.

A fellow mother reminded me that when we had kids more than a decade ago, we didn't envision as much on-the-job civics and news translating we'd have to do. There's grief in that. 

That pressure can feel especially acute when the conditions themselves are unstable, and when the ground beneath us hasn’t quite firmed up yet.

As a result, much of what is happening right now sounds imperfect. Voices waver. Language arrives unfinished. Courage shows up without polish or certainty. And still, I keep thinking about how memory reshapes our understanding of moments like these.

When we look back at old photographs, we rarely linger on what embarrassed us at the time. We don’t fixate on the awkwardness of our overbite, the way our jeans pinched us weird,  or the missteps. Instead, we see past the imperfections and recognize the heart that was present all along.

Scripture names this gently: “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7) The old country song says it another way: you should’ve seen it in color.

That’s where we are now: living this moment from the inside, in full color. Which means we experience its strain and its beauty simultaneously. It also means we’re allowed a measure of tenderness toward ourselves, even a quiet kind of romance, as we notice the courage embedded in our imperfect ways of showing up.

So here is a simple wayfinding practice for the week ahead.

            Look at something with elder eyes.

Choose one moment, one relationship, or one effort from this season, and let yourself see it as you might years from now.

Allow compassion to widen in your chest, for yourself, and for others who are doing their best under less-than-ideal conditions.

You may miss this one day, not because it was easy, but because it mattered.

Call it what it is: the heartbreaking, beautiful work of showing up beloved.

With you on the way,
Elaine

This reflection is part of Wayfinder's Weekly, my free Monday newsletter for people navigating threshold seasons. Subscribe here

Interested in working together? Learn about workshops and private wayfinding containers.