For most of my life I have had a cowlick on the back of my head. That swirl of hair that is largely uncontrollable, but that has been conveniently located out of sight. For most of my adult life I have also parted my hair on the same side--which happens to run against the cowlick. For decades I have parted and brushed my hair in the direction that I wanted it to go. But since the last time that I cut my hair very short, the cowlick has been winning. About two weeks after a haircut, the cowlick now pushes up from underneath and makes my hair stick up like a duck's tail feathers unless I part and brush it on the other side. I have decided that it is no longer worth the effort to fight the cowlick (not to mention looking like a duck).
You might think that changing the direction that you brush your hair would be an easy task. After all, it is just hair. But after spending most of my life running my hair back from right to left, the change from left to right is not easy. More than once I have found myself not thinking about what I am doing and running my hair back right to left--with the result that I look like I just woke up from a nap.
Now hair direction is not a big deal, but change certainly is.
Sometimes I am surprised at how hard it is to change. People seem to be hardwired for stasis--or decline. Think about it. No one ever became fit by sitting around, or smarter by not studying, or more holy by a lack of moral discipline. Change requires effort and attention. Attention alone is not sufficient because attention without effort is merely noticing. (Like all of those years when I could walk right past the overflowing wastebasket without taking it to the trash can--sorry Mom.) Effort alone is not sufficient because it ends up being sporadic at best and frenetic at worst. Real change requires consistent (attention) work (effort) over time.
Whether the change we seek is physical, emotional, relational, or spiritual; it will require consistent work over time. That also says that change generally does not occur overnight. So if you are in progress, then stay the course and be encouraged. You may not be finished changing yet, but you are one day closer--one day that cannot be skipped.
Pressing on,
-Ken
The Persistent Journey -- toward authentic living in an inauthentic world
Monday, September 26, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Acacia Hill
My local bike shop--Broadway Cycle in Monticello--hosts a Thursday night social ride for anyone who wants to come. Last night was the first that I have been able to join this summer because the NSC velodrome also has racing on Thursday nights. It was a great ride. My friend Jeff was also riding, as were a number of people whom I know from around town. The group spread out a bit over the course of the ride, but you were never out of sight of the other riders.
I had heard rumors about the hill up Acacia off of County Road 106--steep and curving--but had never ridden the hill. Until last night. Wow, what a hill! It is steep and has a deceptive curve halfway up. I have never ridden a steeper hill and all of us in the group that I was with were struggling a bit. It was one of those hills where it would be easy for a lone rider to stop and walk the rest of the way up. But when you are riding with a group, it feels better to push hard and labor up to the top.
It was the group that was riding together that made the difference on the Acacia hill. It was nice to have others around while riding on the flats and the rolling hills before and after. But on the toughest part of the ride it was VERY good to have the rest of the group struggling together. And no one had to wonder, "Am I the only one this is hard for?"
Other parts of life are not as transparent as the Acacia hill. We rarely see others battling up the same hills that we are climbing. And it can become disheartening to look around and feel like I am climbing a mountain while everyone around me appears to be cruising on the flats. While I would generally agree that much of life is just plain difficult, the difficulty does not need to be crushing. But, how do we make the rest of life's hills as transparent as the Acacia hill?
It requires trust and a confidence that the people we are showing our "hills" to will not slow us down, but will climb with us. It probably starts with engaging with others. My Acacia hill experience would have been negatively different had I been riding alone. Then it requires honesty on our parts--just calling it what it is. No one climbing Acacia hill in my group was pretending that the hill was no big deal--we were all struggling. And it calls for us to actively encourage each other. Even in the midst of the challenge of Acacia hill, those of us on the climb were calling out encouragement to each other--"Good climb;" "Keep at it;" "Downhill on the other side."
Struggling up Acacia hill was not a sign that any of us were weak or didn't belong on the ride. It was simply part of the reality that hills are steep and require more effort than riding on the flats. In the same way, struggling with parts of the rest of life does not necessarily indicate weakness or that something is "wrong with me." Some parts of life are just more of an uphill struggle than others.
Pressing on,
-Ken
I had heard rumors about the hill up Acacia off of County Road 106--steep and curving--but had never ridden the hill. Until last night. Wow, what a hill! It is steep and has a deceptive curve halfway up. I have never ridden a steeper hill and all of us in the group that I was with were struggling a bit. It was one of those hills where it would be easy for a lone rider to stop and walk the rest of the way up. But when you are riding with a group, it feels better to push hard and labor up to the top.
