Last fall my husband Scott started the process of converting an area of our backyard back to natural grass. I asked him to add a packet of wildflower seeds to the mix.

Through the winter and early spring, there was no sign of what had been planted.

As often happens when restoring land to natural grass, it is overcome by weeds. Weeds that need to be mowed down to allow the grass to emerge. Life got busy, we received much-needed rain, and that patch was left alone. Then, almost overnight, the area came alive with color.

As I stand looking at the wildflowers this summer, I can’t help but think about what used to occupy that same space.

For years, it was home to our swimming pool.

It wasn’t just a pool

It was a season of our lives

It was a place of laughter, birthday parties, neighborhood kids, family gatherings, and long summer afternoons; a season of life filled with activity and joy.

Eventually, that season came to an end.

The kids grew up. Life changed. The pool no longer fit the season we were in.

Taking it out wasn't just a landscaping project. It was acknowledging that life moves through seasons, and sometimes we must let go of something wonderful before we can embrace what comes next.

For quite a while, the space felt... ordinary. Empty. Flat patch of dirt and weeds.

Then came the wildflowers.

Life often works the same way. Sometimes we don't choose the end of a season.

Careers change.

Children grow up.

Roles end.

Relationships shift.

Dreams evolve.

We naturally look back with gratitude, and sometimes with grief, because those seasons mattered.

Yet endings are not always the end of the story.

Sometimes they create space for something entirely new. Not better. Not worse. Simply different.

And often, unexpectedly beautiful.

Over the past few weeks, I've also been reconnecting with former students and interns through LinkedIn. Many are now leaders, parents, business owners, and professionals making a difference in their communities.

Their messages have reminded me of another kind of seed.

When I was mentoring students, teaching classes, or supervising interns, I wasn't thinking about whether someone would remember me twenty years later. I was simply investing in people; encouraging them, asking questions, opening doors, and helping them recognize their potential.

Like those wildflower seeds, much of that investment happened beneath the surface.

There were no report cards measuring the long-term impact of a conversation. There was no way of knowing where someone's journey would lead or whether a moment of encouragement would ever be remembered.

Then the messages began to arrive. Some have even led to phone calls and Zoom conversations.

Former students and interns shared where life had taken them: careers, families, leadership, and new opportunities. Some remembered a conversation. Others recalled an internship, an experience, or a simple word of encouragement that had stayed with them over the years.

Those conversations are a gift.

Not because they are about me, but because they remind me that the seeds we plant in others often continue growing long after our paths diverge.

Most of us spend our days doing our work, helping others, solving problems, offering encouragement, and moving on to the next thing. We rarely get to see the full impact of those moments.

Of course, there are countless seeds we'll never see bloom. That doesn't make them any less worthwhile.

This summer, I'm simply grateful for the blooms I've had the privilege of seeing.

Sometimes beauty takes time.

Growth happens beneath the surface.

Sometimes a season must end before another can begin.