Where I live, it seldom snows. I live in a coastal town with the smell of the sea in the air and the surrounding downs and hills form a set of protective arms that hug the south of the county in the midst of the winter grip.
So, when the snow arrives, it feels like a strange visitor that gently falls along the harbour, beach, pathways and roads. The red-tiled roofs become white and the cars puff up and hide under their new coats. All becomes hidden; a crisp white sheet descends and re-imagines the landscape anew.
And so it is when we begin to strive towards personal or continuous improvement. The new realisations, learning and breakthroughs fall upon our buzzing mindscape like the fresh winter snow. All appears crisp and clean, with the bright clarity of the winter sun reflecting on the snow sheen. Perhaps we head out into this new paradigm and sled across the smoothness of our new thinking, our colourful scarves billowing in the laughter-wind. We feel alive again, the freedom of lost youth is restored.
Then the snow melt begins. The whiteness recedes and the first inkling of the frozen grass reaches forth into the chill air. The old ground slowly appears back to our view, at first in small, incongruent islands, that reach into the white sea to join and engulf that which had given us joy. The ephemeral mindset has melted. Normal life has reached through and has resumed.
It can feel like this on our journey of growth and development. For moments, we exist in the realisation of something new and exciting. Things make sense, pathways seem clear. Then real life has a habit of re-emerging and halting the momentum. As we feel this as people, so we also see it in the businesses in which we work. The flavour of the month activity that seems to pull us in the right direction suddenly loses the impetus, and things very much return to what they were before.
So, when the snows come, and deliver us a land which is temporarily new and inspiring, whilst that momentum is fresh within us, we need to learn to love the idiosyncrasies of the old, well-trodden paths beneath, so that, when they inevitably emerge again, we look upon them, not with tired eyes, but with eyes that appreciate them anew – much as if they were covered by a layer of fresh, transformative snow.