The school days of
an educator can be varied and unexpected. Some roll smoothly as designed; most,
however, have their own rhythm and tempo - despite even the best-laid plans.
And, on others, if might feel as if there is an endless series of emergencies
to which one constantly responding.
I recently
experienced a day when little dramas seemed to fill the hours. While
brainstorming with a student about possible alternative choices and the way
forward, I found that I was able to withdraw a bit – almost watching our
conversation take place from above. I could forecast where our discussion was
going, and I knew that I didn’t like where we were headed.
I decided then to
shift gears and approach the situation in another way; that is, by focusing on
what I was not seeing, not hearing - in short, the heart space hidden by the
emotion on the surface.
As I reflect upon
that conversation, I am reminded of a time in my youth when I was walking
off-trail through the dusty floor of a dense lodgepole pine forest. That day I
was very intent on sticking to the bearing that I had cast through the woods,
focused on navigating wisely around the trees and boulders that lay in my path
so to stay true to my course. My eyes would glance up from map and compass,
select a point to walk towards that was in line with my bearing, and I would
walk to that mark - repeating the process as each successive waypoint was
reached. This I did for hours.
Later that morning,
I was awakened by something suddenly between the more sessile things I had been
working around. There, in the dappled light of the mid-day sun, stood a young
doe and her fawn. The two stood there as if stone, their presence only
illuminated by how their breath caught in the rays of the near-vertical light
reaching the forest floor. I remember gasping and feeling as if my heart might
break open. There, amongst the concentration and vigilance that had filled my
morning stood such tremendous beauty, such a powerful sense of belonging.
I lingered for a
time, suspended – afraid to move or breathe lest the moment pass to quickly.
When I finally did take a step onward it was as if my vision had changed.
Everything was more clear, more crisp. In fact, I was no longer drawn to the
points along my bearing, but rather to the spaces in-between.
What I realized
after my journey through the forest was that for much of the time I was hiking
my hyperawareness to my travel plan blinded me to the magic around me.
In our work as
educators, do we so focus on the end point that we miss the beauty and
possibility present to us in each moment? By focusing on the obstructions, the
obstacles and challenges before us, do we invite single-minded vision,
resentment and exhaustion?
When we find Grace
in our work it is in the space between and around the challenges that task our
mortal energies, not merely when we reach a resolution to a particular
conflict. In pausing along the way we open up an amazing array of possible
connections with the Divine.
