I was one of those children who thrive in a classroom setting. I learnt to read and write quickly and never once felt nervous or anxious. Writing exams was just a matter of course and I did well in them. I woke each morning with a spring in my step and a joy in my heart, the luckiest girl in the world. Off I would go with my lunch box and sports kit and, on a really good day, a side pony tail because that was the fashion back then.
By the time high school began I was starting to feel tired. A high achiever with a reputation, I began to take strain. It was really nobody’s fault, it’s just that somewhere along the line it became a matter of importance to me that I always do well. And doing well, in my mind, meant high marks. High marks I was not managing to attain any longer. I think it’s safe to say that the ones who are excelling in class are expected, even encouraged, to follow the sciences and the more ‘difficult’ subjects. Even now, if I hear about people studying medicine the first thought that comes to mind is that they are the clever ones…and that everyone else is not so much. I had my ideas about what it means to be successful in life, faulty as they were. I did not give much thought to the day when I would leave school and a vast expanse, empty of tests and exams, would be mine for the taking. I hadn’t thought who I might be in that world, all I knew was that there was a big, long ladder to climb and that when I, finally, got to the top I would be free. I would think about it all then. For the time being my life was ordered for me and I would go from one class and sports fixture to the next, very little quiet time available to take note of what was actually stirring my heart.
How I wish I had paid attention to the girl in me who was not just sharp with the school books, but who came alive watching ants and dew drops and seedlings bursting out of the soil. A child delighted by a breeze fluttering leaves on a bush and strands of hair against a face and the silver lining on a big cloud. Having nothing to do thrilled me to the core, because I would find something! I was fixated with new life, be it a cocoon or the first buds of spring or a newborn baby. We had a medical dictionary in the bookcase and I remember sitting often with that big book open to the page of sketches of a baby being born. I studied those pictures and my young heart was overjoyed. Once, we got a call to say that a calf was being born and we raced to witness the event. Mothers, siblings and friends, we either knelt in the lush, green grass or hung on the fence whilst we watched the miracle of life unfold. When I think of my education, it is that day that stands out most to me. The day my mom put the phone down and threw us all into the car so that we could watch something no book could ever properly teach us. Every moment, birth and death are occurring and, unless it directly impacts us, I am not sure we are even aware. Looking back I can see I was neglecting the gift I have of seeing the treasure in every ordinary moment. There were appreciations and eccentricities in me as a tiny girl that were already bursting into bloom, things that would never be tested or graded. I was climbing a ladder and making a career out of school when in actual fact, a more important journey was in progress. One that would be the making of me and it would continue long after I was allowed to leave the classroom. There was an innocent, very large sense of being wide awake that I had to quieten down so that I could get through my education. I rolled it all up and packed it into a box and said “I have no time for you, you are distracting me.” And for the most part, it has been lying quietly dormant since then.
Mercifully, it’s never too late. I have lines on my face now and one of my knees is sore because I think I can just go and play hockey like I did back then. My body is older but, internally, the journey that the girl child was on, has resumed. As a mother it’s a fine line figuring out what flurry of activities are necessary for my family to commit to and which ones are simply wasting glorious time. If our days are so full and we need to scurry to get from one thing to the next, the wonder I experienced as a child cannot exist, never mind flourish. Appreciation of beauty and all living things – people, plants and animals – needs time. This year started with a quiet resolve not to overcommit. To leave long seconds, minutes and hours open to being present and mindful and available. I cannot say our days are less full, however. It’s been interesting to see what sort of events have taken up the time, and I like it a lot.
I have heard my little one’s request to read and write and it happened during the bedtime hour. I might have told her that we will do all of that next year, when the time is right, but I listened. An opportunity glowed in that peaceful hour and we sat together saying sounds and writing letters until she was ready to sleep. We accomplished more in those moments than we ever will following the plan, I believe. We have had tea with strangers, visited a friend in hospital, planted sunflowers, had one spontaneous play date after the next, run around the block, chatted to the man selling hats at the lights, read stories, painted a wall and baked muffins. I even had the opportunity to close my eyes one still afternoon and enjoy a refreshing twenty minute nap. Is there anything more grateful than a body that is allowed to rest? As I write I have five new names swirling in my head. Names of people I have only just met. People I might have rushed past if I was still living in such a way that the task must be done, the ladder must be climbed, and only when I am at the top will I get on with the business of real life.
I have written about all this as school days versus the days after exams, but how often do we put on hold a lot of richness because we are marching to a beat that other people or an institution plays for us, no matter what phase of life we are in? Maybe you work a backbreaking job to pay the bills and when you get home at night you are too tired to even think about what it is you were created to do. We have to be aware of the fact that there is nobody else quite like you or I across the globe, and if we are behaving like puppets on a stage, there is something unusual and magnificent within us that is not being recognised as it should be. Please stop climbing long enough to ask yourself why you are doing this and at what expense. I see this one sliding down the side of the ladder because she has realised she is supposed to be somewhere else. That one is doing a back flip into a meadow of daisies. Another looks up and uses the rung as a stage as she begins to sing a song we’ve only ever heard the birds sing; how could it be that she is hitting those notes and proclaiming that message when all we have known up till now is her pretty eyes and polite smile? One has found some string and a piece of wood in his pocket and he is swinging on his handmade swing on the seventy-eighth rung of the ladder which is so high up it’s in the clouds.
By all means, climb the ladder, but don’t forget the journey that will go on long after the ladder has come to an end. There are gifts within that are yours to share and there is never so good a time as the present. Maybe it is not even about what you have to offer to the world, but how you will grow as you notice things you hadn’t seen before. Even now, I believe dormant dreams are stirring. Heart strings are pulling and there is a huge yawn within as the authentic you begins to stretch after a long, curled up slumber. That’s good! That’s right! I am so excited to see what’s going to happen next!
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