My grandmother lives on a lake where sections are roped off with invisible lines to separate each house’s ownership. Crossing a border never resulted in penalty. Yet every sector seemed to be different. Some flaunted with embedded gold coins in the rich sand on the shore. The section to the right of ours had water practically stained yellow, as it was obvious the toddlers entering the lake through a curly water slide didn’t have the patience to walk all the way back to their house to relieve themselves. To the left of us was a family with a dog. Their lake screamed, “pretentious” and “cautious”. Instead of thick luscious sand matching our shore, this family lined every inch of space to the water’s edge with rocks. Even their large canine couldn’t walk over them without wincing. The portion of lake they owned seemed lonely—as there were dozens of lily pads but never any frogs. I always wondered why the lily pads never floated over to anyone else’s property.

I knew we had it better. Our shore was lined with sculpted sandcastles that were architecturally flawless. We had sand coming up to our ankles, and spotty footprints lining the dock. There was only enough seaweed to snag a piece to hide in someone’s hair—never any that wrapped around our ankles and threatened alarm. It was comfortable, it was fun.

Like any young child, I was curious as to what lay out beyond the length given from the raft’s tied rope to the ladder; we could only travel so far. So one hot summer day, I buckled my life vest and took the small pink raft my father supplied—one that didn’t have a length restriction. I pushed off from my well known world to venture to the other shore. More times than not, I swallowed stale lake water inevitably present in this man-made community bathtub. It tasted bitter and unpleasant; like my lungs and stomach were being invaded by a pool of alien fish waste and seaweed residue. I smelled pungent God-knows-what all throughout my journey. I didn’t cringe though, I’d gotten used to the feeling by now.

As I look now I realize across the lake wasn’t far at all, but it seemed like miles to a skinny girl with short arms and breakable legs. I was small and young: I was naïve. I pushed my way through the waves created by boats that would often zoom by, interrupting the natural current of what my normality had become. I felt my body adjust to different cold and warm spots due to the change in temperature when crossing a spring. I pushed on, and I didn’t look back to where I’d come from once. All I saw was the mysterious beauty that could be waiting for me on the other side.

As I swam on, I heard the water entering my ears. This would take some time to get out, but it was worth it. My breathing became more rapid and excited as I reached my destination. Here I was, ready to explore the great unknown.

As I rested my first foot into this new world, I was shocked. There was so much seaweed that I sank to my ankles. It felt awful, like a million centipedes were crawling all around my feet and through my toes. I searched quite a bit, determined to find even an inch that was better than my own section of lake. There was no way I could’ve traveled all this way for nothing, but I did.

I was forced to return back to where I came from: my home. My familiar corner of safety not covered by squishy seaweed and disappointment. Maybe I would never receive the discovery I so desperately needed. Maybe it was yet to come.

I was shocked as my part of the lake came into clearer view. It was not what I remembered. Because I left, no one was there to hold my sandcastles in place. The piles of once beautiful sand structures with motes surrounding them and outskirts of neighborhoods had been washed away.

I realized as I stepped on to the ladder to reach the dock that spiders had invaded the canvas my hair drips and sandy residue once made beautiful. Weeds sprouted in multiple spots by the water’s edge. I didn’t know how long I’d been gone, but clearly it was long enough.

Even after my experience, while glancing over at my neighbor’s shore I felt bad for the lily pads. They stayed still waiting for frogs to give them purpose instead of venturing out to find it themselves. While studying the beauty of their smooth stones reflecting the sunlight something registered within me.

I looked at the lily pads and realized I had never even touched one before. To this day I still don’t know why they are there. Maybe their purpose wasn’t for frogs, but rather to be the select few forces in life that hand to us exactly what we need. So I swam a few feet over to the lily pads, and I picked one up for the first time ever. My discovery was quite astonishing. Without troubling travels across large obstacles, I found something new right next to me. And I was easily able to travel back home after.

Lily pads are bright green. They have some rips in them, and they feel slimy, kind of like a thicker version of a wet leaf. Some are microscopic, while others are the size of planets. The diversity in each of these unfamiliar plants was far from disappointing. I learned I don’t have to travel all the way across the lake to discover something new.

Have you ever seen a lily pad? Don’t imagine a faraway pond with frogs ribbiting and small fish roaming about. Simply look to your left, and there they are.