Scenic Overlook

Another Secular Sermon

This is a tale of virtue rewarded. One day last year around 7am, my friend Ha called me in a panic because her daughter, Ines, needed to get to the train station and her ride had fallen through. Could I take her? Sure! Happy to help! I was up anyway. (Luckily, Ines wasn’t embarrassed that I was still in my pajamas.) On the way to the train station, the sun was just beginning to peek above the mountains, and we could tell that the sunrise was going to be glorious. So as soon as I got back, I parked the car and raced to the scenic overlook a five-minute walk from our front door. If I had just been lounging around at home, I would have missed this view:

I am inordinately proud of this photo, given that Mother Nature did all the work.

Readers, have you ever done a little favor for a friend and received a disproportionate reward?

---

Summer’s Lease Hath All Too Short a Date

In truth, I am a sucker for scenic overlooks, to the degree that our kids have been known to protest, “Mom! Stop pointing out mountains!”

Before we moved to Switzerland, we lived on the outskirts of Prague. At least once a week I would head into the Old City on a tram that descended from a bluff west of the city. Out the window was a scenic overlook—a stunning view of Prague’s red roofs, glittering river, stone bridges, and spiky spires.

I could never get a good photo through the window of the tram, so this is actually the view from the Strahov Monastery, behind Prague Castle. Yes, those are grapevines in the foreground. The monks make their own wine!

I could never understand why everyone else on the tram was buried in their papers or hunched over their phones. Look up! Look outside! Look at that view! I wanted to shout. I vowed to appreciate the scenic overlook every time I rode the tram. Which is what I did.

You may be thinking that I was being a bit judgy. Fair enough. After all, Prague was home for everyone else on the tram, and so the view was ordinary to them. Whereas I was only going to be in Prague for four years and had to squeeze out as much enjoyment as possible in the limited time I had.

And then I thought about it some more. Isn’t it true that we all have limited time? The other passengers might have been allotted more than my few years in Prague, but they didn’t have infinite years, or infinite chances to marvel at their marvelous city. Why overlook the scenery? Why not take every chance to take in the view?

Readers, do you have a scenic overlook?

Little Critters

The other day I was out with a friend, and she observed that my neighborhood was remarkably friendly: Every neighbor we encountered stopped to exchange greetings and good wishes with us. She wondered why it wasn’t like that where she lived. After all, her neighborhood has outdoor spaces, like mine, and unlike mine also has shops and a restaurant where people could meet up. It was a mystery!

And then I thought about it some more and realized that the difference was dogs. My friend’s building doesn’t allow dogs, while my neighborhood has dozens. Dogs get us out of the house and interacting with the world. They give people an excuse to say hello and share pleasantries (and sometimes treats). We may not know our human neighbors’ names, but we know Benjy and Benny and Egon¹ and Lenny.

Dog-owners live longer and have better cardiovascular health than everyone else, according to a twelve-year Swedish study with 34,202 participants. An obvious explanation is all that extra walking dogs require of us. But a terrific new book by the ecologist Rob Dunn offers another persuasive theory:

I fancy that there is also something else, a benefit derived from paying attention, adapting to the dog’s pace of walk walk walk, sniff, pause, walk again.

. . .

[Dogs] take us out of the abstract worlds in which we spend so much time, in which there are no particulars, the worlds of our phones and computers, in which we could be anywhere, and they position us in a map of real beings and their geographies and histories. They reconnect us to places that we might name and begin to call home.²

On walks with Lenny, I try to stay grounded in the sights, sounds, and smells surrounding us—the fluttering whoosh as a flock of sparrows takes flight; the earthy whiff of horse; the perfume of the viburnum; the tick tick tick of Lenny’s claws; the lilting chitchat of the Swiss; and, when the clouds allow it, the scenic overlook.

I took this photo as Lenny and I were returning home at the end of our morning walk last month. The sun was rising behind Wetterhorn (the mountain on the far left), which cast a shadow up into the sky. Amazing!

And the same goes for cats. True, most cats don’t require daily walks,³ but cats, like dogs, boost our health and happiness when they cuddle with us. As Francis Joseph Mery says, “God made the cat to give man the pleasure of stroking a tiger.”

Best of all, our pets make us laugh, usually several times a day.

Our daughter, Casey, sent us this picture of her cat, Kalina, with the comment, “Why does she do this?!”

Just when we’re getting all riled up because someone is wrong on the internet, we look down and our dog is staring at us like this:

Ok, fine, Lenny. I’ll put down my phone and pet you.

