ALL OCCASIONS ARE SPECIAL

     It was rare for my wife and two daughters to join me on a speaking tour; however, since this one was through the British Isles, I had scheduled the programs on every other day so we could enjoy touring the countryside on the off-days. But one weekend, we decided to remain in Edinburgh, Scotland, to absorb the unique charm of this historic city. That included a visit to the Scotch Museum. During the tour, I learned that what I thought was a fine, single malt was considered a child’s drink in the country where it was invented.

I had acquired a taste for Scotch Whiskey long before I was old enough legally to consume adult beverages. That’s because during my junior and senior high school days, I spent my summers wrestling alligators and milking rattlesnakes at a tourist attraction in South Dakota. I lived in the zoo’s basement, two thousand miles from home, with no adult supervision. Ten summers was plenty of time to learn about healthy pleasures, including those associated with Scotland’s national beverage. Therefore, visiting the Scotch Museum in Edinburgh was at the top of my priority list. That’s where I learned about the subtle differences between the products of the various distilleries dotting the countryside. Later that day, with my wife’s encouragement, I bought a bottle of, perhaps, one of the finest single malts money could buy. It had spent the better part of four decades in a cask, as was evidenced by its price. This was not just another bottle of Scotch. Only upon a very special occasion would I ceremoniously break the seal and sample its contents.

Several times, I thought the special occasion had arrived. Academic awards, successful business ventures, and our children reaching various milestones each seemed appropriate at the time. But, then I would conclude there must be something else that will eclipse even those happy events. There were no criteria for that elusive, special occasion. I just believed that when it happened, I would somehow know — the event equivalent of the emotion we call love. Alas, the bottle of Scotch continued to gather dust.

I’m not sure when the realization struck; but, eventually, I concluded that it’s not the occasion that is special. All events have the potential to merit this designation. What makes something special is the meaning we assign to it. I was waiting for a special event when I should have been seeking ways to make all events meaningful and special. Events don’t have meaning. We assign them meaning when we reflect upon the ways they relate to our purpose in life and signify those things we value. Even a bad experience can be special when we learn from it.

I no longer save things for a special occasion. When I have the good fortune to enjoy a rare pleasure, I use the opportunity to celebrate in whatever way seems worthwhile. My bottle of Scotch was an amber-colored wildcard capable of transforming virtually any occasion into a special event. What are you hoarding for that special occasion? Is it the fine china that’s rarely used? The decorative candle that’s never lit? Perhaps it’s a striking outfit that’s seldom worn. Get it out. Use it. Celebrate the fact you now have the ability to make even the mundane meaningful.