What's your afternoon tea?

A few years ago, my husband and I rented a 27-ft sailboat and took it out on the bay off of Victoria Island in Canada.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Clear blue skies. A nice stiff breeze. Even the man who rented us the boat commented on the perfect weather.

About an hour later, things suddenly changed. The sky darkened, the waves started getting rough, and it started to rain. We decided to turn the boat around and headed back towards shore, yet the wind made it difficult for us to maneuver in any consistent direction. As the waves began to drench us over and over, and the sail flipped from side to side, we somehow managed to pull the sail down and turn on the motor. So there we were, putt-putt-putting back towards shore, wondering if we would ever make it back.

As I sat there, amidst the waves, the rain and the wind, I found myself not seeing my life flash before my eyes, but saying to myself, "We have to get back in time for afternoon tea." Over and over again, like a mantra of sorts.

You see, the beautiful B&B where we were staying also boasted the best afternoon tea around, complete with homemade cookies, delicious teas and even sherry if you like. That day, the thought of making it back for afternoon tea kept me calm, kept me focused, and kept me hopeful. And before long, we docked the boat safely and straggled back to the inn, wet, weary, and very happy to be alive. And yes, we made it back in time for tea, cookies, sherry, a hot bath and a nap by the fireplace.

In times of turbulence and instability, it's critical to have a guiding vision that helps you maintain your heading, i.e., to stay on course. That day, for me, it was afternoon tea.

What's your afternoon tea?

It's like riding a bike...

My son learned to ride his bike the other day. Yeah, the bike that's been sitting on our porch for a year. The bike that has been used as everything other than a bike -- a water wheel, a fortress, a stepstool, a weapon. The bike that's been locked to our porch with heavy duty kryptonite lock. Yeah, that bike.

I had worried whether my son would ever be interested in or able to ride his bike. Would he be physically coordinated? Or clumsy? Light on his feet? Or cloddy? Would he know when to stop? and how? (Oh, a mother's fearful thoughts). Every time I had introduced him to the bike, he would try it a little and stop immediately, interested in doing something else.

But the other day, he looked up and said, "Mommy, I want to ride my bike."

So I unlocked it, brought it down, gave him a few basic pointers, and watched him as he practiced for 45 minutes straight. And at the end of that 45 minutes, he was riding his bike as if he had been riding it for days.

What he showed me in that moment was power of commitment. In his simple statement, my son committed to riding his bike. And that is precisely what he did, until he had figured it out. Himself.

What that also told me is that people will know when they are ready to commit to something new. That even though the world may have an external timeline for us, deep down we know when we are ready to take that leap. My son knew. You can, too.

So my next question is, what are you ready to commit to?