Who Killed the Tortoise?: The Lost Art of Patience

The ProScoutSports LLC blog ^ | May 6, 2015 | Todd Starowitz

[cdga5for4]

"I want it all and I want it now!" - Queen

The Tortoise and the Hare. One of the most widely-known of Aesop's Fables, the timeless children's classic tells the story of an arrogant rabbit and a methodical turtle. After the supremely confident rabbit had talked more trash than Kevin Garnett, the tortoise challenged the hare to a race. As it began, the rabbit took a significant lead but decided to take a nap, only to be awakened by a cheering crowd as the tortoise crossed the finish line.

After that crushing loss, the hare was always quick to remind himself, "Don't brag about your lightning pace, for Slow and Steady won the race!"

Why then do we try so hard to slit the turtle's throat?

Slow and steady wins the race? Ha.

If you aren't first you're last is the mantra of the new millennium.

If you are a parent of a young son or daughter, how many times a day do you say, "Johnny, let's go!!! Let's gooooooo!!!!!!!?"

How well are you able to keep your emotions in check when the car in front of you is driving the speed limit in the left lane? Ugh, what is this person doing? Come on, move!!!!!!

Many of us are in a mindset in which we are telling ourselves "You can do it?" more often that Bela Karolyi at a gymnastics meet.

But can we "just do it?"

We're all racing and nobody's winning. Well, father time is winning but, as more people have entered the race, the competition has gotten even more intense.

We have to be first-in-line-to-get-the-new-phone-after-we-leave-work-and-before-we-pick-up-Suzy-from-piano-but-only-after-we've-put-the-dinner-in-the-oven-and-thrown-a-load-of-laundry-in-the-dryer-while-we-mow-the-grass-and-text-mom-and-dad-and...and...and...and.

Shoot, did I remember to take a shower and put on deodorant? you think as you simultaneously hop in your car and rub your hand underneath your armpit to see if it smells deodorant-y or onion-y.

Oh, good. I did remember the Old Spice. Did I remember to take my meds?

Yep, too many of us are on meds too because we just can't keep up and the runaway train is racing faster than than we can run and we think it's going to catch us if we don't hurry the heck up.

Isn't it amazing how much better everyone gets along on vacation when the breaths are deeper, the gait is slower, and bedtime longer?

But then vacation ends and you return home and your three-year-old is in foreign language class, and your 10-year-old is taking ACT prep, and your 14-year-old has committed to college for volleyball and you are asking why this pursuit of high achievement is making you miserable or insane.

What are we doing to ourselves? S...L...O...W...the (bleep) down!

Is it any wonder that the best ad campaign anywhere is for "Pure Michigan?" Many of us don't want to live in Michigan but a LOT of us want to be in Tim Allen's Michigan (http://www.michigan.org/pure-michigan-ads/), which is more bucolic than the Field of Dreams.

Today, everyone has at least two or three jobs...so that we can make more money...so that we can buy more things that will connect us (or more likely enrage us) with some crazy story halfway around the world. We know darn well that we'd be better off not even knowing about it, but too many of us have an I-can't-take-my-eyes-away-from-this-accident rubbernecking quality that can't be satiated.

And I'm a hypocrite because I can write about how we're all going nuts yet I won't go to the men's room without my phone, and I really don't take the time to connect with anyone face-to-face because I'm not sure I remember how. If I spent as much time maneuvering my phalanges over a piano as I did a phone I'd be Arthur flipping Rubinstein.

When I was in my mid-20s and working for an organization where too many other people would have killed to work, I was given a poem called The Station by Robert J Hastings. We all had our dream job, yet we were exhausted. I still have the poem. It reads:

"The Station" Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision.

We are traveling by train, out the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of children waving at a crossing, cattle grazing on a distant hillside, row upon row of corn and wheat, flatlands and valleys, mountains and rolling hillsides and city skylines.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination.

On a certain day, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, our dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle.

Restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. "When we reach the station, that will be it!" We cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450sl Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach retirement, I shall live happily ever after!" Sooner or later, we realize there is no station,no one place to arrive. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us. "Relish the moment" is a good motto. It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today. Regret is reality, after the facts. So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less.

Life must be lived as we go along. The STATION will come soon enough.

Now if we could just find a better way to stop butchering the turtle.

[Tenacious 1]

This took too long to read. What’s next?

[cuban leaf]

[Teotwawki]

I always thought the fable about the grasshopper and the ant pretty well reflected the difference between liberals and conservatives.

[TBP]

Patience is not my strong suit, but patience usually wins out in the end.

[lump in the melting pot]

I’m happy for the author that he has spare time in abundance, now please get the hell out of the left lane.