There’s an interesting theory called “the effort paradox.” Essentially, it means that in order for something to become effortless, one must first put in the effort. Whether it be artistic, athletic, entrepreneurial or a mundane task, regardless of its nature, perseverance is required.

I recently wrote that in the past I’ve made life harder than it’s had to be. For some reason, I still manage to accomplish that blunder today. I often stand guilty of misappropriating my efforts. It’s quite an indictment, but it can be exonerated.

My applying purpose to effort actually began to bear fruit around Easter weekend. That’s when I made a valiant effort at mending broken fences.

A few years ago, my sister and I had a falling out. For almost three years, we rarely spoke to one another other than the occasional text message that felt obligatory and performative. Despite our separation, this recent Easter holiday we decided to get together at our mother’s home for lunch along with our families.

Mine and my sister’s indifferences were settled through equal atonement. In turn, we were rewarded 10-fold and a mutual healing came to be.

That same week, I picked up my son, Landon, from school and we drove to see my grandmother in Aberdeen. She’s 95 years old and recently had an incident that managed to slow even her down, regardless of her steadfast nature. Shamefully, I hadn’t seen her in quite some time, not because of discord, but simply because my life was moving fast and my effort was slow.

We visited for about an hour, during which she was graceful and kind. My absence in her life felt small in the large space of her love. She was just happy to see us. My uncle Greg, her son and my father’s brother, called while we were there. She spoke to him briefly, then passed the phone to me. We talked casually like old friends, then laughed and said our goodbyes. It was nice, and needed.

On the way back to Columbus, Landon and I listened to music and talked about everything. He drove, I rode, and I also pondered.
The results of my purpose-filled efforts hadn’t dawned on me yet, but still I relished in how easy things felt.

The crimson clover along the highway waved against the speed of his Jeep as we made our way home. We laughed about the lighthearted jokes that we made earlier to lift my grandmother’s spirits. I leaned my cheek against the window. It was cool, but the setting sun was warm. Life was smiling at us.

I often wonder if we know we’re in the best moments of our lives when they are happening? I like to think we do.

Later that week, I had an event to attend with Shannon. I often shut down before socializing, an unnecessary wall I put in place to avoid intimacy. Despite my dread of human interaction, my recent efforts with family were still beating in my heart. So much had come from so little. I wondered if it could all be that easy? Life, that is.

I arrived at the event and sat among friends. They talked, I talked, then I talked even more. I was actually having fun. My efforts at avoidance were paused. I laughed at stories while surrounded by very different people, yet alike all the same.

At one point, I looked up from the laughter and made eye contact with my wife, Shannon, across the way. She smiled. The air was cool, but her gaze was warm like the sunlight through the oak trees. I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was that she picked me. I smiled back effortlessly.

The following Friday, Shannon and I attended the theater in Jackson. We have season tickets and normally eat fine dining before. This trip, though, we were short of time, so we settled for Quiznos. We ate and talked. Then we laughed about our combination of Quiznos and the theater. After 17 years of marriage, we still laugh effortlessly with one another.

The next day, we attended orientation at MSMS for our son, Landon. We were tired and he was tired. That day seemed long, but the moments were short. After 15 years of raising our boy, we watched his purpose emerge from the results of his efforts.

Sunday arrived and we did our Sunday things. We walked, cooked, rested and prepared. I reflected on the past week and its purpose. I sat at my computer to write while pondering what to say.

Then suddenly I smiled and began typing without effort.

On a side note, I want to wish my effortlessly beautiful wife, Shannon, a happy birthday today! You have my heart and fill it with purpose! I love you!

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].