Looking Forward: Lessons From the Rearview Mirror

Looking back driving home

There are countless sayings about change and moving on, but one of my personal favorites is this: If you drive down the road looking in the rearview mirror, you will crash.

It’s true in life as much as it is behind the wheel. The only times I look back are to remind myself of lessons learned, or to see how far I’ve come. That doesn’t mean I don’t cherish memories or think often of those who are no longer here. I do, deeply. This past few weeks especially, I’ve found myself wrapped in memories as I returned back east to empty my mom’s house after it finally sold.

Walking through her home, piece by piece, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. My mom lived 81 full years, and her home reflected not just her life, but pieces of my brother’s, my grandparents’, and my aunt’s too. Her childhood mementos, pictures of friends, furniture full of stories, it was like holding generations in my hands and having to decide: what do I keep? What do I donate? What do I let go?

My moms house

The hardest moment came after the house was empty, the trailer was loaded, and I walked out the door for the very last time. It felt like writing the final page of one of the most influential chapters in my life. My mom was my last living family member from my childhood. Of course, I have my incredible boys now, who are my heart and my family, but closing that door was a powerful reminder that I am the sole living member of my upbringing. A strange, heavy, and bittersweet feeling.

And yet, as I always do, I turned to nature for perspective. Driving west with the music cranked, I thought about forests, how they carry centuries of life and decay. Old trees hold stories, etched in their rings, while new growth rises beside them. Nothing is wasted; even in death, there is life. That’s what helps me process these moments: knowing that my memories live on, intertwined with who I am today, just like the forest floor is nourished by what came before.

Beauty of fall in Ontario

The question that lingers is: how do we keep memories alive? For me, it’s not only in talking about them with my kids and friends, but also in recognizing that both good and bad memories hold value. The good remind me of love and joy. The bad, as much as I dislike them, have taught me lessons and shaped me into who I am.

I often tell people, probably too often, that everything happens for a reason. We may not always know what that reason is, but in time, it tends to show itself. Since coming home, I’ve been able to add some of my mom’s beautiful furniture and decor into my own home. That feels like a gift, a way for her presence to remain with me. And yes, I still have a garage full of boxes to sort through, but I’ll get there.

It’s been a week of hard lessons, not just for me but also for my kids. At one point, overwhelmed and drained, I escaped to the mountains. I sat by a river, letting the sound of rushing water clear my head, and then hiked into the peaks to soothe my aching heart and overactive mind. As always, nature was the medicine I needed.

Arethusa Cirque

One of my close friends once told me she envies the way I connect with nature and how it always seems to bring balance back into my life. She’s right, nature is my compass. It teaches me how to steady myself and keep moving forward, even in the hardest times.

Because life isn’t fair. Bad things happen, often to good people. We’ve all felt that truth. But nature shows me that even in loss, something is gained. When a wolf pack hunts, it’s often the old or sick animal that falls. The wolf survives, yes, but so do countless others—birds, mammals, even the soil, which is enriched and helps new life grow. From one death, an entire ecosystem thrives. It’s painful, but it has purpose.

That lesson applies to us, too. We don’t always see it right away, but even painful experiences shape us into better, stronger people. This week, as I processed my mom’s house, family loss, and even dramatic events at home, I reminded myself that dwelling in the pain doesn’t serve me. Looking backward for too long keeps me stuck.

One of my fav shots I captured in Jasper a few years ago of a Timber wolf

I’ll admit, I sometimes find myself envious or even frustrated when it feels like others get off easy, while good people I love seem to face endless struggles. I know I’m not alone in that feeling. But when I look to nature, I notice something striking, there is no jealousy, no ego, no questioning why one tree gets more sunlight or why one animal must fight harder to survive. Nature simply is. The forest doesn’t waste its energy on resentment; it adapts, finds balance, and carries on. Maybe that’s a lesson for us, too. Instead of asking why me or comparing our struggles to others, perhaps we could save that energy for our personal growth, for healing, and for finding our own path forward.

Sunset, though my front window driving home

My son gave me a real-life example of that truth. He crashed his car last week after looking away from the road for just a second. Thankfully, he’s okay, though the car isn’t, and neither is his ego. But it struck me as the perfect metaphor: if you keep taking your eyes off what’s in front of you, you will crash.

Life is the same. The gas tank is behind us for a reason, fueling us forward. The windshield is the biggest window for a reason, giving us the clearest view of what lies ahead. Look back sometimes to measure your growth or honour your lessons, but don’t linger. The past is the past. The future is where we’re headed.

So today, as I sit with all these emotions, I choose gratitude for the lessons, the love, and the balance nature always reminds me to find.