Tragically, not everyone is able to benefit from a pet, whether because of allergies, intransigent landlords, reluctant spouses, irregular and/or excessive work hours, or some other inscrutable reason. But we can all act as though we share our homes with a little critter who loves and needs us. We can laugh, snuggle, get outside, greet our neighbors, and attend to the surprising and fascinating details of life all around us.

Readers, do you have a little critter who makes you laugh and distracts you from your cares?

One Day We’ll Miss It

For three years, Casey went to an international high school in the next town over. Under normal circumstances, the drive there took about five minutes. But for several months the only road leading to the school was under repair, leaving a single lane with a traffic light blocking the way. Any time we got a late start and happened to miss the green light, we could get stuck in a long line of cars for as much as fifteen minutes. It was aggravating!

One morning, as I was glaring at the red light and stewing in frustration, Casey looked at me and said, totally deadpan, “You know, mom, one day this traffic light will be gone … and we’ll miss it.” I had to laugh!

And then I thought about it some more. During those fifteen minutes, Casey and I had an oasis of time during which we sat together and listened to our favorite tunes, sang along, talked, or enjoyed companionable silence. The light gave us the priceless treasure of time together. I do miss it.⁴

Readers, is there something in your life that used to be annoying, but you miss it now?

Five Things

One last recommendation: Andrew Sullivan’s discussion with Arthur Brooks about happiness. The whole conversation is thought-provoking, but the bit below (which begins around 43:00) is radical in our achievement-oriented culture:

Tell me about the five things that you do in your life that actually bring you enjoyment, satisfaction, and meaning. Not the things that bring you the most worldly success. … Then let’s structure your life around those things. … Your friends, your family, your loved ones, nature, dogs, all the rest of it.

It was easy to come up with my five things, and then some. My greatest joy comes from being with Matt and the kids and sharing our thoughts about politics, pets, books, movies, and our lives. But there’s also hiking, reading, knitting, cooking, and writing. (I have a lot of hobbies.)

And then I thought about it some more and realized that my five things are most meaningful when they’re done with and for others: Hiking with Matt and Lenny, discussing books with my book club, knitting with my craft club,⁵ cooking for our First Friday Feasts, and writing the Happy Wanderer.

Readers, what are your five things?

---

A single theme unites this otherwise disjointed post: We want to matter, to feel that we have made good use of the limited time granted to us. In our culture, this usually means public achievements—discoveries and creations, wealth and status, power and influence. And this is all well and good for those who like (and are capable of) that sort of thing. But there is another way for the rest of us. We begin by taking a moment to pay attention—to the beauty and to the people around us. We connect—with our interests and talents and with one another. And we discover—how we can be of service. Then we roll up our sleeves, lend a helping hand, and reap the rewards.

---

How about you, readers? If you haven’t commented yet, I hope you will now. Please share your thoughts in the comments!

The Tidbit

The lyrics in this delightful video tell us to “let it go, this too shall pass.” And usually this is good advice (although I’m not sure our current situation is going to stop ’till we wise up).

Be sure to watch to the end, when entropy has laid waste to an entire warehouse full of objects. The camera pans up and we see the people who worked on the video joyously applauding. All around is total wreckage and chaos. And yet the people who made this video have turned the destruction into something wonderful. They remind me of Minnesotans right now. As Maggie Smith wrote, “You could make this place beautiful.”

1. Egon, like our dog Lenny, was rescued from Hungary, hence his amusing Central European name. I wonder if he is named after Egon Schiele?

2. Rob Dunn, The Call of the Honeyguide: What Science Tells Us about How to Live Well with the Rest of Life (New York: Basic Books, 2025), pp. 234, 237.

3. Although I once had a roommate who would leash up her cat, Trotsky, and take him out for walks. Trotsky was a funny-looking little guy. He was a taupe-colored Devon Rex who bore an uncanny resemblance to Yoda. Trotsky’s walks were a source of great amusement to the workers at the construction site next to our building.

4. My husband, Matt, ever the precise mathematician, responded, “You miss Casey. You don’t miss the traffic light.” Au contraire! Of course I miss Casey, but I ALSO miss the light, and the brief moment of stillness it forced on us.

5. Because my need to knit far outstrips my need for knitted items, friends do me a favor when they ask me to knit for them. For example, I’m currently making this Norwegian Resistance Hat for my friend Amy. Readers, should I knit one for you too? Just ask me!