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As life unfolds with the passage of another year, I'm convinced that everything that happens and all decisions -- the good and the not-so-good -- play a part and have a purpose.

I search for my "takeaways" and find, without exception, that folks readily wish to share theirs.

Our lives are like recipes: a little of this and a pinch of that. Somehow, it all comes together to nourish and strengthen. Some years marinate and sauté us; others blanch and fry us.

Like most people, I've had my portion of both, and my takeaway is this: If I didn't have a measure of difficulty baked into my culinary experience, I'd probably flop like a soufflé.

Over the course of this year, in three intervals, my husband Mike walked the Erie Canal from Albany to Buffalo. I joined him for the last leg, from Rochester to Buffalo. This section is the most picturesque, because it follows the canal the entire way.

Each morning, the only thing I had to do was hoist my backpack and walk. We stopped briefly to eat or rest, but the nine days mainly consisted of following the path.

It took a while to hush my mind's daily drill of, "I've got to do this....I'd better do that." But, once I calmed the clamor, a peaceful silence surfaced. Naively, I vowed to take it home and sustain it.

Walking the canal, I listened to "Stillness Speaks" by Eckhart Tolle on headphones and realized how much unnecessary chatter and ego I foster in my thoughts. Several times, I laughed out loud and realized why author Andrew Murray wrote that humility is the hardest virtue to develop.

My Erie Canal takeaway: Silence is a powerful tool in helping to discern what is most important.

A while ago, I was speaking with my uncle. He was in a nursing home coping with Parkinson's disease, which had robbed him of what he loved most: his independence.

I asked him, "What is your takeaway, Unc?" As if it were on the tip of his tongue, he replied, "I have learned dependence and that it is OK not to always be doing something."

Last night, Mike and I watched, "Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things." Two young men with high-income careers and lives filled with acquired stuff the world said would make them happy found themselves miserable and lonely. They quit their jobs, purged all unnecessary possessions and traveled around the country for a year, sharing their insights.

Their takeaway: "Love people. Use stuff."

A woman dealing with brain cancer recently came into our office, looking stronger than she had in the past. As she was leaving, I boldly popped my question, "What is your takeaway with all this?"

Without hesitation, she leaned closer and, with a smile, said, "I want to live my life as it has been given to me. So, if I only have this Christmas, I want to enjoy this Christmas."

I can hardly recall the individual events of this past year, but I'll always remember the takeaways and how they nourish and strengthen.

Soft or al dente. Broiled or baked. It's all part of the recipe.

(Mrs. Bonanno lives in Albany and attends St. Mary's Church there.)[[In-content Ad]]

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