This past summer two of my grandchildren — 10-year-old Madison and 7-year-old Beau — provided me with much needed insight.

In my effort to adjust to retirement I thought back to what I liked doing most before I joined the workforce.

One of my great passions was dance. In fact, I attended the High School of Performing Arts in New York City — yes, Fame.

Soon after I retired, I signed up for dance classes. This turned out to be painful, in every way.

Looking in the huge mirrors, I saw someone who didn’t even resemble me. Further, she couldn’t bend or leap, and when she tried, it was obvious to everyone, she failed.

Then there was the learning of the actual dance being taught. Suddenly, something I don’t ever remember struggling with became a significant struggle, and now 90% of the time I was lost.

Finally, within 10 minutes of beginning class I was not only tired, but I couldn’t imagine “dancing” for another 50 minutes.

Still, I didn’t want to quit.

So I thought I’d call another dancer to see how she dealt with her dance frustrations. Turns out the only other person I knew who was still taking dance classes, was my granddaughter, Madison.

I called her and explained how frustrated and inadequate I felt.

Madison lovingly listened but offered no advice. I then realized I hadn’t told her that’s what I wanted.

When I did, she said it would all become easier if I kept going and kept trying.

I didn’t believe her, but I also knew I didn’t want her to think I was a quitter; so I kept dragging myself to dance classes and trying to do my best.

Turns out she was right and I was wrong.

In time, class became both easier and more fun.

What I learned from Madison was that, if something is hard, keep trying and it will get easier and then — seemingly, miraculously — enjoyable.

The lesson I learned from my grandson, Beau, was very different.

Beau called me up one morning and asked me to take him to a park to practice catching and throwing a football. I was thrilled to be asked, and of course I drove over to pick him up immediately.

When I arrived, Beau knew exactly where he wanted to go: the grassy area of Summerland’s Lookout Park.

As soon as we arrived, we threw the ball back and forth about a dozen times, but he seemed distracted, wistfully looking over at the beach below. I asked if he would rather go to the beach and he said yes.

As we hiked down the trail to the beach, I heard Beau say, “Hey, Nona, look at this!” He stopped and crouched down because he had just seen a very small and delicate salamander.

I stopped, turned around and joined him in his newfound joy. We remained there for a moment before I realized it was time to focus on the salamander, and not get down to the beach.

Observing him watch and attempt to comfort the salamander was time well spent. Eventually, the salamander scurried away and Beau stood up and announced, “Let’s go!”

And so we did. But before we made it to the sand, he spotted a staircase and asked, “Hey, Nona, where does that staircase go?”

When I said I didn’t know, he replied, “Should we go check it out?” I of course said, “Sure!”

Gone were his thoughts of playing catch, going to the beach or even watching a salamander; now it was all about the stairs!

When we reached a locked gate at the top, he simply turned around and led our descent to the sand.

Next, he found a stick and asked if he could take it. I asked him if he thought driftwood might best be left on the beach and he agreed.

After our short beach walk, he was ready to return to Lookout Park, but not to play catch. Now he wanted to play on the climbing structure.

Replaying our outing in my head after taking Beau home, I realized what made the day so perfect was that there was no agenda and we simply enjoyed each moment we had together.

My mind often focuses on the past or plans for the future. What Beau taught me that day was similar to an adage I used in college, but never really followed: “Be here now” (Ram Dass).

Now, in my present life, I can actually do that because, as I age, I’m learning every moment counts and the best way to enjoy each one is to “Be here now.”

Or simply, to “Be Beau” — which is far better than “Be here now” because it not only makes me refocus on the present, it also makes me smile.

Neither of these lessons were new to me, it’s just that when I was taught them again, through my grandchildren’s words and actions, I finally understood.

For me, being blessed with grandchildren, my life can best be described as taking an exhilarating hike up the Kaibab Trail to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and arriving in time to see a most spectacular sunset.