It was the group that was riding together that made the difference on the Acacia hill. It was nice to have others around while riding on the flats and the rolling hills before and after. But on the toughest part of the ride it was VERY good to have the rest of the group struggling together. And no one had to wonder, "Am I the only one this is hard for?"
Other parts of life are not as transparent as the Acacia hill. We rarely see others battling up the same hills that we are climbing. And it can become disheartening to look around and feel like I am climbing a mountain while everyone around me appears to be cruising on the flats. While I would generally agree that much of life is just plain difficult, the difficulty does not need to be crushing. But, how do we make the rest of life's hills as transparent as the Acacia hill?
It requires trust and a confidence that the people we are showing our "hills" to will not slow us down, but will climb with us. It probably starts with engaging with others. My Acacia hill experience would have been negatively different had I been riding alone. Then it requires honesty on our parts--just calling it what it is. No one climbing Acacia hill in my group was pretending that the hill was no big deal--we were all struggling. And it calls for us to actively encourage each other. Even in the midst of the challenge of Acacia hill, those of us on the climb were calling out encouragement to each other--"Good climb;" "Keep at it;" "Downhill on the other side."
Struggling up Acacia hill was not a sign that any of us were weak or didn't belong on the ride. It was simply part of the reality that hills are steep and require more effort than riding on the flats. In the same way, struggling with parts of the rest of life does not necessarily indicate weakness or that something is "wrong with me." Some parts of life are just more of an uphill struggle than others.
Pressing on,
-Ken
Friday, August 12, 2011
Of Whaling Ships and Hula Hoops
Every boy dreams of being/doing something heroic. No boy wants to pass the ball to the guy who makes the winning shot or to save the cat while the beautiful girl perishes in the disaster. Boys want to be soldiers, firefighters, and policemen; not lawyers, accountants, and teachers. But over time, something sucks out our willingness to charge hard after windmills. I cannot remember the the last time I slept on deck (the front hallway), harpoon (broom handle) at the ready, eager to climb the rigging (Timmy's jungle gym), to hunt whales (hula hoops), at first light (after breakfast). [One of my earliest boyhood memories.] As the years go by we seem to get weighed down and distracted by the cares and concerns of living adult lives that seem devoid of the heroic and overflowing with the ordinary.
William Wallace is credited with saying "All men die, few men truly live." So how does one truly live in the midst of regular life? After all, someone needs to be the lawyers, accountants, and teachers. Not everyone can be soldiers, firefighters, and policemen. So is truly living beyond the grasp of regular people? I don't believe so. Since most of us cannot just forget our responsibilities and run off to hunt "whales", truly living must take place in the midst of the regular responsibilities of adult life.
I think that this may be part of the attraction of bike racing--a chance to do something out of the ordinary in the midst of regular life. Perhaps not heroic, but at least out of the ordinary. When I am on the track or out on the road I feel like I am moving into a world that is more like "whaling" than like lawyering. To be sure, bike racing is a hobby. But then, so was hunting whales.
I do not hope to escape William Wallace's "all men die", but one way or the other I will truly live--at least in enough of life to cast an "heroic" hue to the ordinary.
Pressing On,
-Ken
William Wallace is credited with saying "All men die, few men truly live." So how does one truly live in the midst of regular life? After all, someone needs to be the lawyers, accountants, and teachers. Not everyone can be soldiers, firefighters, and policemen. So is truly living beyond the grasp of regular people? I don't believe so. Since most of us cannot just forget our responsibilities and run off to hunt "whales", truly living must take place in the midst of the regular responsibilities of adult life.
I think that this may be part of the attraction of bike racing--a chance to do something out of the ordinary in the midst of regular life. Perhaps not heroic, but at least out of the ordinary. When I am on the track or out on the road I feel like I am moving into a world that is more like "whaling" than like lawyering. To be sure, bike racing is a hobby. But then, so was hunting whales.
I do not hope to escape William Wallace's "all men die", but one way or the other I will truly live--at least in enough of life to cast an "heroic" hue to the ordinary.
Pressing On,
-Ken
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Footprints in the Sand -- but not that one
Walking along the beach this morning at about sunrise put me in a reflective mood. About 25 minutes down the beach one way and another 25 back. When I made the turn I noticed something--my footprints were gone. All week I have been reminded of the relentless nature of the sea. Waves crashing against the beach with seemingly no effort--again and again and again. No need to take a rest or to stop for supper. Just a continuous pounding on the shore.
