Katherine inhaled deeply and said, "You have to admit it: Bakersfield really is beautiful."

How many times had I looked at that same view and compared it with other bluffs: ones that I perceived to be far more pleasing to my eyes?

I blocked beauty that Katherine saw.

All I tuned into was oil fields with their derricks and trucks and criss crossing roadways connecting well to well. From my perspective it most closely resembled barrenness of moon. I longed for views from my childhood bluffs which opened onto Pacific Ocean.

In flash of a moment, my perspective changed as I turned my heart towards both my daughter and community I call home. I allowed myself to stretch and see from Katherine's viewpoint. My heart gently turned.

I smiled and responded, "You are right, Katherine. Bakersfield IS beautiful."

Last night I did something that took a lot of courage. I made a phone call to my oldest brother to see if he would be interested in partnering with me on a project. We rarely speak these days, something that leaves a void in my life. I decided to step up to plate, all while acknowledging that outcome of conversation could be almost anywhere imaginable.

Our conversation started out well, with me being a combination of little goofy sister and professional entrepreneurial woman. Then it happened. I felt a shift.

Something in his words told me he was not seeing or hearing my perspective.

My words stopped flowing, little sister and professional entrepreneur flew off phone line and were replaced by a confused, tongue tied stranger.

In next moment, something very intriguing happened. My brother said, "I hope you prove me wrong. Then you can laugh at me for making wrong decision."

I became fully myself when I spoke words, "Nahhh, I would never laugh at you."

Quicker than words were spoken, I was overtaken with emotion. It was in that moment I realized how far I had come. I had known that I was taking a risk in making call. I knew that he might not see vision that I held. And I knew that no matter what happened, everything would be exactly as it was meant to be.

As I spoke those words, "I would never laugh at you," my heart turned towards my brother. And then he turned his heart subtly towards me. He started asking me questions about my project. Specific, direct questions.

Today, we attempt to isolate ourselves from risk as much as possible while looking with distrust toward those who are willing to leave refuge of certitude for an uncertain reward. From vantage point of past tense, we conveniently forget that those who altered our history, left their impact on industry, and shaped our culture did not foreknow outcome of their actions.