The world always has a way of putting things back into perspective – usually when you least expect it.

Most of us have experienced the sudden realization that little of what we worry about each day actually matters.

The first time I remember realizing this was when I was 15. I had invested months slaving away in our family’s garage fixing up a car that was older than I was.

I sat up as straight as a board in the seat as we slowly backed out of the garage for its first public appearance. We were heading to McDonald’s – where all of the cool, older kids hung out.

Everything went fine until I ran over the curb on the way out of the parking lot. It made an awful noise, and it made me feel like I was two inches tall.

My Dad laughed it off as &uot;humbling moment&uot; – a phrase that has stuck with our family.

At the time it was all about appearances, being cool. Time would prove to me that I was all wrong. It’s not about appearances at all. It’s about enjoying every precious moment of life.

It’s a lesson I sometimes forget until something slaps me in the face and makes me realize how lucky we all are each day.

Often the little reminders of how blessed we are aren’t as easy to distinguish as the screeching sound of metal grating over a concrete curb.

I had one of these little &uot;humblers&uot; a few nights ago.

The day had been a fairly hectic, non-stop sort of day. The kind you’re glad you don’t have very often.

I left the office and headed to the store to pick up a few things. I hadn’t really noticed the time as I headed out the office door. And as luck would have it, the store was about to close – the perfect end to a less than perfect day.

As I rushed through the aisles searching for a few of those essential items the store’s intercom prodded me along.

&uot;Attention Kmart shoppers, we are about to close. Please bring your items to the check-out counter at this time.&uot;

There in the soap aisle I bumped into a woman whom I’ve known since I first came to Natchez in 1993.

We exchanged pleasantries.

&uot;I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you a second ago,&uot; I said.

&uot;That’s OK, I don’t look the same without any hair,&uot; she joked.

And she was right, although I hadn’t noticed it at first, the woman was wearing a baseball cap pulled down firmly on her head.

&uot;Chemotherapy will do that to you,&uot; she said.

In the most casual of ways the woman began to describe what she was going through.

She’d been diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. It was treated and doctors thought it was gone.

A few months ago, doctors found a growth in her hip. So she’s back into treatment that often strips away a patients’ energy not to mention their hair.

With each word she uttered I was humbled. Here I’d been thinking my life was filled with trouble, when in fact I didn’t have a care in the world.

As we both hurriedly grabbed soap and toothpaste, I muttered something about her being strong in the face of all of this. I heard her voice from across the top of the aisle.

&uot;Yeah, I’m just making lemonade,&uot; she said. It was a reference to the old saying &uot;If life hands you lemons, make lemonade.&uot;

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I had pity on the woman. Hardly. I was jealous of her inner strength in the face of trouble. And sometimes that strength may be found in the bottom of a glass of lemonade.

Kevin Cooper is managing editor of The Democrat. He can be reached at (601) 446-5172 ext. 241 or by e-mail: kevin.cooper@natchezdemocrat.com.