Finding the "Best Good" in Sedona: A Story of Wisdom and Serendipity

Plus a motherlode of signed French-themed books... ready for your entry!

From our back patio when the sun's low angle creates a soft, warm light as sunset begins. The light is amplified by the high iron oxide content in the rocks, which makes them reflect color with an incredible intensity.

We've arrived in Sedona, Arizona, and the peace is already setting in.

My husband and I jetted our way westward from St. Louis on Saturday, laser-focused on a first stop to see squealing grandkids (they did not disappoint) before heading to our HOA home.

Flung our clothes free from suitcases.

Got in some groceries.

Collapsed to rest in the shadowy foothills of Sedona’s sheltering red rocks.

Heart.

Full.

Finding this foothold in Sedona came about through serendipity. A few years ago when my husband first voiced the idea of moving to the southwest, my overcrowded too-frantic brain silently parried “I’m too busy for this!” (You know: writing, revising, pitching, publishing, marketing Saving Vincent.)

Yet, having learned to simply take the steps to follow initial ideas without judgment, what started out as a wish ultimately became a reality. We explored the area and wouldn’t you know: Right house, right timing, right people (not to mention work by my husband) —and here we are.

In the foothills, yes. More importantly, in closer proximity to developing deeper roots with the grands. For they will bounce out and into the world with wider circles of friends and activities and learning while we perch, applauding, on the periphery.

This is a joy—to be on the right track, aligned with what Aristotle called "the best good." He said that if we know our highest aim, we'll be more likely to hit the right mark, like an archer with a clear target.

I've been aiming for this my whole life, using hindsight to create foresight. The lessons of mistakes patiently come back around to guide us, whether it's recognizing our own busyness or something more.

When I reflect on my journey, I see how moments of the "best good" have shaped my life.

My coming-of-age trip to Geneva, Switzerland in 1975, for example, taught me about more than just French fluency; it taught me a love for a culture, a history, a language that would one day be the background inspiration for a book. This deep-seated connection helped me walk in the footsteps of Jo van Gogh, a woman who used compassion and determination to beat the odds and actually persuade others to truly see the work of a man who had been cast aside, Vincent van Gogh.

For seeing beyond the surface is a lesson I’d learned long before.

In 1975, I was 15-going-on-Longing for My Life to Begin. My econ professor dad hosted a college abroad for business majors to Geneva, Switzerland. Mom and us kids (sister, brother & me—though older brother stayed back to start his first semester in college) came along. In those six months I became fluent in French. Because of geography and historical roots, including sharing a border with France, the region of Romandy—where Geneva is located—carries a distinct French-like identity.

That coming-of-age dive into French culture and language sank into my skin. I experienced firsthand how stereotypes recede once friendships deepen. For when they first met me my Genevan classmates initially saw the stereotype of a bubble-gum chomping, entitled American. In turn, I sized up what I saw as rude, standoffish, too-cool-for-school European teens.

Yet, we bonded. We all had to survive a draconian French teacher. She, too, eventually became humanized to me, but first, we teens allied in her intense classroom.

Preconceptions dissolved. Instead of weird or threatening, discovering others’ diverse preferences for foods or tradition or clothing actually made them more interesting. This fascination with how we are different on the outside, would ultimately feed my curiosity years later as a senior marketing executive. In this role I would lead research into how people’s worldviews are shaped by gender, race, and generation. And in turn, how understanding these perspectives is the first step toward empathy, which leads to seeing our shared common humanity.

Aristotle’s full quote is, "Knowledge of the best good carries great weight for knowing the best way to live: if we know it, then like archers who have a target to aim at, we are more likely to hit the right mark.”

And now, here in the foothills of Sedona, that same lesson feels more present than ever. It's the lesson of seeing the "best good" right in front of us. It's the ability to see a quiet home as a place for deeper connection with family, just as Jo van Gogh saw priceless art in what others dismissed as worthless. And it's the professional wisdom of understanding how people’s worldviews are shaped by their experiences, a lesson I first learned as a teenager in Geneva.

Wisdom, I’ve found, is using hindsight to create foresight, and seeing beyond the surface is the first step.

Perhaps the second step is making room for our differences to rest side-by-side. That’s an essay for another day.

May your “best good” guide you!

Warmly,