I’ve been thinking . . .
about the quiet ones.
They say we don’t stop to smell the roses. I think everyone pretty much knows that. The roses, the tulips, the other flowers — they do just fine without us. We’re the ones missing out on them, when we walk right by without notice.
Ah, but I’ve been remembering a conversation I had once with a guy whose child was about to start school. We talked about how teachers spend all of their time on certain kids and how managers do too. What we realized was that everyone notices the really smart kids, the funny ones, the helpful ones, and the ones who cause problems. Everyone remembers them.
But it’s hard to remember the quiet ones.
You know the quiet ones. They are the ones who let the rest of us go first. They’re the ones, who when they smile seem to do so for no reason. They’re polite. They don’t push or shove. They don’t complain or gripe. Quite frankly, they’re easy to miss. They don’t stand or say much about what they think.
That’s why they are the quiet ones.
That doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking.
That doesn’t mean they aren’t intelligent, or entertaining, or beautiful down to the last detail. It only means that they don’t make noise.
Are they like the roses that do just fine without us?
What are we missing by not listening to the quiet ones?
This weekend, I’m going to notice all of the quiet ones.
The quiet ones who are always here . . .
The quiet ones who just happened by . . .
The quiet one inside each of us . . .
This is for you.
last night. I read part of The Right to Be Reflective. The writer spoke of time spent at the Boundary Waters (“chains of deep, startlingly clear lakes stretch from the arrowhead country of Minnesota so far to the north you cannot navigate them all within your lifetime.”) 
. 
