More than 20 years have passed, but I can still hear the waves lapping on the shoreline, while a canopy of leaves rustles overhead. It’s summer in Northern Wisconsin, and I am just a little girl basking in the oblivion of 85 degrees. Cool lake water swirls around my feet and smooth sand curls around my toes. Up and down the shore I go, searching the shallow waters for the perfect stone to add to my collection. The blue and green ones are pretty, but just won’t do. Red, black, and brown rocks are beautiful, too, but I’m looking for something else. White stones are different from the others and always sparkle when a speck of sun peeks through the trees. I can’t resist the urge to pick them up and put them in my pocket.
White Stones from my favorite places. Top two: Big Portage Lake, Wisconsin. Bottom Left: Thames shoreline, London. Bottom Right: Vltava River, Prague. c.b.w. 2012
As a child I didn’t understand why I was so drawn to white stones, but after having some time to think, I believe the beauty of white stones wasn’t about how they sparkled, but rather the lessons they had to teach. For a kid who never fit in anywhere and always felt out of place, my treasure stones told me it was okay to be different. If anything, I should dare to be myself and revel in my individuality. I don’t match my surroundings and I never will, just like white stones lying in the sand. Do they wallow in the dirt and wish they were something else? No. They always find the bright side and boldly stick out from the rest.
To this day, I keep my stones close and stay true to their wisdom. As I travel around the world and through life, I still pick up little white rocks. From London, Prague, Ireland, and wherever I land next, my eye will keep searching for the next treasure stone. I am older and wiser, but I am always listening for the next bit of truth.
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