Struggling to decide what to do, I let countless scenarios run through my mind.
On the first day, my thoughts were filled with doubt. Who am I to teach them about happiness? I wondered. I could not begin to comprehend what it must be like to live with visual impairment or face the possibility of losing your sight. How could I simply walk into a room and teach a program about happiness when I had never experienced the challenges they faced?
The next day, my doubts shifted inward. I began to worry about whether I could emotionally handle the experience. What if this is too difficult for me? What if I leave feeling overwhelmed or deeply saddened? I questioned whether I was ready to take that risk.
Then, on the third day, something changed.
I found myself thinking back to 15 years ago, when I was diagnosed with cancer. Hearing those words felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath me. I was devastated, frightened and uncertain about what my future would hold.
What made an enormous difference during that time were the people who stood beside me. They did not pull away or suddenly treat me as someone different. I was still Yvette. They brought light into one of the darkest periods of my life through their kindness, compassion and unwavering support.
That realization changed everything.
I understood that I did not need to know what it was like to live with visual impairment to walk into that room with something meaningful to share. I simply needed to show up with an open heart, see each person for who they were and offer the same kind of human connection that had once meant so much to me.
Suddenly, my decision was crystal clear. This was something I truly wanted to do.
When I shared my decision with a dear friend, she said something I would soon discover to be true: “Yvette, you will probably learn more from them than they will from you.”
And so the journey began.
In the weeks that followed, I prepared for my first presentation, Part One of Harmonize with Happiness. I carefully adapted the interactive experience for my audience, thinking differently about how each activity could be experienced without relying on sight.
Something unexpected began happening as I prepared. I became more aware of my own senses. I noticed sounds I might otherwise have ignored. I paid greater attention to touch, smell and emotion. I began to recognize how deeply these senses shape the way we experience the world.
Without realizing it, I was already learning.
The process taught me to slow down, become more present and experience moments more fully. Before I had even given the first presentation, this opportunity had given me something valuable in return: a deeper appreciation for simply being engaged in the moment.
When the first day finally arrived, I set up the room and watched as it began to fill. As we started with introductions, I was immediately struck by the warmth, friendship and sense of community around me. I was standing among an incredible group of people who were happy to be there, curious about what was ahead and eager to participate.
As we moved through the program, the room came alive. People shared stories, offered insights, laughed, reflected and added their own experiences to the conversation. Their contributions did not simply complement my material. They made the program richer.
By the end, the room erupted in applause. One woman asked if she could hug me. A gentleman came over to shake my hand. Another participant told me how much the program had meant to him.
My heart was full, but my applause for them was every bit as strong.
I may have walked into the room as the presenter, but together, we created the experience.
When I returned for Part Two, the room filled once again. This time, there was not an empty seat. The director even mentioned that reservations might be needed for the remaining sessions.
For me, it was an affirmation that I had made the right decision by saying yes.
During that second session, someone shared a thought about the Lighthouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired that stayed with me. “What the Lighthouse has done for us is to teach us how to take our disability and turn it into an ability.”
Those words struck a chord.
Once again, I thought about my own experience with cancer. During that difficult chapter of my life, I decided that I would not allow cancer to define or defeat me. Instead, I would use what I had experienced to become stronger and dedicate more of my life to helping others.
Our circumstances were very different, but I recognized something deeply human that connected us: the ability to find purpose after hardship. To discover a strength we may not have known we possessed. To take something we never would have chosen for ourselves and somehow find a way to grow through it.
That day, they taught me another lesson about happiness, one I could never have included on a presentation slide – the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit.
My friend was right.
I came to the Lighthouse believing I was there to teach. Instead, I have found myself learning at every turn.
I still have two more sessions to teach over the next two months, and now I prepare for them without the fear and uncertainty I felt at the beginning. In their place are excitement, passion and genuine eagerness to return.
I once questioned whether I had any right to walk into that room and talk about happiness. Now I understand that happiness is not about having a life untouched by hardship. It can be found in how we respond to those hardships, how we show up for one another and how willing we are to give and receive kindness along the way.
The people at the Lighthouse have graciously allowed me to share my light with them.
What I never expected was how brightly they would shine their light back on me.
