Finding life in unexpected places

Vitality is a popping word — almost like the word itself is on a daily dose of vitamins. It jumps around on the tongue and fairly bounces from the mouth.

Go to a physician's office and they record the four main vital signs — body temperature, pulse rate, respiratory rate and blood pressure. If the numbers are where they should be, then I ought to be filled with “vim and vigor.” But is this always true?

Vitality's root word is vita from the Latin for “life.” What happens when there's nothing primary stopping vita — no real illness or overwhelming event — yet my engagement with life is just not flowing? Perhaps it is down to a trickle. Or has become a dried-up riverbed. How do I bring it back?

I have seen how even small things, bit by bit, can feed the river.

Recognize the “message in a bottle” — that thing I don't expect that introduces a new perspective. I was sitting on the front porch with a candle lit — glum over canceled camping I'd hoped for since reserving the site six months earlier. As I watched the candle flame flickering, the thought floated through my mind, “I may not be camping, but I've got my campfire.” It was such a whimsical idea that I instantly perked up.

Another unexpected comfort happened recently while I was on the deck at twilight. I was feeling apart and alone. As I looked at the silhouette of the trees, there seemed to be a distinct shape clinging to a downward dead branch on a snag. I got the binoculars and in the dim light discovered it was a hawk — settled in for the night. Just like that, I had a companion in the dark.

The hawk shows up nearly every night. I did not know they returned to the same place to roost. Its presence never fails to raise my vitality.

Thinking of someone besides myself — and acting on it — can pull me out of a funk. Any sort of rewarding connection brings cheer. This works both ways — being the giver or receiver. Recently I asked an editor to let a fellow writer know how much I liked a piece she had written in an inspirational book for which we both write. It turned out the kudo came “at the perfect time when I don't feel inspired to write. These are wonderful reminders to keep going, regardless of how I feel.” Knowing my outreach had encouraged her during a low gave me an unplanned lift.

This person, Karen, had written about the close-together loss of her sister and her father — and how grief had darkened her sky. In the midst of this, she welcomed a guest who was visiting her city for the first time — and who gushed with enthusiasm at the iconic sights. She wrote something so true that it stole my breath. “My time and place for optimism and joy would come when I was ready, but for now, I was simply happy to recognize its brilliance in someone else.”

I still feel my mother's loss a dozen years ago at this time of summer. Vita poured in as I connected on the page with someone I've never met, in grief understood — and hope explained. Her words gave a glorious insight. Sometimes I am brilliance for someone else — and sometimes they are that burst of brightness for me — and I don't need to feel jealous or resentful — but just recognize its value.

Vitality will never be only right numbers telling me I ought to be living the good life. Vita is a way of connecting with the abundance around me — and letting the river fill me up.

Carol Shirk Knapp is the author of “The Preacher’s Kid” column.