I felt like I was walking pretty fast down the beach. Working hard. Making progress. Making tracks. But the relentless sea didn't care how hard I worked or how far I may have come or how quickly I got there. It just wiped the beach clean of my footprints.
As a somewhat driven person, I have this desire to make a difference in the world--to make a mark in important things that is hard to erase. But this morning got me thinking--is that a goal worth pursuing? Making a mark in the world?
I am not advocating an approach of simply sitting on the beach and letting life pass me by in the warm sunshine. Instead, what if I did my beach-walking, but without the expectation or hope that my footprints will endure? Might that make the beach-walking more pleasant, more enjoyable along the way? Doesn't mean that I would not do the work of walking down the beach, or living life, or developing professionally. But maybe a different look at beach-walking would give me a different perspective on the walk itself. Instead of being intent on preserving my footprints--which ARE getting washed away in any case--I can place a higher value on my surroundings and on the journey itself.
What a novel thought--enjoying the journey just for the journey's sake.
Pressing On,
-Ken
I felt like I was walking pretty fast down the beach. Working hard. Making progress. Making tracks. But the relentless sea didn't care how hard I worked or how far I may have come or how quickly I got there. It just wiped the beach clean of my footprints.
As a somewhat driven person, I have this desire to make a difference in the world--to make a mark in important things that is hard to erase. But this morning got me thinking--is that a goal worth pursuing? Making a mark in the world?
I am not advocating an approach of simply sitting on the beach and letting life pass me by in the warm sunshine. Instead, what if I did my beach-walking, but without the expectation or hope that my footprints will endure? Might that make the beach-walking more pleasant, more enjoyable along the way? Doesn't mean that I would not do the work of walking down the beach, or living life, or developing professionally. But maybe a different look at beach-walking would give me a different perspective on the walk itself. Instead of being intent on preserving my footprints--which ARE getting washed away in any case--I can place a higher value on my surroundings and on the journey itself.
What a novel thought--enjoying the journey just for the journey's sake.
Pressing On,
-Ken
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Long Ride Well Done
Props to Carmen and Abby for riding the 50-mile Tour of Saints yesterday (and our neighbors Gary and Annie). We managed to beat the hottest part of the day, which was very good, but 50 miles is still 50 miles. The ride was beautiful--undulating hills and verdant, central Minnesota countryside. There were about 700 people who made either the 35-mile or the 50-mile ride and the feeling of shared accomplishment was thick in the air at the finish.
The three of us--Team Prine--worked together all morning; encouraging, drafting, pulling at the front of the line. We had a few sections of the ride where we were in the groove together and humming along like a well-oiled machine. Other sections (mostly hills) were places where we each set our own pace until we crested the hill.
When we could work together, the ride was "better." Easier, more energy, friendly banter, singing. The miles were not shorter, but covering them seemed to go more quickly. What was true in the ride also seems to be true in most of the rest of life. When we can work together toward a common goal, our way is easier.
When we paint at our house one of us cuts in and the other uses the roller. When we are doing woodworking projects, one of us builds and the other finishes. Working as a team trumps going it alone.
On my faith journey, when I try to go it alone, I tend to have a harder time than when I am connected with others who are moving in the same direction. Granted, sometimes it can be distracting waiting for others or trying to catch up. But as a general rule, together is better than alone.
Pressing on,
-Ken
The three of us--Team Prine--worked together all morning; encouraging, drafting, pulling at the front of the line. We had a few sections of the ride where we were in the groove together and humming along like a well-oiled machine. Other sections (mostly hills) were places where we each set our own pace until we crested the hill.
When we could work together, the ride was "better." Easier, more energy, friendly banter, singing. The miles were not shorter, but covering them seemed to go more quickly. What was true in the ride also seems to be true in most of the rest of life. When we can work together toward a common goal, our way is easier.
When we paint at our house one of us cuts in and the other uses the roller. When we are doing woodworking projects, one of us builds and the other finishes. Working as a team trumps going it alone.
On my faith journey, when I try to go it alone, I tend to have a harder time than when I am connected with others who are moving in the same direction. Granted, sometimes it can be distracting waiting for others or trying to catch up. But as a general rule, together is better than alone.
Pressing on,
-Ken
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