Google says the temperature outside is 18 degrees, but the windchill feels like 1. I look out the window, and snow flurries blanket our garage like fog.
I sipmy coffee.
I look at my watch.
I put off my long run.
My youngest has play practice from 10-2 today. I still haven't done my run at 9:00, so I decide it will have to wait until I drop him off. Of course, the van has no gas. I don't know why past-me didn't think ahead and fill it up last night. I pull into the Shell station and pop the lever to open the gas tank.
Sweet Mama on Ice! that wind feels cold! Chug. Chug. Chug. This might be the slowest gas pump on earth. Ugh. I take a deep breath. I will NOT cuss out this gas pump.
Finally, it clicks off. I climb back in and rub my fingers. They ache and throb. I'm dreading this run.
I'm reminded of the zen parable of the two arrows. I've heard it on so many different podcasts. Maybe you have too.
The story goes that every time we suffer, two arrows are shot in our direction. The first one is the actual hardship we face. And it sucks. It hurts. It happens to all of us.
The second arrow is our reaction to the pain though. And this one, with enough practice, can be avoided. Or at least, we can control where and how badly this arrow strikes.
I realized that by dreading and agonizing over how bitterly cold my run was going to be, I was actually stabbling myself with that second arrow before the first one even hit. I'm trying to stop doing that. (duh)
Post-run, I realize how dumb that second arrow really is. I have all the best running gear to make pretty much every form of weather tolerable. I run in Michigan, so this was hardly the worst weather I've ever run it.
As I consider the second arrow, I wonder if my students could internalize this parable. Some of them consider school in general to be the first arrow: painful, unavoidable, relentless.
But, with practice, could they learn to control their reaction to the parts of school they hate? Could they maybe even focus on the parts they like and just recognize that there will be parts that aren't that great?
*Here's a blog about the parable. I'm not sure where I first heard the story.
I sipmy coffee.
I look at my watch.
I put off my long run.
My youngest has play practice from 10-2 today. I still haven't done my run at 9:00, so I decide it will have to wait until I drop him off. Of course, the van has no gas. I don't know why past-me didn't think ahead and fill it up last night. I pull into the Shell station and pop the lever to open the gas tank.
Sweet Mama on Ice! that wind feels cold! Chug. Chug. Chug. This might be the slowest gas pump on earth. Ugh. I take a deep breath. I will NOT cuss out this gas pump.
Finally, it clicks off. I climb back in and rub my fingers. They ache and throb. I'm dreading this run.
I'm reminded of the zen parable of the two arrows. I've heard it on so many different podcasts. Maybe you have too.
The story goes that every time we suffer, two arrows are shot in our direction. The first one is the actual hardship we face. And it sucks. It hurts. It happens to all of us.
The second arrow is our reaction to the pain though. And this one, with enough practice, can be avoided. Or at least, we can control where and how badly this arrow strikes.
I realized that by dreading and agonizing over how bitterly cold my run was going to be, I was actually stabbling myself with that second arrow before the first one even hit. I'm trying to stop doing that. (duh)
Post-run, I realize how dumb that second arrow really is. I have all the best running gear to make pretty much every form of weather tolerable. I run in Michigan, so this was hardly the worst weather I've ever run it.
As I consider the second arrow, I wonder if my students could internalize this parable. Some of them consider school in general to be the first arrow: painful, unavoidable, relentless.
But, with practice, could they learn to control their reaction to the parts of school they hate? Could they maybe even focus on the parts they like and just recognize that there will be parts that aren't that great?
*Here's a blog about the parable. I'm not sure where I first heard the story.