One hot, hot day in summer, I was with a friend who’d just had a bit of surgery.
And my friend, she’s an investor. Not a stocks and futures investor. She’s a human being investor. It isn’t her job, which is big and busy. But it is her belief, which I’d guess she holds to be self-evident, that people matter.
So, she lives a generous life, giving vastly of her brains, heart, and calendar to the lives who cross her wide path.
Anyway, I was at her house this hot, hot day in summer. She was doing great, exceeding the doctor’s expectations. But there was still some hard pain in her body. Stair climbing, meal making, lawn mowing weren’t back in her range of motion yet.
My friend’s phone was ringing with people checking in. Her front door was opening with people bringing in lasagna and groceries, taking out the dogs and the recycling. Or just sitting across from her with a glass of cool water and talking the afternoon away.
And you could almost feel it, the softness that filled my friend’s house.
In the afternoon, I went to the kitchen to get an apple. And as I cut open the yellowy-white flesh, I thought about that line from who knows where – Warren Buffet? a Zen proverb? Anaïs Nin? – that says there’s shade today because someone planted a tree long ago.
I ate the sliced apple in the kitchen. And I thought about what trees I was planting in these hours now for those hours many years from now.
Because on this hot, hot day in summer, my friend had some beautiful, soft shade from all the trees she’d spent her life planting.