Last November, my family and I flew to Colorado to attend my niece’s wedding. My husband, daughter, and I stayed with my brother and his family at their home in Colorado Springs. The weather was crisp and cold after their recent snowstorm, and sunny. The bright blue skies and golden leaves on the trees were so different from those in our hometown near Seattle, which was experiencing a bomb cyclone while we were away.

.

In the days leading up to the wedding, we had a lot of downtime to chat, play cards, snack, and watch football on TV. However, I grew restless from missing my daily workouts and asked my brother if we could take his dog, Lucy, for a walk. He said, ‘Sure,’ and I sat down to put on my sneakers. My daughter said she’d like to join us.

.

Due to the size of my suitcase, I didn’t have my bulky winter jacket from home. I’d only packed a simple black blazer for the wedding, so I borrowed my 20-something daughter’s winter jacket, and she wore a long flannel shirt instead of a coat. Lucy, a good-natured and medium-sized mutt, spun in circles the minute I grabbed her leash.

.

We opened the front door to bright morning sunshine, and the brisk wintery air hit our faces. I clipped the leash to Lucy’s collar, and she led the way, stopping at each intersection until my brother permitted her to cross the street. We walked through the sleepy neighborhood along an incline that led to a large park with a fountain. Snow was banked on either side, but the ground was clear. The air was thin, causing us out-of-towners to stop often and catch our breath.

.

I borrowed a wool scarf from my sister-in-law, but had no mittens, and when I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my daughter’s winter coat, my frozen hands jammed into a pile of rocks in each pocket.

.

“Hey! Why are there rocks in your pockets?” I asked, scooping out closed fistfuls of multi-colored stones.

.

“Don’t drop them! They’re mementos,” my daughter barked. We all stopped to examine them. My brother was curious about the treasures. Lucy sat on the sidewalk, content to wait.

.

“The orange one is an agate,” she said. “It came from Coulon Beach when I went there with Colton. The pink one is quartz, and I collected that from the waterfall at the Red Town Trail when you and I went last summer.”

.

Each little stone contained its own story.

.

“Did you ever think how much less your coat would weigh if you dumped them all out?” I asked.

.

“I have a spot for them at home. I just forgot,” she said.

.

We all looped around the fountain as it blasted a continuous white plume into the air, and stopped to take a couple of selfies – mementos that weighed nothing. By now, I was plenty warm and took off the borrowed coat, laying it on the brick wall nearby while we took our photos. I noticed I could stand a little straighter without the weight of the rocks, and rolled my shoulders back, letting the sunshine kiss my face.

.

I saw my daughter bend over to pick up another stone and shove it in her pants pocket. “It’s a chunk of granite,” she said. “It really sparkles.” I smiled and took another picture.

.

As we started our walk back to my brother’s home, I couldn’t stop thinking about those rocks in my daughter’s pockets—and how we all carry things like that, often without noticing. Sometimes we carry too much weight, and only when we strip it away do we see how much lighter our load is, how much faster and more enjoyable our journey can be.

.

I’ve been guilty of carrying a metaphoric backpack full of rocks from my past – heavy thoughts and memories that keep me moving slowly or reflecting on what’s behind me, rather than moving forward with confidence and speed toward the new adventures that lie ahead.