LAST SUNDAY EVENING I went to Toronto’s Union Station to meet my daughter, who was arriving on a train from Montreal. A wave of wistfulness passed over me when I saw her walk through the gates with her friends, a happy gaggle of girls returning tired but exuberant from a model United Nations symposium in Montreal. As I watched them say goodbye to one another, it occurred to me that the next time I met Morag at Union Station, she would not be returning to the home where she lived, but simply arriving for a weekend visit. She is now in grade 12 and come September will likely be at university in another city, embarking on her journey into adulthood.

For the most part, Morag is excited by the prospect of beginning a new phase of her life and can’t wait to get started. But like most people at this juncture, there are moments when she feels daunted by the choices she must make – there are so many interesting programs offered and so many universities at which to pursue them. At risk of being a meddling parent, I suggest that it is not the path that she chooses that is of the utmost importance but how she travels down it.

Many times, people have little or no choice as to their path in life – situations are simply thrust upon them. There is, however, choice when it comes to how one proceeds. I always admire people who have been dealt a poor hand but make the most of it. The other day I was at the Bathurst Street subway station in Toronto, and a man whizzed by me on a skateboard. He looked to be in his twenties, and I watched as he moved deftly and politely through the crowd and then, with one elegant acrobatic movement, hopped onto the escalator, flipping his skateboard onto the step beside him. As a general matter, I don’t view people skateboarding through subway stations with great admiration, no matter how polite they are. But this man I did, for he had no arms or legs, only stumps. But he moved through the station – and I would guess through life itself – with precision and grace, defying anyone to call him disabled.

When my children were young, they had an occasional babysitter known to everyone as “Nanny” or simply “Nan.” A wonderful, strong-spirited woman, she had grown up in London, England, living there through the Second World War. On one occasion she and her family had emerged from a bomb shelter to find their house had been hit. The only thing left standing was the piano. “Mum looked at it and said, ‘Well, at least we can still have a song or two,’” Nan told me. “You just had to get on with things.” As an adult, Nan moved to Canada with her husband. They had five children before Nan was widowed. Two of her children died, one as a toddler, the other as an adult, trying to save another person. Despite the tragedies in her life, Nan brimmed with warmth, optimism and generosity, and devoted herself to helping others.

I also admire people who seize opportunities to shape the world for the better despite the demands that might be involved or that it might give rise to a detour in their chosen path. One such person is an engineering professor at the University of Calgary, David Irvine-Halliday, who was profiled in the Review a few years ago. In 1997, Irvine-Halliday visited Nepal to help establish an electrical engineering program at Tribhuvan University in Kathmandu. Afterwards, he spent a few days trekking in the Annapurna range and was struck by the lack of lighting in the schools and villages he passed. He could simply have filed the information in the recesses of his mind. But he didn’t. Instead, he returned to Canada and dedicated himself to developing an affordable solid-state lighting system, easy to install and manage, and making it available not just to rural communities in Nepal but around the world.

As my daughter and her contemporaries chart their course for the future, I think it’s important for them to know that there is no single right path, but many, and that whatever path they choose will hold opportunities for an interesting, rewarding and worthwhile life. The key, I think, is to seize opportunities and not to be afraid to make mistakes.

I, like Morag, am also charting a new course for my life. After 23 very rewarding years with the Review, the last 12 as editor, I am leaving the magazine and Imperial. The prospect of moving to Calgary was exciting, but the timing just wasn’t right for my family. I will certainly miss the Review – the fine people I’ve met through it, the readers who write to me and often seem like friends, and the chance to explore the people, places and culture of Canada. But I have many fond memories to carry with me as I venture forth along a new, but as yet undetermined, path. – Sarah Lawley