Years ago, my daughter heard that remote Pollet’s Cove, Nova Scotia, was the summertime home of a herd of semi-wild horses, and she’s dreamt ever since of paying them a visit. This year, with her about to launch into high school and a new chapter of independence, I began to feel urgency about making it happen and declared, “This is the summer!” That was followed by serious excitement, and then, in the days leading up to the hike, serious hesitation about what we’d face. Exactly how hard would the hike be? What if we arrived to find the horses gone? What if instead, we found ourselves alone with bears and coyotes? We suffered from indecision, and for a moment it seemed that doubt might prevail. Luckily, we woke to sun and warmth, and she felt clear: “Let’s go, and if it’s too much, we’ll turn back.”
We parked at the trailhead and shouldered our packs. Once we took the first step, we were moving. Once we reached the first peak in the trail, we were invested. And once we encountered the first vista, we were committed. The hike was challenging, but the farther we went, the more my daughter’s confidence bloomed. The longer we traveled, the more hesitation was replaced with joy for both of us (and some aches and pains for me). We gazed in wonder at the vast, empty coastline.
Eventually we reached the cove, and the horses were there—curious, friendly, mischievous. We swam in the ocean, cooked in the sunset, and lay in the grass to watch the stars rise. As a parent, those two days with my youngest daughter were a treasure, and filled my heart with happiness. As a nostalgic person, I felt sad, too. No matter my commitment to being right there with her in that moment, I felt a sense of sadness that this time with her was fleeting, and that my other children were not there, too. My path as a parent—really, my experience as a human—has been like this: mostly good, with moments of joy, but with shadows of difficulty.
Buddhism speaks to this directly. The teachings acknowledge that life is punctuated (hopefully often!) by happiness, but it’s also marked by suffering. The dharma, which helps make sense of this fundamental truth about existence, has been a great support to me. It’s a gift that Buddhist teachings and practices are laid out as a path. Winding, challenging, and inspiring, this path offers expansive vistas and helpful guidance for dark valleys. It’s a path that we can progress along toward more joy and less suffering.
Sharing that gift is our goal at Lion’s Roar, and in 2024 our publishing has reached over 2.5 million people, many of whom are encountering the dharma for the first time. We have a wonderful team here, who work hard to bring this content to life. But we also have you to thank for our impact. Thank you for continuing to support Lion’s Roar, and thank you for playing a part in creating a wiser, more compassionate world.
As always, we aim to go further—to offer dharma to any and all who might benefit. At this time of year, we all encounter requests from many worthy causes, so I want to thank you in advance for considering ours. Working to open the gateway to wisdom teachings, we face many challenges, but with your support we’ll meet them—and offer a path for millions of people, for many years to come.