Every six weeks or so, I get together with some gal pals to discuss a book. We take turns picking out the book and hosting the gathering. Of course, there’s food and social time, but having been in other kinds of book groups before, we’ve made a conscious decision to focus on the literary work, not the wine.

One Sunday last month, aware that winter weather might interfere with our best plans to all assemble December through March, three of us drove from Chicago across the border — to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The 90-minute road trip amid the changing fall colors gave us a special appreciation for life in the Midwest, not to mention the long trip Barb makes to Chicago most other months.

We enjoyed a lovely brunch of thyme and mustard encrusted salmon and had a very lively 2-hour discussion on a historical novel none of us was particularly taken with although we all admitted we learned a lot. Then we took a walk.

It was fun to walk in unfamiliar surroundings. We didn’t have a particular destination, no goal in mind other than leaving town by 4:30. We walked down residential streets and marveled at the architecture, the Arts and Crafts period houses that would be out of place among the brick bungalows us urban chicks were accustomed to.

We stopped at a few tourist destinations in the blocks that constituted downtown. Apparently because of a disturbance some years back, few places had liquor licenses. Instead of small taverns advertising Spotted Cow lager, a popular Wisconsin brew, we visited an olive oil tasting room that we might have been more likely to find at the Ferry Building in San Francisco.

We walked into an antique/bric-a-brac store, which sponsored some sort of pet rescue. Fortunately, none of us brought purses for our walk so we weren’t able to buy things that would invariably end up at a neighborhood garage sale.

Then we walked to the lake. It was a very short distance from downtown.

It made quite an impression. I lingered in the park by the library and was amazed at what it felt like to look across an expanse of water and actually see to the other side.

I saw very expensive homes and condo complexes, boat slips, trees and a couple camel colored dots along the shoreline, which I learned later were public beaches. Seeing to the other side of the lake made me feel positively buoyant!

It’s great to look out onto a large body of water and consider the vastness of things, to consider that you’re part of the fabric of life. And sometimes, it’s great to be able to see the other side of a lake and let your eyes follow the perimeter of shoreline and look for markers.

It seems that most of my life has been about transitions. I’ve had to learn new skills to help me on new jobs. I’ve engaged in difficult conversations because I wanted to have different kinds of relationships with people I loved enough to be honest with.

The motivation to learn and change and grow is always authentic, but fear inevitably comes up. It’s sometimes hard to imagine showing up differently in the world. Starting in a new direction is like looking north at Lake Michigan from Oak Street Beach. It’s at least 300 miles to the other side.

It felt so good to look at the other side of Lake Geneva. Even though I don’t know what I will be like at the end of my journey, or even after I get through my current challenges, it’s nice to be reminded that there is another side.

Knowing that any period of transition can be navigated and that there is a landing spot on the other side is no small thing.