I recently took a small production job that led me to San Diego’s Balboa Park (I often try to find new ways to travel) and what I discovered was remarkable.
At first, I was amazed to come across this small portion of historical Southern California scenery, which I’d not yet witnessed before, surprisingly, being that I’m a So. Cal. native. The park, which began its landscaping in the late 19th century due mostly to contributions made by American botanist and horticulturalist Kate Sessions (aka the “Mother of Balboa Park”), hosts sights such as The San Diego Natural History Museum, the Spanish Village Art Center and the outdoor Lowell Davies Theater.
But what really got to me, as I stood beside the Lily Pond, staring at the reflection of the Botanical Building, was the way I could somehow see beyond the rippling waters and into my own past — and a life well spent.
It had nothing to do with the work I did that day, which to some may have seemed a thankless job of rushing to get coffee for the irritable model or having clothing thrown at me by said model as if I was only good for picking up after others. No, that wasn’t it at all that made me contemplate my happiness.
My key to tranquility? I knew that no matter what I was doing at that moment in my life, I had never given up
on myself. On my dreams. I had always stuck to my guns when planning out what I wanted to do with my future.
No matter how many times I failed — and believe me I’ve had a few whoppers — I always got back up, sucked up my pride, and did what was necessary to get where I wanted to go. And to the best of my ability, I’ve done it with grace and have always believed that treating others with respect and equality is the way to a better existence for all.
If nothing more, I could at least find comfort in that thought, as I stood there snapping a photo of the reflections of one woman’s dream.