Jerele and I live on a high hill, and I often take our dog Dusty to walk up the hill to the top where we can turn left or right and walk on the spine of the mountain in a straight line for several miles. But going up the hill is what is tough! One day recently, I was so tired by the time we reached the crest of the hill that I had to stop and rest. And fortunate for me. Because I rested right by a big cactus plant. I’m guessing the pads of this cactus plant were perhaps six inches across at least, seven, and 4 or 5 inches high. And there were several of them.

But what really struck me—in fact, startled me so much that I had to go closer—was that the cactus pads were solid purple. Now, I’m accustomed to seeing a cactus plant that is green. In fact, I’m expecting to see a cactus plant that is green. But there was not a spot of green anywhere on this cactus plant. It was purple. Really purple, not purple-tinged, not purple spotted, not green with a purple flower. The cactus was purple. I found this so beautiful that I wanted to turn around right then and go back home to get my camera! Until I remembered I’d have to walk up the hill again, so I decided I’d settle for just remembering this surprising plant.

I thought about this cactus that surprised me so much again last weekend when I walked into an art gallery in Santa Fe to see the paintings of a dear friend, Joan Bohls, whose work was part of a show having its opening that evening. There on the wall was a picture Joan had painted of a cactus. Her cactus even outdid my cactus! Red, green, yellow, pink—and even a little purple. A joyful painting. A painting that really makes the viewer look at the cactus and see it in a new way.

	Painting by Joan Bohls

Many, many years ago, I spent a few days in the Mojave Desert in an Outward Bound course. (If you’ve read my book Seven Choices: Finding Daylight after Loss Shatters Your World, you’ll remember my talking about this escapade in the “Integration” chapter.) When I was thinking about the cactus I saw on the hill above my house and about Joan’s cactus on canvas, I remembered that Outward Bound Course.

One afternoon each of us in the Outward Bound course was dropped off somewhere in the desert to survive alone. After I had spread out my plastic, set up my supplies, checked to be sure I had my food, there wasn’t anything else to do. No one to talk to. Nowhere to go. No assignment except just to be there. I remember that after a while, I started walking right around my campsite, being careful not to venture too far. (After all, this was where the Outward Bound folks knew where to look for me!)

As I walked, there was nothing to look at but the desert. Dirt, stones, rocks, desert plants, Joshua trees, and cactus. At first everything looked beige and dusty brown. But the slower I walked and the closer I looked, the more color I saw. I remember seeing a lot of purple. But I also remember seeing other colors, too. Pale yellow, ochre red, chocolate brown, gray, and green. In a rush, I had seen what I expected to see—beige and brown. When, really, what was present was a beautiful variety of colors. My eyes adapted because I was really looking.

Dr. Elizabeth Harper Neeld offers wisdom and practical insights to anyone whose life is in a time of transition, change, grief and loss of any kind. As an internationally recognized and accomplished consultant, and author of more than twenty books - including Tough Transitions and Seven Choices: Finding Daylight After Loss Shatters Your World - she is committed to work that helps lift the human spirit.