Week 11- Bearing Fruit
I can’t believe it’s already week 11 of my summer of service. Pretty soon, this little season will come to an end, but for now, it’s still giving me new moments, lessons, and slices of life.
The week began with something beautiful: friends coming together who had never met before, united by an art deal I helped facilitate. What struck me most wasn’t just the art, but the conversation that followed. My friend from D.C., a pediatrician, and my friend the artist who is also a mom, began talking about how art itself can be an act of service. What I loved most was the respect in the room—my pediatrician friend was quick to say that when it comes to behavior, the true expert is the mom. Different kinds of education, yes, but equal wisdom.
This week also marked my mom’s first wedding anniversary without my dad. We went out to lunch and she shared stories of her favorite anniversaries from their 58 years together: a cruise to Alaska, a beach house in San Diego. It was bittersweet, but also a reminder that love leaves behind a library of memories, and revisiting them is its own kind of gift.
Life threw us a curveball too—there was a moment when it seemed like a 4-year-old might join the picture. Plans shifted, conversations turned into strategy sessions, and suddenly the possibility was gone. It was a reminder that sometimes the "maybes" of life vanish as quickly as they appear, and yet even in that, there’s perspective gained.
On the service front, I met another volunteer who balances a full-time job with not one but two taxing volunteer gigs. It reminded me of how hard it is to do any of this consistently—why volunteers can be tough to come by. Case in point: I took on watering the community orchard this week. It was hot, sweaty, and relentless—but also necessary. For the orchard to bear fruit, it needs steady, unseen work. Isn’t that just like so much of life? The fruit we see is never without hidden labor.
And speaking of fruit—on the home front, my teen had a breakthrough this week at a pool party. After years of fear, he finally put his head underwater. It may seem small, but for him (and for us watching), it was huge. Just like the orchard, growth doesn’t happen overnight; it takes patience, encouragement, and those brave little steps that add up to transformation.
I also had a surprising new conversation with my massage therapist at my chiropractor’s office—we wandered into the territory of spirituality and health. Funny how those conversations arrive when they’re ready, and now I’m hoping we keep circling back to it.
Oh, and a fun little experiment: I built a custom GPT for a friend to test as a parenting partner with a very specific style and set of issues. We’ll see how that one turns out—service meets tech meets curiosity.
And finally, a big personal shift: I think I’m going out on my own. I’ll still be looking for full-time gigs, but in the meantime, I want to help organizations prepare for what’s coming. That’s really where my gift lies—in flow, in operations, in taking what we have and making it work for what’s next. Change doesn’t have to be a burden; it can be an invitation to impact more deeply. That’s the kind of fruit I want to help cultivate.