One of my favorite parts of living in Southern California is the mountains. After growing up in the midst of flat farmland (which has its own spacious beauty), I can’t seem to get over the appearance of mountains in my purview. If I lift my eyes above the bumper of the car in front of me, I’m astonished to see mountains that appear to rise out of the road in front of me. Even though they are considered foothills, they are pretty big to me.

In that moment of seeing the mountains, I remember I’m small. Those mountains have seen many human beings come and go and pass on. They remain silent, still, and solid. There’s a certain comfort in being small. It means I’m not in control nor expected to be in control. It means there will be things, situations, I can fix and plenty of them I can’t. Maybe, the mountains whisper to me, the power you hold is your ability to respond thoughtfully, understanding your limits and being OK with them.